I want to watch him race.
I kick my jeans off. His cock presses against his chinos’ zipper. I want to rub my skin against his rough cut and perform how he wants me to. I want to possess his mind like he possesses every part of me.
“Shirt,” he commands.
Everything from his dark blue eyes to his fixed gaze tells me we’re doing this because we both get off on it. As I remove my top, he pulls out his belt and drops it to the floor. The buckle bangs, but his stare is unwavering.
He undoes his shirt and shirks it off. I’m standing in my purple lace underwear, chosen for him even though I couldn’t have predicted this. His chest is sculpted, and his tan highlights each muscle. Tattoos litter his skin. Silence fills the cabin, and it gives the moment an extra edge as I study hisbody. There’s a star tattoo on his bicep and symbols and lines I can’t decipher. There’s one tattoo I can’t read.
I step closer. He shakes his head.
“Don’t touch me. Not yet.”
“Your tattoo.” I point at the one across his ribs. “What does it say?”
His voice deepens as he says, “‘We gain strength from the hell we survive.’”
“I like it.”
“I got it before my crash. But now you’re my strength. You’ve helped me not just survive but live. You made it all possible.”
I want to trace that tattoo, lick it, suck his skin, and brand my tongue with his words like he’s branded my brain and wired me to him.
Each second is like a minute as he stares at me. “Bra off, beautiful. Show me your tits. I’m obsessed with them.”
I drop my bra, and he grunts his adoration. His tongue peeks out, and it’s like I feel it on my nipples. I breathe in the scent of our arousal. It’s all I can do not to rub my thighs together and beg for him.
He pulls out his cock and strokes it as he stares at me. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
My brow furrows. “But you’ve been with some of the most beautiful women in the world.” I won’t accept his lies.
He kicks off the rest of his clothes and pulls me towards the bed at the end of the cabin.
“Kneel on it.”
I obey, and he sits behind me, his chest flush against my back. His thick forearms hold me to him.
“Look up,” he growls.
I lift my head. I gasp when I see he’s positioned us in front of a mirror.
My shoulders hunch. His kisses against my neck ease my tension a little.
“Tell me what you see, and then I’ll tell you what I see.”
“Niki,” I whisper.
His voice softens. “Please tell me what you see.”
I don’t say our safe word, because I want to learn what he sees. I want to gift him my fears so he can soothe them. Multiple times he’s faced things that scare him to support me.
“A twenty-three-year-old woman,” I say tentatively, “who used to have the strong body of a rugby player but now has the body of a mum who never got her fitness back. A woman whose boobs only do what they should when they’re in a bra and who has a belly she hates. I wish I had some of the old me back.”
While I speak, he kisses my neck, making me writhe.
“Would you like to hear what I see?”
I drop my head. While one hand presses against my ribcage, holding me tight to him, he grabs my chin with the other and makes me look at myself. He locks eyes with my reflection. “Don’t move that head, angel.”
