It drops on the ground, and his eyes land on my soaked braalmost immediately.
I wish I could hide because the wet white lace sticking to my skin is now translucent, leaving nothing to the imagination.
"Turn," he says, voice low, his eyes still on my chest. "Slowly."
I hesitate. I shouldn't do it when he's this close, wearing nothing but his jeans, when we're both practically naked, but for some reason I do it anyway.
I move my arms to the side and turn. His hands find me immediately, broad palms claiming my bare sides.
So this is how his hands feel on my bare skin...
I can't fully explain the feeling, just that I feel every fiber of his pads and the pulse beneath his skin with the fire threading through his veins.
"Breathe in for me." He presses into my ribs and I inhale, my chest expanding against his touch.
His fingers slide higher, and higher, and then they land on the underside of my breasts.
My nipples instantly harden under the lace and I bite my lip.
He studies my body and then my face like he owns every reaction he's drawing out of me, composed and controlled.
Liar. I can see his throat bob as he swallows.
"Does it hurt here?" The words are clinical; the tone isn't. It's thick.
"Yeah," I breathe out, because it does hurt when my whole body is coiling against my wishes and I can't do anything about it.
"It does?" He looks at me suddenly concerned.
I blink, my cheeks heating up. "No. Sorry. I mean, no."
Something flickers in his eyes—something that doesn't belong in a sterile room. Raw desire.
He moves his palms away from my ribs, but not from me. They drift lower, slow enough for me to stop him, certain enough for me to know I won't.
When they find the hollow of my stomach, his fingers tighten—just a fraction, like a little claim—and they stay there.
The breath that leaves me sounds dangerously close to a plea.
"You're fine," he says, eyes dropping to my lips, lingering there. "No cracked rib."
"Oh. Yeah? So I'm fine?" My mouth refuses to shut.
"Yeah. You're fine."
Except I'm not, and neither is he. The air between us thickens and I can feel electricity sparking all over my body.
His jaw goes tense as his hands stay on me, and I can tell he wants to lean in.
I half-shut my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me, lay me down, right here under the open sky.
Five inches. Five inches is all it takes to close the distance between us.
His throat moves in a hard swallow, and then—
He blinks and pulls himself back like he's snapping a leash around his own throat.
"Let me get your dress," he says, voice rough, and instantly gets up, like he can't trust himself otherwise.
