His palms glide up my thighs, over my hips, skimming my waist until they cradle my face. He worships every inch... the curve of my shoulder, the dip of my collarbone, the flutter of my pulse beneath his thumb.
When he finally cups my breasts, still inside the bra, I whimper.
“So fucking perfect, Jess.”
He rises then, standing before me to strip off his Henley in one fluid motion.
The dim light spills over him, and I suck in a breath.
Jesus Christ.
His body is a masterpiece, mostly as I remember it. Corded muscle sheathed in golden skin. Sculpted abs that ripple as he moves, hard and defined like carved stone.
My gaze follows the deep V-cut of his obliques, that seductive trail leading beneath his waistband.
The new scars on his face and shoulder only amplify his raw power, those silvered lines a map of survival that make him look like a warrior.
I drink him in. The breadth of his chest. The tight ridges of his abdomen. ThatV, sharp and primal, drawing my eyes lower.
Desire coils hot in my belly, and I bite my lip. My panties get even wetter, if that’s possible.
“You’re staring,” he says roughly.
“You’re worth staring at,” I whisper back. “All of you. These muscles.” My hand lifts, trembling, to trace the grooves of his abs. He shivers under my touch. “These scars.” I brush a finger along the one spanning his collarbone. “You’re... you’re breathtaking, Marco.”
Something in his expression softens.
Then he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a small vibrator.
Oh we’re doing this.
We’re absolutely doing this.
“Check these out,” he says.
He shows me the padded cuffs attached to the headboard. Quick-release.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Or do you preferthe ties?”
“These work,” I shrug, trying to feign indifference, when all I can think is:
Just fuck me!
He grins. “That’s my girl. And yes, I’ll fuck you shortly.”
I redden.
Yep, he can definitely read minds.
He secures my wrists gently. Tests the releases twice. Makes sure I can free myself if needed.
Then he’s touching me again.
His fingers reignite every nerve. One hand skims my ribs, teasing the lace edge of my bra while his mouth claims the slope of my shoulder. He sucks lightly, then soothes with his tongue. I writhe against the cuffs, the restraint only heightening the ache. His other hand slips lower, tracing the waistband of my panties with agonizing slowness.
“Marco,” I whimper, arching off the bed.
“Hush, my vixen.” His breath ghosts over my sternum as he nips at the swell of my breast through damp lace. “I’ve dreamed of this.”
