His hazel eyes track my every movement, dark and unreadable, but I see it.
Ifeelit.
He’s breathing just as hard as I am.
That’s what I want.
That’s what Ineed.
I want to be seen.Trulyseen. I want to bewanted. I want to feel something other than the weight of my life pressing down on me. I want to drown in sensation.
To be consumed.
Devoured.
I kick off my heels, the soft thuds breaking the thick silence between us. His head tilts slightly, watching. Waiting. He looks like an animal in the wild, a predator on the verge of striking, coiled and tense. Every muscle in his body flexes, barely restrained.
I take another step back and hook my fingers under the hem of my shirt, peeling it up slowly, exposing inch after inch of skin. When I tug it over my head and drop it to the floor, my breasts bounce free, heavy and full. The cool air kisses my bare skin, pebbling it with goosebumps. My nipples tighten, aching, as his gaze locks onto me with a quiet, feral intensity.
His jaw ticks, his hands flex at his sides. Then he leans back against the wall. Watching. Waiting. The way he looks at me is like fire licking at my skin.
This.
Thisis how a man should look at a woman. Like she’s something to be worshiped. Like she’s the only thing in existence worth craving.
My fingers move to the button of my jeans, flicking it open.
His hands curl into fists, his knuckles whitening with restraint. “Go on, Angel,” he rasps. His voice is a low, rough command that rakes over my skin like a physical touch. “Show me that pussy.” The hunger in his tone is like the spark of a flame.
I unzip, then slide the denim down my hips, my thong going with it. I move achingly slow, letting him see every inch of me as I push the fabric down, letting it drop to the floor at my feet.Now, I stand before him, completely bare, every curve exposed under his dark, searing gaze.
His eyes roam over me, slow and unrelenting, as if he’s memorizing the exact shape of me. Everywhere his gaze lands, my skin heats until I feel like I’m made of flames— burning, flickering, scorching.
I step back again, the wood cool against my thighs as I hit the small table in the corner. Without breaking eye contact, I slide onto the surface, my heart pounding, anticipation a thick pulse between my legs. Then, slowly, languidly, I lean back and spread my legs wide.
“Look at that pretty little pussy.”
Heat surges through me at his words, a flush rising across my skin. "Still feeling hungry?" I tease, my voice breathless.
Something dark flickers in his hazel eyes, something dangerous.
Without a word, he pushes off the wall, gripping the hem of his shirt with one hand and yanking it over his head in a single, fluid motion. He tosses it behind him, forgotten.
Jesus.
His body is pure sin—ripped, taut muscle wrapped in ink, every inch of him sculpted into something primal and devastatingly beautiful.
He stalks toward me with a predator’s grace, muscles flexing, shadows playing across his skin in the dim light.
He should be a porn star.
Hell, maybe he is.
The table slams against the wall when he closes the space between us, knocking a lamp to the floor with a crash. Before I can react, his mouth is on mine—rough and consuming, devouring me whole. My hands fly to his hair, threading through the silky strands, pulling him closer.
God, he tastes good.
Dark. Intoxicating. Addictive.
