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“I’m sorry he assumed—”
“I’m not.”
I grab my canteen and he watches as I tear open the tea bag and raw dog it—dumping the contents into my mouth and chasing it with water. It tastes bitter and earthy.
He’s perfectly still, his eyes locked on mine. I take off the heavy flannel I’m wearing as a jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Then I pull my T-shirt off over my head, discarding it, too.
Evander’s lips part as he takes me in. I’m wearing a simple nude bra with no frills, but his eyes are filled with such longing and wonder that I feel sexy, even with my boots and pants still on.
“I want to feel good,” I say softly. “With you.”
He nods once, his eyes glued to me as he unbuckles his holster.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, unlacing my boots and removing them, following with my socks. When I stand up to remove my pants, Evander finally speaks.
“Can I do it?”
The flutter in my stomach makes emotion well in my throat. I run the tip of my tongue over my lips and nod.
He sheds his jacket and removes his T-shirt, the carved lines of muscle on his chest making me bite my lower lip in anticipation. I want to trace every dip in his dark, smooth skin with my fingertips and tongue.
When he takes a step closer to me, I put a palm up. He freezes.
“I don’t know if I love you,” I blurt. “I feel ... a lot for you. It’s intense. But I think ... I’m too scared to let it be love yet.”
His nod is almost imperceptible.
“I know I want you, though. I want to feel good and make you feel good. I want to forget anything exists outside of here.”
“I want you, too.” He holds his hand out. “So much I’m shaking. But I don’t want to disappoint you.”
I gently grab the waistband of his pants and tug, my pulse racing. He closes the distance between us, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
I close my eyes, just feeling.
He puts his hand on the small of my back, spanning almost its full width and sending a shiver rippling down my spine.
I find his other hand and guide it to one of my breasts. He inhales sharply, stroking his thumb over my nipple through my bra.
When I open my eyes and run my palm over his warm, hard chest, a soft groan rumbles from his throat. I softly kiss his shoulder, his warm breath caressing my ear.
We explore each other’s arms and chests, fingertips grazing and goose bumps forming. I trace the lines of his inner palm, then the back of his hand.
He gently turns me so my back is to his chest, banding an arm around my waist, making me gasp softly. His touch is featherlight as he slowly slides the bra straps from my shoulders and eases my arms out of them. My bra hangs down, cool air washing over my nipples.
He palms my breasts and I feel a rumble in his chest. When I press myself back into his thick erection, the rumble becomes a deep, gravelly groan.
I put a hand on the back of his neck, my fingertips pressing into his hairline as he teases my nipples, pinching and rolling and tracing. I’ve never been so desperately invested in the next motion of any man’s hands.
“I was told you were inexperienced,” I manage, leaning my head back into his chest.
His hum of amusement is accompanied by the slow downward glide of his hands. They smooth over the flat of my stomach and he slides his fingertips beneath the waistband of my pants, stopping.
I wiggle my ass against him, moaning with frustration.
“You feel amazing.” His tone is soft and tender in a way I’ve never heard.
He brushes his thumbs over my stomach. I sink the pads of my fingers into his hairline, the ache he’s built in me a sensual torture. He returns his attention to my nipples, tracing his fingertip around one until I let out a little whine.
