Page 52

When his hand finally rises to cup my breast through the lace, I inhale sharply. His palm is hot and rough. He squeezes once, testing, then his thumb brushes over my nipple.

“Oh!” My knees nearly buckle. “You’ve apparently been secretly good at this the whole time.”

His mouth twitches. “Muscle memory.”

That should make me laugh, but it reminds me of everything he told me downstairs. How long it’s been for him. Everything he gave up.

I step closer, and Hewit raises his arms so I can pull his shirt over his head.

Then I stop breathing.

I’ve seen pieces of him before. His arms, his shoulders, the scars along his hands and throat. But not this—Hewit in all his male glory.

His chest is broad and powerful, marked with pale lines that cross his muscles in irregular paths. Some are thin, others thicker. One runs from beneath his ribs toward his side and disappears around his back. His stomach is ridged with hard muscle, and lower—God—his cock strains against the front of his jeans, thick and long enough that the outline makes my mouth go dry.

I reach out, then stop.

“You can,” Hewit says gruffly.

I trace one scar lightly across his chest, and his stomach tightens beneath my fingers. “Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

I look up to find him watching me carefully, as if he’s waiting for pity. He’ll be disappointed because pity is the last thing I feel for him. Only a deep ache for the pain he had to survive.

I press my mouth to the scar beneath his collarbone, then another, lower. His skin is hot under my lips. When I drag my tongue along one pale ridge, his breath catches and his hand slides into my hair, gripping tight enough to make my scalp tingle.

“Nora.”

I kiss another scar, then another, working lower until I’m near the waistband of his jeans. His grip tightens.

When I straighten, his eyes are burning. “You’re making this very hard.”

I glance at the bulge pressing against his jeans. “I noticed. You said you gained inches after the change, and apparently, you weren’t exaggerating.”

That earns me a real smile—almost feral—before Hewit reaches behind me and unhooks my bra.

Heat spreads across my skin as the straps slide down my arms. My breasts are bare, nipples tight and flushed. Hewit’s gaze drops, along with his smile. He stares at them, entranced.

I start to say something nervous and probably ridiculous, but he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of it makes me moan out loud. His tongue flicks, then he sucks harder, and my hands fly to his shoulders. He switches to the other breast, teeth grazing enough to make me arch into him. His hands move over my back, my waist, then upward again, cupping both breasts while he works one nipple with his mouth and the other with his thumb.

“Oh—God⁠—”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, lips wet. “That good?”

“Yes.”

He does it again, slower this time, watching my face as he pinches lightly.

I grab his shoulders harder. “Very.”

His mouth curves against my skin.

After that, things become less orderly. My jeans disappear under his hands. His follow. I’m left in nothing but damp underwear, and Hewit is wearing only boxer briefs that do nothing to hide the heavy shape of his cock.

He follows my gaze as I gawk. “Nora.”

“What?”