Page 73 of Sterling Stone

When I reenter her room, Stone sits on the edge of the bed, one arm perched on his thigh. “My turn?”

I nod, and he takes the bathroom for a moment.

The entire process feels domestic, like something couples might do after years of living together. I’m getting ahead of myself with the thought.

It’s only another night, snuggling up with this man.

But the air around us feels charged after that kiss we shared earlier.

No one mentioned the announcement Zelle made to someone down that hall, but sly grins and laughing eyes said the family knew the truth.

Uncle Stone was kissing Miss Taxi.

As I lay on my back, waiting for his return to Trudy’s room, I tease him when he’s still dressed.

“Gonna sleep fully dressed?”

“Gonna sleep in that robe?”

“I’m cold,” I lie, using the heavy material as a shield. I shouldn’t be shy. I propositioned the man a week ago, yet somehow, I feel self-conscious, anxious about exposing my body to him, despite us kissing again.

Because something tells me if a kiss can knock me off-kilter, sex with Stone Sylver might send me out of this world.

“I’ll adjust the air conditioning,” he says, his brows pinching with concern for my well-being.

I wave. “I don’t want to fiddle with Trudy’s settings.” I’m not here to take over her home.

Stone nods before he slowly tugs his tee over his head, exposing the thick patch of hair on his chest and the trail that leads to his waistband. Most nights, he’s kept his T-shirt on. Tonight, I get a show of what’s underneath even his tee. Still no superhero S on his chest, but he still looks like one to me.

Love for his family. Sweet with his nieces. Concern for me.

Pure kryptonite.

Next, he shucks his jeans, exposing snug boxer briefs. I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help myself. He’s one fine looking man.

He gives me that lopsided grin of his before climbing up the bed and rolling me to my side. My back to his chest. Then we click into position.

His arm around my waist, the other underneath my head. His feet beneath mine.

I close my eyes, but I’ve already seen what he looks like bare-chested. The outline of what lies beneath his boxer briefs. The thickness of his thighs.

“You okay?” he whispers, and I realize I hummed. A signature mm-mm-mm escaped my throat.

“I’m good,” I lie, covering my face with one hand as if that will hide me somehow. He’s at my back and can’t see the flame in my cheeks in the dimness of the room anyway.

Still, I’m warm all over.

His nose tickles my nape, just beneath the bonnet holding up my hair.

I loosen the sash at my waist, needing a little air in the heavy wrap. As I shift, I feel Stone’s hardness against my backside and still.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

I’ve ignored his morning wood every day, considering it biology and not anything else. But I cannot dismiss the firmness wedged against my ass.

Stone slips his hand into the opening of the robe, finding his typical position of palm against my belly, pinning me in place against him.

I fling a portion of the robe aside, needing more cool air on my skin, which suddenly feels like I’m burning up.