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And mercy, did the fabric hug it tight.
I could see the curve of him and everything clenched inside of me. There might have also been a little bit of panic since this was my first time.
Then again, Asher didn’t seem to be average in any capacity, so why would that particular appendage be any different?
He untucked his shirt the rest of the way and slowly unbuttoned the crisp pearl-colored shirt. A tight white T-shirt stretched across his chest. So many freaking layers.
If I’d been a little braver, I would have risen up to push the shirt up and out of the way, but let’s be real.
Every part of me was shaking at the idea of exactly what was under those gloriously tailored slacks.
Even his undershirt was something more than off the rack. Ripples of muscle showed under the superfine cotton. And the hint of something else.
Another tattoo?
“The way you look at me. God, I hope I don’t disappoint you. I’d hate to lose that gorgeous expression.”
“I think the worry is the other way around.”
“You couldn’t disappoint me. You don’t look like the kind of woman who lays there like a dead fish.”
A quick laugh rolled out of me. “That’s a thing?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that.”
“Let’s not talk about anything other than us.”
“I like the sound of that. Just like the first time.”
His smile softened. “I’m as nervous as the first time.”
“Yeah?” I swallowed hard. “Me too.”
He reached behind his neck and tugged the shirt over his head. His neat hair was tousled a bit and I liked it even more. Not so perfect. Especially when I was anything but.
He tossed his undershirt aside and crawled over me. “Now I can finally get you skin to skin.”
The arrow of hair fanned down his pecs and trailed down his muscular stomach. I trailed my fingers through the fine hairs there and shivered at the warmth of his smooth skin. “So beautiful.”
“You’re the beautiful one, not me.”
I followed the winding beads of his rosary tattoo. So much ink on someone I’d thought was so buttoned-up upon first glance. “I beg to differ.”
He closed his eyes as I followed the intricate lines and shading to his neck before he lowered himself to rub against my breasts. His groan matched my own as he covered me and my mouth.
My legs opened for him and the soft wool of his pants cushioned the decadently hard line of his shaft as he moved lightly against the lace of my panties.
Such small barriers, and yet they felt like too much.
I wanted his skin on me—all of it.
I curled my arms around his shoulders and moaned as he settled on top of me.
“Am I too heavy?”
“No. You’re perfect.” I curled my leg around his hip. I’d never had a man between my legs like this. The few boyfriends I’d had were more interested in getting a hand between my thighs than in actually fitting themselves against me. Forget taking the time to touch and kiss with meaning.
