And gives a pointed nod toward my hands.
Oh.
Right.
My part.
Heat floods my face.
I forgot.
I’m supposed to be giving him a show too.
I swallow and glance down at my fingers still hooked in the fabric of my underwear.
God, this feels outrageous.
A little reckless.
And yet, the way he’s watching me makes something deep inside my chest unfold.
Because he isn’t mocking.
He isn’t impatient.
He’s waiting.
Like he wants me exactly the way I am—nervous, curious, discovering this part of myself one inch at a time.
My heart pounds harder.
I slide the fabric down slowly over my hips.
The cool air of the room brushes my skin as I step free of them, my pulse racing at the realization that I’m standing here in front of that big window, completely exposed to the man outside.
For half a second, I hesitate.
Then I glance up.
J.T.hasn’t moved.
The axe is still hanging midair, a couple of feet over the chopping block.
He’s just standing there.
Watching me like I’m the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.
And suddenly the nervousness doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
It feels thrilling.
Empowering.
Because for the first time in a long time, I’m not undressing out of obligation.
I’m doing it because I want to.
Because he wants me to.
