“If you're telling me everything I know about biology is wrong...”
I gesture wildly around my living room.
“...commit to it.Show me.”
“I think I'd rather you think I was crazy.”
That kinda hurts.
Why does that hurt?
Because he sounds like he means it.
Like he'd honestly prefer I thought he was insane than watch what's about to happen.
Slowly he removes his leather cut.
Then his shirt.
He folds them neatly over the back of a chair.
And for a second, I forget what he’s doing.
Rand isn’t just some sexy biker.He’s a work of art.
His body is corded with thick ropes of muscle and sinew that look like they belong on some ancient Greek sculpture in a museum somewhere.
He’s got tanned skin with swirls of ink running across his chest, abs, back, and arms.The tattoos are beautiful, too.And he has a lot of them.
But I’m too caught up in the fact that he’s getting naked in my living room to notice any specific design.
He brushes his long, dark hair back, and it hits his shoulder blades—and I am floored.
He’s fucking gorgeous—and way, way out of my league.
He steps out of his boots and pulls off his socks.
Jesus.
Even his feet are nice.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I am so sorry, Honey,” he whispers as his hands go to his belt buckle.
“For what?”
He looks at me and drops his jeans, pushing down his boxer briefs with them.
My mouth hangs open as I take in Rand in all his naked glory.
“I’m sorry for having to show you this so fast,” he whispers.
For a second, I think he’s talking about his dick.But why anybody would apologize for that long, thick, and oh my fuck, semi-hard cock?
I have absolutely no idea.
And really?
