His shadows follow us. Silent, sinuous things that slip along the floor, the walls, slinking around our ankles and wrists like they’re part of this, too.
Surprising no one, Hayden is stunning.
But not in the predictable “hot guy” way.
No, this is the kind of stunning that sneaks up on you, layered and devastating. Seeing him naked for the first time is a gift I don’t remember asking for but one I wouldn’t dream of ever returning. His body is lean, all lines and quiet power. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscles defined out of necessity, not vanity.
And his chest.
Fuck, his chest.
A trimmed spread of dark hair lies across his pecs, perfectly manicured, just enough texture to make my fingers ache to touch him. It narrows into a thin line down the center of his torso, inviting my hands…my mouth and entire soul…to follow it.
I reach out without thinking, fingers brushing the soft hair over his chest, and his breath catches. The sound shoots straight through me.
“Jesus, Hayden,” I whisper before my brain can interfere. “You’re…ridiculously beautiful.”
His eyes flick down to where I’m touching him and I swear the air thickens.
I drag my hand lower, tracing the hair down his stomach, and he exhales like I’ve undone him…just a little. My fingers skim along the sharp line of his hip, and that’s when my gaze drops.
His thighs.
Thick, strong, and beautifully cut. The kind of thighs you want wrapped around you. The kind you want to sink between and stay there forever. Heat punches low in my stomach. Those thighs alone could end me, revive me, and end me all over again.
“All of…this,” I pant, “should require a permit. A big one. With signatures.”
His cock twitches, thick and quickly hardening against his thigh, as a small, dangerous smile curves his lips.
And I’m gone.
He presses me back onto the bed, slow but certain. There’s urgency, yes…but not desperation. It’s reverent. Every brush of his fingers, every graze of his teeth against my collarbone, feels like a question asked without words.
And I answer in kind. Arching into him, pulling him closer, threading my fingers into his hair, mussed and falling into his eyes, as he slides my briefs down my legs.
Hayden’s kisses burn. His breath stutters. And then…his shadows move.
At first, a twitch at the edge of the room. Then I feel it. We’re tangled in bed, and my hands are on him everywhere, and suddenly, there’s another sensation. A touch that isn’t hands. Like satin against skin. It drags up my thigh with the reverence of prayer and the intent of sin.
I freeze, just long enough for him to notice.
“Levi?” he whispers, his voice raw.
I blink. “Is that…you?”
His brows pull together, panic flickering across his face in the dim light. “I—shit. I can stop. I didn’t…”
“Don’t,” I breathe against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. “Please don’t fucking stop. I want them.”
The shadows ripple in response, almost like they’ve heard me. One curls behind my neck; another grazes my shoulder. It should feel strange. It should feel terrifying.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like him. All of him.
I gasp when one of the shadows trails higher up my thigh, twisting behind my knee. The sensation is icy and warm, like static and the promise of more.
“Holy shit,” I pant, my voice dropping. “That feelsinsanelygood.”
