Page 72 of Haunted Spurs

I can't catch my breath. My heart picks up a reckless rhythm, hammering against my sternum.

Ron arches an eyebrow. He's right there, standing in front of me, and he's staring at me. He's waiting.

He's expecting me to strip for him.

Fuck.

I curl my fingers into the hem of my shirt, and suddenly I feel paralyzed. I don't feel comfortable with this at all. I mean, yes, I want to do it. I want to strip for him, but I hate, I hate with every fiber of my being feeling so insecure when all I should be doing is letting go.

I swallow hard, a bitter lump scraping my throat.

Okay, I repeat to myself mentally, trying to summon my cynicism. We aren't going to do it again anyway. If my imperfections turn him off... it'll only make it easier to close this chapter.

I know perfectly well he's already seen me naked. But... in the pitch black of his truck. And I wasn't even completely undressed.

Now, though, I am completely exposed.

"Only if you touch yourself while I do," I tell him.

Ron hitches a breath. A sharp exhale escapes his lips.

"Fuck," he whispers. He runs his tongue slowly over his lower lip, his eyes darkening even further. But then, his expression shifts. It gives way to the man who can read me like a book.

"But only if you actually want to, Selene," he adds softly.

My armor cracks. He sensed I'm not comfortable with this. Of course he did. That man has a built-in radar for my mood swings. He's Ron Willers... he just has to be the perfect bastard, always putting how I feel first.

"Get moving, Willers," I taunt him again, trying to chase away the anxiety. "Don't you want to see what's underneath?"

I want to do it. The idea of exposing myself to him turns me on so fucking much. It's just... nothing. I hate making room for my old insecurities. I hate that Jim's voice still echoes in the back of my head.

Ron doesn't need to be told twice.

He grabs the hem of his gray t-shirt with one hand and rips it off over his head in a single, fluid motion, throwing it to the floor.

Dammit. It should be illegal to be this sexy without even trying. The lines of his muscles, his broad shoulders, his chiseled abs. When the hell does he find the time to work out?

My throat is bone dry. I can't take my eyes off him.

I don't think I've ever seen a sexier man than this ridiculous new-cowboy.

His hands drop to his belt buckle. He undoes his jeans and boxers in one go, shoving them down and kicking them off.

I blink. I physically cannot stop myself from running my tongue over my lips as I stare at his erection. It's thick, veiny, heavy. It is simply... obscene.

Perfect and obscene.

"As you can see..." Ron murmurs, "I don't even need to see you naked to get hard."

Keeping his blue eyes pinned to mine, he brings a hand to his cock. His long fingers wrap around him, and he starts stroking himself.

"You're a fucking wet dream, Selene Dusk."

Oh. My. God.

My lungs forget how to work. The image of him touching himself, standing right in front of me, looking at me like I'm his own personal religion, sets every nerve ending in my body on fire. My insecurity is brutally incinerated by pure lust.

"But I want you to look at me," I whisper.