Muscles, lean muscles, cover every inch. He’s not bulky, but his height causes him to look bigger overall. The faint dusting of dark hair covering his chest makes me squeeze my legs together. What’s interesting is that the sleeve on his left arm are the only tattoos to be seen, and I’m more curious about them by the minute. When my gaze travels up to his face, he’s biting his lip, trying to hide his smile at me checking him out. He’s doing a piss-poor job of it too.
“Go ahead, be proud of yourself. You’re gorgeous,” I tell him bluntly. I’m not going to hide the fact that he’s sexy as hell. I mean, we are about to have sex, right? Why sugarcoat it? It wouldn’t be in my nature anyway.
“Never been called gorgeous before.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame,” I mutter, taking another perusal down his body, ending on the very obvious dick outline in his jeans.
“Take your leggings off, Will.” A command. So fucking sexy, I can just imagine how he would take control of his team as a Marshal.
I tip my head back, blowing out a steady stream of air in a weak attempt to calm my overactive body.
“Now.” His grunt startles me into action.
I fumble to hook my thumbs into my leggings, planting my feet and thrusting my hips at a weird angle to try to get them over my ass. He doesn’t move, doesn’t help. Just watches the path the offending material takes down my legs.
Once they’re off, I reach up and start lifting up my T-shirt.
“No, stop. I have plans for that.”
I tilt my head in question, but he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he moves his hands to the button on his jeans, flicking it open and sliding the zipper down. He leaves it like that, the fucking tease, slowly walking to the edge of the bed.
My brain starts working overtime. What’s he going to do with my T-shirt? Should I have taken my panties off too? Should I try to help him take his jeans off? Is that what he’s waiting for?
His hands touch the outside of my thighs, jolting my attention back to him.
“Get out of your head. Be present with me.” His voice is low and gravelly.
“It’s hard for me to get out of my head,” I tell him honestly. This is why orgasms are hard to come by for me. I have a very specific way to get off because it’s quick and my brain doesn't seem to factor in.
“Well, let’s see if I can help with that.” He reaches under my shoulders and shifts me up about a foot before he puts a knee on the bed, in between my legs.
Before I have time to question his words, both hands slide back under my shirt, slowly drawing it up my rib cage.
“I’d like to try something, but if you aren’t a fan of restraints, then I won’t do it,” he says quietly, and his eyes shift up to mine.
“Umm, I’ve never personally been restrained, but I’ve read about it.” I roll my eyes at myself before continuing, “I’d be interested in trying it.”
I don’t need to tell him that just him asking me about being restrained pulls my orgasm so damn close to the surface that I’m concerned what will happen when he actually does it.
The earnestness in his eyes shifts to wickedness, and I feel out of my depth.
But I know I’m safe with him. Hell, if there is anyone to explore some things with, it would be this man.
Wordlessly, he drags my shirt up over my head, pulling my arms up as he continues to lift the fabric. When he gets to my wrists, I’m focused on his bare chest pressed against mine, only covered by a flimsy lace bralette. He feels so good; the weight of him feels grounding, and the anxiety and overthinking I usually feel in general are silent.
My wrists feel free again, and he lifts himself off of me. He tips his head down, trailing kisses over all of the exposed skin he just revealed.
It has me squirming, trying to get friction, but I can’t because he’s keeping himself away from where I really want him.
I feel his hands slide up my ribcage again and tuck his fingers under the lace that’s covering my breasts.
“Still good, Will?”
“So fucking good,” I breathe out.
The lace of my skimpy bra pops over my breasts before he slides it up and over my head, the same, slow route my T-shirt took.
When he gets to my wrists this time, he twists my bra around my wrists a couple of times, creating a makeshift handcuff.
