He laughs. “Yeah, babe. I know. As long as it’s that kind of fear, and notfearfear.”
“It is not.” I do not know what comes over me, but I find myself taking his lower lip in my teeth, very gently, and tasting it with my tongue. “I am safe with you, Kane. I know I am.”
I see something in him, something dark and not good flash across his features, but it is quickly gone, buried. He has secrets, dark ones, painful ones. I want them, but I know now is not the moment to ask for them.
He twists up to sit, pulls me upright as well. I turn to face him, waiting to see what he will do. His fingers curl at my sides, into the hem of my shirt. Slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him, he pulls my shirt up. I do not stop him. The garment begins turning inside out, covering my face, and I lift my arms. Off, tossed aside. And somehow, even though I wore only the top with him, inpublic, it is somehow more intimate because he is the one to remove my shirt.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod. “You too.”
“Me too, what?”
I angle toward him, lift his shirt up. “You too.”
He lets me pull his shirt off, and his joins mine, somewhere beside the bed.
“My god, Kane,” I breathe. “You are…magnificent.”
He is, truly. Every muscle is sculpted, carved into his body as if by the hand of Michelangelo. His shoulders and chest are thick, deep, and broad with muscle, heavy and hard and rounded. His abdomen is not an eight-pack of definition, and I like it more. This, too, is heavy and hard and thick with muscle. There is some definition, but mostly, it is just…hard. I press my fingertips into his belly, and even at rest, not flexing, it feels so hard I could break open a walnut upon it. I explore his upper body, and he allows it, watching my hands trace over his shoulders, across the bulging slope of his chest, over his belly.
Finally, he has had enough of allowing it. His eyes flick over me, dropping to my chest, lingering on my breasts. I wonder, will he remove the bathing suit top, now? Make me truly bare for him. I am nervous for this, but I would not stop him.
He moves as if to kiss me, and I open my mouth, ready for it—but his mouth touches my neck instead, beneath my ear. I pull in a breath, and my hand cups behind his head. Lower, to my shoulder. Then to my throat. Beneath my opposite ear. Down again, to the hollow at the base of my throat.
To my chest, the expanse of flesh above my breasts yet below my throat. Lower again, now between my breasts. I stop breathing, entirely. He moves down, his huge strong hands cradling my hips over my jeans, and his mouth skips beneath the under-strap of my top, kissing my diagram. His mouth is hot, wet. I am still not breathing.
I thrill to this, holding the back of his head, spine arching.
My center aches, now, so much heat and so much pressure from his kisses and his touch that I cannot bear it. I do not know what I need, only that Imusthave relief from it, a release of it.
His lips touch my belly, above my navel, then below it. My side, beneath my lowest rib—a mirroring kiss to the other side.
I shudder, frozen lungs burning.
“Anjalee, breathe darlin’.”
I suck in a breath, head going back, spine bowing upward. “More, Kane. More.”
“Ah fuck.” His forehead touches my belly. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Don’t know what you’re askin’ of me, honey.”
“I ache,” I whisper, so quietly I am not sure he heard. I press my hand to the back of his, guide his touch over my hip, over my belly, toward my center—our hands stop short, but I know he knows what I mean. “Here. Iache, Kane. I need…” I shake my head, without the correct words for what I need, because I do not know. “You know what I need—I do not. Please.Please.”
His lips press against my belly, a deep breath gusting hot on my flesh—it feels as if he is gathering himself, summoning some inner reserve of strength. “Okay,” he murmurs, kissing. “Okay, beautiful. I’ll show you what you need.”
With another deep, bracing breath, he draws his fingers across my belly horizontally, following the waist of my jeans. Coming to the button, he flips it open. I stop breathing. The zipper lowers.
“Gotta breathe, honey.”
I obey him, sucking in a breath.
He pulls them down, wiggles them past my hips. He is gone, tugging them off one leg, then the other, and I am clad in nothing but the bikini. He has seen me thus, but again, when it is him removing my clothing, it is somehow more intimate, more revealing…
He sits next to me, and I open my eyes to see him just looking at me. “Sofuckingbeautiful.”
My heart seems to flood, to heat, to expand. His eyes tell me even more than his words that what he sees when he looks at me is…I do not know, exactly. That I am more than merely beautiful to him.
He leans over me, and he kisses my mouth. Now, when his body crushes into mine, it’s skin to skin. Warm, electric. Smooth, hard against soft. His palm cradles my knee, then glides over my thigh. My heart skips a beat, his hot rough palm on my silken flesh taking my breath, knocking my pulse off-kilter.
