Page 47 of Striking Range

His body is trembling with anticipation.

Shoving aside the uncertainty, the doubt, the knowledge that tomorrow our choices will probably destroy us—I focus on the man in front of me.

And although Skylar is a bit shorter, and I’m a bit more buff, what he lacks in height and muscle he makes up for in attitude.

He says, “Come and touch me, Evie. You’re teasing.”

I grin. “But I can’t touch you when you’re fully dressed.”

Not how he wants me to, at least. Skylar is quick to grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

But as his fingers reach for his jeans, I slap his hand away. “Let me.”

I pop the button of his jeans, and the simple action, or maybe it being me as the driving force behind it, has Skylar gasping as if he can’t pull in enough air for a single inhale.

Hooking my fingers through his belt loops, I pull the fabric down, and with each inch of his soft, untouched skin revealed, my heart beats even faster still. My throat is closing; I’ve never felt so nervous, so out of touch.

I’ve never been with a man before, obviously, yet I am not turned off. I just want. A concerning, burning want that’s making me shaky, and I fear I’ll start fumbling in my movements if I don’t calm down.

Skylar steps out of his jeans as I eye the bulge in his briefs. A patch of the fabric is darkening with his leaking arousal—the cotton is straining, and goosebumps are rising over every inch of his exposed skin.

He is incredibly turned on; that much I can tell.

I reach out, resting my palm over the thickness of him, intertwining the fingers on my free hand into his mess of curls and forcing his head into the crook of my neck. His groan sinks into my skin—right where I want it.

“Is this how you want me to touch you, puppy?” I ask him, my voice coming out soft and consoling. As Skylar shakes his head against me, pushing his hips up to press further into my palm, I add, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want… I want to feel good. For you to make me feel good,” he says, and the sound of Skylar’s soft, aroused voice is something so foreign, so intoxicating as it soaks into my skin that I feel my knees shake.

“Fuck, Skylar.”

I shove him backward, watching as he bounces against the mattress. His legs dangle from the edge, his curls falling all around his head. Pleading eyes stare back at me, but he’s smirking all the same.

“I’ll make you feel good,” I tell him. “That much I can do.”

He nods in response to my promise, my declaration, and bites at his bottom lip as he grips the comforter.

Dragging his briefs down his legs, it takes everything in me not to make some kind of obscene, audible noise at the sight of him.

As soon as Skylar is completely naked in front of me, I am reduced to one singular thought: he is mine. I own him. Nobody else is allowed to see what I’m seeing—and if they do, that alter ego of mine will commit a vile, outrageous crime.

I’ve never seen another man’s hard dick so intimately before. But here I am, wanting to choke on it.

Skylar is long and thick, almost as big as I am. Pink and cut and smooth—so pretty and soft to look at. He’s swollen, pulsing, and so worked up. I want to spread him open and make myself familiar with all aspects of his lower region, but he’s growing impatient.

He blushes a deep red, the color spreading from his chest and up to his hairline as he squirms from beneath my heated gaze. I do not look away; I do not give him any form of reprieve.

“Stop staring, Everett.”

“But you’re so... so...” I’m struggling to find the right word.

“So?”

“So fucking delicious,” I groan.

Skylar sighs, hands tightening against the bedding at his sides as he blinks up at me. Beads of arousal are forming on the tip of his dick, and I want to taste them so badly; I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.

I want to eat him slowly and then tell him how much I love it.