“Yes,” I whisper, lifting my arms so he can pull the shirt over my head. “Please, Ryder.”
The shirt hits the floor, followed quickly by my bra. The cool air hits my skin, and any thought of modesty vanishes under the weight of his gaze—hot, intent, worshipful.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands hovering just above my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You’re so damn gorgeous it hurts to look at you.”
Then his mouth is on my breast, hot and demanding, and thought becomes impossible. His tusks frame my flesh as his tongue works magic on my nipple, the slight edge of danger making every sensation more intense.
I cry out, back arching as heat shoots straight to my core.
“That’s it,” he growls encouragement. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making my female feel.”
My hands fist in his hair, holding him against me as he lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs with obvious satisfaction, lips moving against my skin. “I could spend hours listening to those pretty sounds you make.”
“Ryder, please.” Trembling already, I’m wound tight with need. “I need—”
“I know what you need, Solarin.” His voice is pure masculine confidence as his hands work the button of my jeans. “Trust me to give it to you.”
He strips me with efficient care, leaving me bare beneath his fully clothed form. The contrast should make me feel vulnerable, but it’s intoxicating—the heat in his gaze mapping every curve, his hands trembling slightly as they leave trails of fire across my skin.
“So lovely,” he murmurs, his gaze traveling over me with unconcealed hunger. “But I want to see all of you, Solarin. Spread your thighs wider for me.”
Heat floods my face at the commanding tone, but I do as he asks, letting my knees fall farther apart. It’s vulnerable, exposing, but the way his eyes darken with pure male satisfaction makes my embarrassment transform into something headier.
“More.” His voice is rough, demanding. “Use your hands. Show me your pretty pink folds. Let me see how wet you are for me.”
“Ryder—” My voice catches, mortification and arousal warring in my chest.
“Do you trust me?” His hands rest on my inner thighs, not pushing, just present—a reminder that I’m safe, that this is my choice.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Then show me, Solarin. Give me this. Let me see the parts you keep hidden.”
My hands shake as I reach down, fingers trembling as they part my outer lips, exposing myself completely to his gaze. The position is obscene, embarrassing—and yet the look on his face makes me feel like the most desired creature in existence.
His breath comes out in a harsh exhale. His pupils blow wide, nearly eclipsing the amber of his irises. The green of his skin seems to darken with his arousal, and I can see the rapid pulse in his throat, the tension in every muscle of his massive body.
“Goddess,” he groans, the word torn from him like a prayer. “Look at you. So pink and wet and perfect. Do you see what you do to me, Solarin? How hard you make me?”
His cock strains against his pants, the outline clearly visible, and I can see a damp spot forming where he’s already leaking. The evidence of his desire—that I can affect him this way—sends a bolt of pure confidence through me.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice raspy with need. “Circle that pretty clit for me. Show me how you like it.”
“I’ve never—” I start, then stop, mortified.
“Never touched yourself?” His expression softens slightly, though the hunger remains. “Or never touched yourself while someone watched?”
“The second one,” I admit, my face burning.
“Then this is a first we’ll share.” His hands slide higher on my thighs, his touch scorching. “I’ll be the first male to watch you pleasure yourself. The first to see you come apart by your own touch. The only one, if I have my way.”
The possessive promise in his words makes me clench around nothing. Emboldened by his dark edge of want, I glide one finger through my slickness, gasping at my own sensitivity.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice pure sin. “Circle that clit for me. Let me watch you get wetter.”
I do as he asks, my touch amplified by his hungry stare. I’m so slick, it’s as though my fingers move through liquid silk. The little whimpers escaping my throat seem to affect him as much as what he sees.
