A thrill zings through me. “Say that a little more ominously. I don’t thinkallthe blood in my body is in my crotch quite yet.”
He ignores my joke, dark eyes glittering. “Stand up, please.”
Dios, that tone. And for some reason, it’s thepleasethat gets me. A totally unnecessary courtesy. A demonstration of restraint through politeness. A reminder of the need for mutual respect.
I stand. Suddenly, I feel exposed—I’m acutely aware of my own nudity once again, and my nerves are alive with it.
“Turn around and spread your legs.”
“Oh, we’re not messing aro—”
“Do you want to be gagged for this, Madison?” he asks, voice dropping.
I shake my head. My nipples are so hard they could cut glass, and my pulse is pounding in my throat. “Maybe if you use your dick,” I mutter as I spin.
What can I say? I’m physically incapable of relinquishing the last word.
He heard me, and his laugh is just as low and dangerous as his Dom voice. “Don’t mistake me: I love that smart mouth—I can’t wait to fuck it. Before we get to that, I just… I want to look. Lean forward. Grab your ankles if you can.”
My insides clench so hard it hurts. There’s an intense kind of vulnerability in being naked while the other person is still dressed, and this takes that hot, twisty feeling up to 11. No hiding. A display just for him.
Feeling a little dizzy, I slowly lower myself and grab my ankles. I have to shift my hips back to maintain balance, and I know it opens me up almost lewdly. I can feel the draft of cool air against my throbbing, hot, tender skin.
His breath heaves out, stuttering towards the end of the long breath. “Fuck, Madison.”
My face heats, and it’s only partially because the blood is rushing to my head in this position. I bite my lip and throw him a look over my shoulder as I straighten. “You say that, but you’re still standing all the way over there.”
It’s a dramatic overstatement, but I think I’m going to die if he doesn’t close the four-foot distance between us and just fuckingfuckme already. His sleeves are down and he started unbuttoning his shirt, but he’s still totally covered up. And he doesn’t make a move towards me.
There’s a small shift in his expression as his eyes rake over me. A frisson of uncertainty, of longing so sharp it pokes holes of doubt all over.
“Wesley?”
Snapped out of a trance, his eyes bore into mine, dark and intense.
He makes a contemplative humming noise. “Honestly, I’m… at something of a loss. There’s so much I want to say, but I… I don’t have the right words for you. For me. For… this.”
I suck in a breath. “Wesley—”
My breath catches in my throat, and my stomach twists. The reverence in his voice slips right through all the cracks in my walls—suddenly, I’m rooted in place, watching him look down at me as emotions bubble up that I’m a little scared of.
We’re… here. Together. It’s real. It’shim. Between the impossible situation and the repeated setbacks, some part of me never thought this would really happen, so I don’t feel ready for it.
Before last week, SpyderMan only existed as words on a screen—and somehow, despite that, he’s got a piece of my heart anyway. Because at the end of the day, who are we, really, beyond the words we choose and use? His words have made me happy. They’ve inspired me, comforted me, teased me, challenged me andchangedme. I fell for his words a long time ago, and I was prepared to let him keep that piece of me, even if we never met in person.
But now… we’re finally together.
I understand exactly how he feels—I’m at a loss, too. I don’t know whether I want to stare or touch or taste him first, because I want it all. And there’s this strange pressure hanging around us, like expectation and fear. We’re not afraid of each other, exactly—we’re afraid of this moment, because it feels soimportant. It’s one of those rare occasions when you know ahead of time that everything is about to change.
“Kiss me. Please.”
His breath heaves out, and he closes the distance. When he reaches for me, I brace myself, but instead of feeling his palm hitting my throat, as he’s so fond of doing, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and lets his fingers slide down the length of my jaw. His thumb gently caresses my bottom lip.
“You’re so beautiful, Madison.”
Goosebumps prickle on my skin, though it’s a toasty 70 degrees in here. I press harder into his hand. “So are you.”
He continues stroking the callused edge of his thumb across my cheek, almost absently. After a few seconds of intense eye contact, I start getting antsy. “Don’t you think we’ve delayed this gratification long enough?” I ask, knowing how frustrated and hopeful I sound.
