Page 63 of Maybe You

He’s not wearing any underwear.

So now he’s naked.

One hundred percent.

Not a stitch of clothing on him.

And that’s all just, as unbelievable as it sounds, background noise.

Because he’s also rock hard.

His cock is pointing toward the ceiling, long and stiff and definitely, one hundred percent hard.

When I look up, I find him eyeing me with an arrogant smirk on his lips.

I let go of the shirt, and it drops down in front of my feet.

His eyes move over the scars on my chest. The mesh of borrowed skin from other parts of my body and the patterns my old skin has drawn on me in its effort to stitch me back together.

He’s still hard.

I push my sweats down past my hips, and then I tug them off my feet, which isn’t even in the realm of a sexy seduction, but then when I straighten myself up again, guess what?

He’s still hard.

My underwear is last to go, and then I’m standing opposite him, just as naked as he is, covered in scars and with no visible abdominal muscles or really anything noteworthy in a strictly positive way.

And he’s still hard.

And when he swipes his gaze up and down me, his dick jerks.

And I suck in a breath that gets stuck somewhere in my lungs.

And I wait.

He’s still hard.

And I’m hard, too.

And my nerves start to ease slowly and something hot sparks inside my belly.

So this is what it feels like to be wanted.

The spark turns into a heady, exhilarating rush, a bit terrifying and a lot overwhelming.

He wants me.

Sutton saunters closer with the ease and confidence of somebody who knows damn well that his birthday suit is designer and he wears it well.

He captures my face between his hands and gives me another one of those thorough kisses he seems to have mastered so effortlessly.

We’re both panting when he pulls away.

And he’s hard.

And I’m hard.

“You’re sexy as hell,” he says in a low voice.

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