The words died on my tongue as I stepped into the doorway of his room to find him standing near the bed, rifling through his duffle bag… completely naked.
The sound that escaped me was something I’d never made before. Something between a choke, gasp, and moan all in one.
Raff’s head whipped over.
But he didn’t move to cover himself up.
Why would he, when he looked like that?
I’d seen him in shorts and in a towel, of course, and had been surprised (and secretly delighted) at how chiseled his abs were, considering he was such a skinny guy. But to see… everything. That was a whole different experience.
The tattoos that went up and down his arms, neck, abs, back, and calves also went up his thighs. His ass was firm, the kind you could dig your heels into while he was buried deep inside you.
Speaking of that.
I’d once rolled my eyes at these two girls at a bar who commented when they’d seen Raff that he “walks like it’s heavy.”
But, well, clearly they knew what they were talking about.
Because what Raff was working with was impressive even when it wasn’t hard.
The jolt of desire was strong enough for me to need to press my thighs together. Every nerve ending seemed to be sparkingoff at once. I was jittery with it. My blood felt like it was rushing through my veins. My heart was trying to break out of my ribcage. And drawing in a breath felt impossible with how heavy my chest was.
If he hadn’t moved, I might have ogled him forever. But he turned toward me. Then he took a few measured steps closer. It was impossible for me not to notice how my watching him was affecting him. There was another almost painful throb of desire at seeing him harden as he got closer.
“Did you want to talk to me about something?” he asked, his voice deceptively even as he moved to stand in front of me.
That damn coconut-lime-rum scent of him seemed to swirl around me, begging me to move closer, to bury my face in his neck and breathe it in.
“Or are you just here to take in the view?” he asked, reaching up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear.
A shiver moved through me, making his lips twitch.
“Or the third option.”
I had to wet my lips before I could respond. “Third option?”
He took one step closer, his body a whisper from mine. His hard length pressed into my belly, making my breath rush out of me even as he leaned in toward my ear.
“You could do more than look.”
He reached out, sliding his hand down my arm until it closed around my wrist, lifting my hand and placing it on his chest.
As calm as he was on the outside, with my hand over his heart, I could feel it racing in time with my own. There was something oddly comforting about that.
My gaze flicked up to his, not sure what I was looking for—since I already had permission. But there was something soft in his eyes as he watched me, something that had my chest get that weird, warm sensation again.
Emboldened by that, I let my hand drift across his chest, tracing over his pecs, then moving to the center and slowly sliding down.
Under my touch, his muscles tightened even as his eyes went heavy-lidded and his breath went quick and shallow.
His other hand raised, going to the wall at my side, caging me in. As if any part of me wanted to leave.
My fingers slid over his ribs, the barest curve of his hip, down his thigh.
My finger went to the raised, smooth skin of his scar, sliding gently over it.
When I’d heard that he’d been stabbed a while back, I couldn’t seem to talk myself out of going to check on him at the clubhouse. I’d tried not to let myself wonder why at the time. And certainly didn’t allow myself to analyze why I’d been so hurt and jealous when I realized he was being taken care of by club girls who dressed as slutty nurses.
