I pause. A thought crossed my mind that night when I sat on his lap and let him see me.
I wriggle my wrists a little, and he gets the message. In a flash, he lets go of them and places his hands on either side of my waist — not touching me.
Plucking courage from somewhere deep inside of me, I say, “I want to see you.”
A frown appears on his face. It takes him a whole minute to comprehend what I meant.
When the meaning dawns on him, a chuckle escapes him, the sound light and easy as it sends the butterflies in my stomach frenzy.
“You know, you’ve seen me before.”
I blush hard. “That was different.”
“How?”
“I was merely admiring you.”
“And now?”
My cheeks flush with heat. “Now I can touch you.”
His gaze holds mine for several seconds before he takes my hand and leads me to the couch. Sitting down, he silently gestures for me to straddle him.
With hesitation, I place my knees on either side of him and settle into his lap, acutely aware of every inch where our bodies press together.
A curl of heat unfurls in the pit of my stomach. A new feeling that I’ve never experienced before.
Heath places his hands on my hips and moves me closer to him.
A soft gasp slips from my lips as I rub against him unintentionally.
His expressions tighten and I have a wild guess why.
Then his eyes soften. “Do you want to take my shirt off?”
I avert my gaze to the black T-shirt that clings to his body, the fabric stretching perfectly over his muscles, drawing my attention unwillingly.
“No, you do it,” I say, knowing I won’t be able to do it.
Sitting upright, he extends his arm to the back and reaches for the T-shirt. In one fluid movement, he lifts it and removes it from his body and tosses it beside us.
My eyes take in every inch of his upper half. His chest and shoulders are packed with muscles, each curve defined. The dips of his abs create a perfect six-pack, his toned shape adding to the appeal of his strong physique. A little lower, and the faint shape of V catches my attention that disappears into the band of his trousers.
I quickly avert my gaze from it.
“Go ahead and touch me,” Heath demands.
Lifting my hand, I press it in the middle of his chest where the strong, healthy beat of his heart vibrates his skin. Upon my touch, it picks up pace and the rhythm pulses against my palm.
“This is what you do to me,” he tells me.
“Make your heart race?”
His lips twitch. “And some other things.”
“Like what?”
Taking my hand, he slowly moves it down his chest. His skin is burning hot, and feels tight and smooth as it stretches over hisprominent and sculpted muscles. As we near his stomach, the meaning behind his words start to sink in.
