Page 158 of The Lineman

He didn’t use words without a purpose, without meaning.

I knew that. Ihadto believe that.

And if he did wake up in the morning and try to backpedal—well, I’d just have to remind him exactly how good it had felt to say it.

My grin returned at that thought.

I reached out and felt the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin. So, slowly, carefully, I let my fingers trace over the broad expanse of his back.

I started at his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the firm ridges of muscle, the tension that always seemed to linger. I smoothed my palm over him, feeling the heat radiating off his body, before dragging my fingertips down, following the curve of his spine.

His skin was so warm, so taut, covered in faint scars from years of hard work. I let my fingers follow them, mapping out every inch like he was something sacred, mine to learn.

Elliot let out a quiet sigh, his body shifting slightly beneath my touch.

Still, he didn’t wake.

I grinned.

Even in sleep, he felt me.

I trailed my hand lower, skimming over the deep curve of his lower back, the dip where his spine met his hips. He twitched slightly, a faint shiver running through him, and I bit my lip, pressing my palm flat against his side.

So damn responsive.

My touch moved to his arms next, tracing the defined lines, the veins that stood out beneath his skin. He was a fucking roadmap, an interstate system of arteries standing out so boldly against his tanned skin. His hands, rough and calloused, lay slack on the sheets. I brought my fingers over them, ghosting across his knuckles, up to his forearm, feeling the strength there.

These hands worked.

These hands built.

These hands held me like I was something worth keeping.

The thought sent a shiver through me.

Elliot shifted again, pressing his face further into the pillow.

I swallowed, feeling something dangerous coil in my chest, something close to reverence.

I had never worshiped anyone before.

But God, I wanted to worship him.

And in that moment, my hands were my prayer.

I slid lower, dragging my palm over his thigh, the fur found nowhere else on his body save his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath his skin. I grinned when I felt a faint tremor run through him.

“Ticklish?” I murmured, though I knew he wouldn’t answer.

My fingers raked up and down the back of his thigh, my touch featherlight, watching as his skin reacted, his body instinctively tightening before relaxing again.

Then, finally, I let my hand drift to his ass.

His perfect, round, ridiculously hard ass.

Sculpted in a way that made my mouth water.

I traced over one cheek, squeezing slightly, enjoying the way he shifted.

---