I've seen him shirtless before—glimpses when he's changed or showered—but this is different. This time I can touch.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the muscles jump under my fingers. He's all strength and heat, and I want more.
He lets me explore for a moment, then pushes me back onto the bed, following me down. His weight settles over me, careful not to crush but solid and real and perfect.
"Still okay?" he asks, his forehead resting against mine.
"Perfect," I breathe. "This is perfect."
His mouth finds mine again as his hands trace patterns on my skin—my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. Every touch iscareful, deliberate, asking permission even as it stokes the fire building between us.
When his hand slides up to cup my breast through the lace, I arch into him with a gasp.
"Like that?" he murmurs against my mouth.
"Yes," I manage. "God, yes."
He takes his time learning what I like. His thumb brushes over my nipple through the fabric, and I moan. He does it again, harder this time, and I feel the smile against my lips.
"You're so responsive," he says, wonder in his voice. "So damn amazing."
His hand slides around to the clasp of my bra, and he pauses. "Can I?"
"Please."
The bra comes off, and for a second I’m vulnerable, exposed. But then Kevin's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and the vulnerability transforms into something else. Power. Desire.
"I've dreamed about this," he says roughly. "About you. But nothing compares to the real thing."
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, and I cry out. His tongue circles my nipple before he takes it into his mouth, sucking, and pleasure shoots straight through me.
My hands tangle in his hair, holding him to me as he lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other. By the time he lifts his head, I'm trembling and desperate.
"Kevin, please—"
"I know, sweetheart. I've got you." His hand slides down my stomach to the button of my jeans. "Can I take these off?"
"Yes. Please, yes."
He makes quick work of my jeans and underwear, leaving me bare beneath him. I should feel self-conscious, but the way he'slooking at me—like I'm everything he's ever wanted—makes me feel powerful instead.
"You're wearing too much," I manage, tugging at his jeans.
He grins and stands, shedding the rest of his clothes. When he straightens, I get my first full view of him, and my breath catches.
He's beautiful. All hard muscle and golden skin and very, very ready for me. My mouth is dry and I can’t say anything, only gawk and admire him. He’s really mine?
He climbs back onto the bed, settling between my thighs, and the caress of his skin against mine is almost overwhelming.
"Touch me," I whisper. "Please, Kevin. I need—"
His hand slides between us, finding where I'm hot and wet and aching for him. When his fingers brush against me, I gasp and arch into his touch.
"Like this?" he asks, his voice strained.
"Yes. Oh God, yes."
He takes his time, learning what makes me moan, what makes me writhe. His fingers move in slow circles, building the pleasure higher and higher until I'm shaking with it.
