For a few seconds, the only sounds happening are the smallpopsfrom the fireplace and our unsteady breathing.
“Nova…” As my name leaves him in a hoarse whisper, his scowl softens to the most I’ve ever seen. “Fuck…”
As the curse leaves him softly, I don’t have to ask him what the issue is. As I scooch closer to him, I canfeelit. A thick, hard bulge presses right where I’m most sensitive. It catches me off guard at first, but once I realize how his body is reacting, heat spreads through my body.
Driven by an instinct older than time, I shift again, just a subtle roll of my hips, seeking more of that delicious pressure.
His hands clamp down against my hips when I try to move again, just to confirm my suspicions. Above his beard, his cheeks are dusted with a light pink. One little squeeze from him goes a long way.
“Just sit still.” Groaning softly under his breath, his brows pinch together. “This isn’t the position they had in mind when they made the chair.”
My eyes drop to his chest, watching the powerful rise and fall of it. My focus narrows to the buttons of his shirt, a neat line trailing down the hard plane of his stomach. I want to trace that path with my fingers. Would he let me unbutton a few of them to see what he’s hiding beneath?
My heart thuds in my chest, doing whatever the heck it wants. Flicking my eyes back up, I catch myself staring at his mouth. This close, I can see his beard is trying to hide his full lips.
Without thinking, I run my tongue along mine.
I want to kiss him.
After going this far, pushing boundaries, should I stop myself now?
Slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, I reach out to touch him. One hand slides up the column of his neck, my fingers threading into the surprisingly soft hair at his nape. The other hand cups his jaw, my thumb stroking the rough texture of his beard. His eyes slam shut at the contact, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.
We’re both suffering, aren’t we?
“Nova,” he warns, but his voice is wrecked. His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging in, pulling me infinitesimally closer against the hard evidence of his desire. It feels like striking flint—one slow drag of my body against his and heat sparks everywhere.
“Please,” I whisper, my breath ghosting over his lips. “Ireallywant to.”
He looks like the kind of man who’d shut this down with a singleno. I’m ready for it. But instead, he lets go of my hip, cups the back of my neck, and drags me into his mouth—putting us out of our misery.
He presses his mouth to mine, his tongue grazing my lips before I can wrap my mind around these new sensations. A sudden gasp rises in my throat, but he swallows it effortlessly. His hold on me loosens slightly, and his body presses in, radiating warmth. I sense him melting just as fast as I am.
I move against him without conscious thought. My hips roll in a slow, grinding rhythm against the hard ridge of his erection, a desperate demand for friction. The thin fabric of my pajama pants and his jeans is a maddening, insufficient barrier. Every nerve ending is on fire, screaming for more, for skin, for less.
“Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” His voice is a ragged growl against my lips, more vibration than sound. The words should shame me. Instead, they fuel the inferno.
I am. I have to be.
A wave of heat, more intense than any that came before, crashes over me, stealing my breath and my reason. While it consumes us, my hands demand to find purchase.
Instead of plucking at my own pajamas, my fingers scramble for the buttons of his shirt. This is the obstacle. This is what stands between me and the feel of him. My fingers, clumsy and shaking, fumble with the first small flat button. It slips free. Then the second. The third.
Feeling the heat of his skin kiss my fingers, I realize what I’m doing. Stopping myself from continuing, I take the moment to enjoy what damage I’ve already done.
Pulling away from the kiss is a physical effort. I’m panting, my lips swollen and sensitive. My gaze drops to the patch of exposed skin I’ve created.
Bare, tan skin meets my gaze, my breathing hitches as I see a new part of him for the first time. One simple graze of my fingers reveals this man isn’t hard all over. No, he’s soft and warm, a combination that is addictive.
My gaze travels back up, meeting his. A dark flush paints his cheekbones now, his eyes heavy-lidded and blazing with a heat that mirrors my own. He’s watching me, his expression a complex mix of desire and something else… vulnerability?
I need to seemore. He has to know that every inch of him is something I crave terribly.
My fingers move with renewed purpose, popping the remaining buttons until his shirt hangs open, revealing the full, breathtaking landscape of his torso.
His shoulders are broad, his arms big and burly, corded with muscles that speak of real work, not just gym vanity. But it’s his stomach that truly undoes me. It’s not some well-cut, defined six-pack I see on magazine covers. There’s a softness there, arealness that is infinitely more compelling than any sculpted idol. He’s even more perfect than I thought.
I suck in a sharp, shaky breath, the air cool on my own heated skin.
