“Don’t,” I warn.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re thinking I look ridiculous.”
“I’m thinking you look very handsome and hairy.” She traces a finger along my chest, and I cannot concentrate. Finally, the boot comes off, and I shuck my jeans with relief. I’m so hard I was worried I’d have zipper marks along my dick.
My ankle looks pale and slightly withered from weeks of disuse, which is also not sexy. I reach for the boot again, suddenly aware this is a lot of logistics for what’s supposed to be a passionate moment.
Eva puts her hand on my arm. “Hey. Let me.”
She glides a palm across my hip, along my thigh, and down my leg, careful around my bad ankle. Then she picks up the boot, straightening the straps before setting it aside. I watch, riveted in the moonlight, as she slides out of her leggings. Then she takes my foot gently in her hands and starts fastening the boot back on.
It shouldn’t be hot. It’s medical equipment. It’s the opposite of hot.
But the way she’s touching me—carefully, tenderly, like I’m something precious—makes my bones wobble.
When the boot is secure, she presses a kiss to my shin, just above the top of it. Then another kiss, higher. Another. She works her way up my leg, her mouth soft and warm, and by the time she reaches my thigh, I’m having trouble breathing.
“Eva—”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “Yes?”
“You’re killing me.”
“That’s the idea.” She moves higher still, and when her mouth brushes against my boxer briefs—against the very obvious evidence of what she’s doing to me—I make a sound that’s not quite human. “Can I?” she asks, her fingers hooked in my waistband.
“God, yes.”
She pulls them down, and I’m exposed, vulnerable, harder than I’ve been in years. She looks at me with an expression that’s equal parts hunger and wonder.
“Hi,” she says to my cock, and I choke on a laugh.
“Did you just greet my?—?”
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I thought I should be polite.” Before I can respond, she lowers her head, and…
“Wait.” The word comes out strangled. I reach down and cup her face, stopping her. “Come here.”
She looks confused. “I thought you wanted?—”
“I do. But not yet.” I pull her up, guiding her to straddle my lap, my legs sticking out over the foot of the bed. The position is awkward, but I don’t care. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. About you. And I want…” I stop, trying to find the words. “I want to take care of you first.”
“Asher—”
“Let me. Please?”
Her expression softens, and her mouth turns into a sweet smile. “Okay.”
I reach behind her and unclasp her bra, sliding the straps down her shoulders. She shivers as the cool air hits her skin. I take a moment just to look at her—the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way the moonlight turns her into something ethereal.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“I can’t help it. You’re…” I shake my head. “There aren’t words.”
I pull her closer and kiss her collarbone. Her neck. The spot behind her ear makes her gasp. My hands learn the landscape of her back, her sides, her hips. I want to memorize every inch of her.
“I need…” She squirms against me, and the friction makes us both groan. “Asher, I need…”
