J. Saman

start to squirm, unable to stop it as I say, “Yes. I’d rather not set you on fire, if that’s okay. The cuffs of your shirt stick out.”

“Fair enough.” With his eyes locked on mine, he slowly undoes one button at a time, starting at the top, and holy hell, what have I gotten myself into? My heart beats off-rhythm as heated pumps of lust rush through my blood. He gets to the bottom, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the stool, leaving him in a black tank top undershirt showing off his arm muscles and tattoos and…

I take an inadvertent step forward, my eyes glued to his chest. To his left nipple.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper, staring at the outline of the barbell through the thin cotton that clings to every ridge and groove of him.

“Sometimes.” His voice a deep, rich timbre that gives me chills.

I look up and meet his eyes. “Does it feel good?”

My chest quakes.

The green of his eyes is nearly fully eclipsed with black pupils as he licks his lips and nods. “Sometimes. Depending on…”

“On what someone does to it?” I finish for him.

Because refusing you anything makes me physically sick.”

I fucking promise. I promise to listen to you. Although I can’t promise that I’ll be happy about it. But I need to know that I have you. That for the rest of my life I have you here, with me, loving me. Loving me like no one has ever loved before. Tell me, Bronwyn. Because if I don’t… if I don’t have you, I’m going to–”

I finally reach up and put my mouth on him, kissing his words away so I can give him some of mine.

“I will.”