“Use more words.”
Her eyes meet mine.
“I want you. Badly.”
I lift her.
Her legs wrap around my waist, bringing her against my cock, and her breath catches when she feels how hard I am.
“Bedroom.”
I carry her down the hall.
She kisses me again before I reach the bed, and by the time I set her down, her face is flushed and her breathing uneven.
For a second, she looks up at me in the yellow shirt I bought this morning.
I pull my shirt off.
Her gaze moves over my chest, then catches on the scars crossing my shoulder.
The old instinct to turn away rises before I can stop it.
Kaia reaches for me first. Her fingertips trace the edge of one scar. They move lower, over the ink at my side, then back to the scarred skin at my shoulder, as if none of me is something to look away from.
“Does this hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
She leans forward and presses her mouth to the damaged skin.
My eyes close.
No one has ever touched me there like that.
When I look at her again, something in my chest feels too exposed, so I kiss her before I say something I cannot take back.
This kiss is slower.
Her hands move over my chest while mine find the hem of her shirt.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
I lift it over her head.
For half a second, uncertainty crosses her face as her hands shift toward her stomach.
I catch them gently.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“You are gorgeous, sweetheart. Don’t hide from me.”
“I wasn’t.”
