He pulls his sweater over his head, followed by his undershirt, exposing his broad chest and muscular arms. His hands move to his belt next, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate motions. I can’t look away. My mouth goes dry as he pushes his pants down, letting them fall to the floor, followed by his briefs. His cock springs free, already half hard.
Ambrose undresses like a man who knows he’s a god—or a devil—before those meant to worship him.
And fuck, do I want to.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just sits beside me on the couch, completely naked, and begins to stroke himself lazily, watching me with that unreadable expression.
I’m frozen under his gaze for a moment, but I come to my senses and go to move closer to him when he finally speaks.
“Stand up,” he commands.
I do, unsure of myself but wanting to please him regardless.
“Take your shirt off,” he says after making me stand there for a few uncomfortable seconds. I reach for the hem, nerves twisting my stomach, but before I can peel it off, he adds, “Slowly.”
Oh, he wants ashow.
He wants to look at me the way I’ve been looking at him, with barely restrained lust and desire.
I meet his gaze and tug the hem of the sweater up inch by inch, revealing the strip of my stomach, the underside of my breasts. His eyes follow every movement. I roll the fabric over my shoulders and down my arms, watching it fall to the floor.
I reach around to unclasp my bra next, then slide the straps down my arms, slow and teasing, and let it slip from my fingers.
His hand moves faster on his cock, and my nipples harden from both the cool air and his full attention.
“Turn around,” he instructs. “Pants next.”
I turn slowly, hooking my fingers into the waistband of my leggings before looking over my shoulder and meeting his intense gaze. Bending forward slightly more than necessary, I peel the fabric down over my hips and thighs, revealing the curve of my ass. I step out of the leggings and panties carefully, leaving myself bare before him.
Turning back around, I give him a look as if to say, “What’s next?”
He crooks a finger, beckoning me to him. “Come here.”
Heat pools low in my stomach as I walk over to him fully exposed, feeling the burn of his gaze trailing over every inch of my skin.
He reaches out when I get close enough, sliding both hands around my hips. Up until now, he’s still been slowly stroking his cock while watching me.
“Ride me,” he growls.
Heat pulses in my core, and my knees almost give out just from the way he says those two words.
He leans back then, giving me space, draping his arms casually across the back of the couch as he settles back into the cushions. His entire body is a masterpiece, and my eyes are drawn from his face down to his erection.
Steadying myself with my hands on the back of the couch, I situate myself over top of him with one leg on either side of his hips.
I sink down until his cock presses against my entrance, and I pause. Is this really happening? Am I allowing myselfto give in to this man who, only weeks ago, I hated with every fiber of my being?
Yes, I decide, I am. Things have changed. He may not be a good person, but at this point, neither am I. Maybe I’ve come to care for him only under these unusual circumstances, but that doesn’t mean a thing right now.
I reach down between us with trembling fingers as I line him up with my entrance.
He doesn’t touch me yet. He simply watches. His eyes roam across my face, then down my neck, lingering on my breasts, my waist, and finally, where we connect.
Slowly, I sink down onto him.
I gasp at the stretch as he fills me inch by inch.Fuck, that feels good. Just when I think I won’t be able to go any further, I’m seated on his lap, and the fullness is overwhelming.
His head tips back slightly. “It’s like you were fucking made for me,” he groans.
