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She was torn between wanting to hurry, wanting him inside her now, and wanting to make the moment last, the impossibility of their future making her want to cling to every moment in case it was their last.
Her center was pulsing with need as she reached for the hem of his jersey and lifted, forcing him to pause in his plundering of her mouth to let her remove the shirt. She leaned in to kiss his shoulders, his chest.
“I should shower,” he said.
“I like you like this,” she said against his skin.
She relished the animal scent of him, the sweat that lingered as salt on his skin. He was the opposite of the men she knew at work — the controlled men in suits and ties with dead eyes who thought working up a sweat meant going to the gym for an hour four days a week.
Nick might wear a suit when he was crunching numbers for MIS, but inside he was a savage force, a man who wasn’t afraid to beat and bludgeon his way through a rugby field, through life.
An animal crouched inside his skin.
The knowledge of it thrilled her and she reached for his shorts, anxious to see him naked in all his glory.
He closed a hand around her wrist. “Not yet.”
The tone in his voice left no room for argument and another shiver snaked through her body.
Her hand shot out instinctively as he moved to remove her T-shirt. “I don’t… I want… I’m…”
I don’t want you to see me. I want you to think I’m beautiful. I’m scared.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
She swallowed hard. This wasn’t something she’d had to do before. She could reveal her body for one night. That part was easy. Revealing her fear, her vulnerability, that was as far from easy as it got.
“The accident…” She drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I have scars.”
“We all have scars, Alexa.”
She shook her head. “You don't understand…”
He held her face and looked into her eyes. “I want to see you. To know you. I promise you there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She swallowed and nodded.
His eyes never left hers as he peeled off her T-shirt. He reached behind her, the brush of his bare skin against her own the sweetest kind of torture as he unhooked her bra and tossed the garment aside.
He didn’t stare but she was all too aware of her nakedness — of the wicked scar that ran low on her belly, the one just under her right breast, the ones on her back that he couldn’t yet see, the network of puckered lines on her left leg.
She closed her eyes as he knelt in front of her, following his instructions to lift her feet one at a time so he could remove her boots. She kept her eyes closed when he lifted his hands to unfasten her jeans but she didn’t protest as he slid them from her thighs along with her underwear. She forced herself not to flinch as his hands brushed against the ruined skin of her left leg.
She knew he was standing again from the rustle of his shorts, the touch of his chest against hers in the moment before he lifted her chin to kiss her.
She let herself disappear into the kiss, allowed herself to push aside the knowledge that she was naked in front of him, that he could see everything.
“Lay down, Alexa.”
She wasn’t in the habit of obeying commands, but she found herself obeying this one: sitting on the bed, scooting back until she was lying down, watching him strip off his shorts.
Her eyes combed his body, both admiring and envying his perfection. His skin was smooth and tight over muscled shoulders and pecs, unmarred over abs she could trace with her fingers. His cock, massive and hard, jutted between thighs thick from his years running and fighting on the rugby field. It was hard to believe such beauty had existed under the suit he’d been wearing when she’d first met him.
His eyes were dark with need and something like pain as he looked down at her. She instinctively lay a hand over the scar on her stomach, rejecting his pity.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’re…” He shook his head, lay next to her, and pulled her into his arms. He looked into her eyes. “For what? For being so beautiful it hurts to look at you?”
