Page 57 of The Lineman

Mike just watched me, smiling slightly, his eyes flicking down to my mouth.

“Sit up,” I said.

He pushed himself up, using my chest instead of the floor.

“Oof!”

“Just doin’ what I’m told.” He smirked.

When he was sitting upright, straddling me, I scooted so I could sort of sit up, then gripped the bottom of his shirt and yanked it up. He struggled a moment when it reached his head but quickly lifted his arms and let it fly.

Mike wasn’t muscular. He wasn’t tanned. In fact, he was on the ghost-like end of the color spectrum. But bright red hair curled and swirled across taut, lean muscles in the most delicious way. I reached up and traced a finger through his hair, tentatively, as though meeting a dog for the first time and hoping it wouldn’t bite.

He shivered beneath my touch.

“Mike, damn, I knew you were handsome, but . . .”

His eyes fell away, and I swear he tried to cover his chest with his arms like some terrified kid who hated taking his shirt off at the beach.

“What is it?” I asked.

He still didn’t meet my gaze. “I don’t know. Guess I’ve always been a little shy about my body, especially when I’m sitting on top of a god.”

I snorted. “I’m hardly a god.”

“Fine, a statue of a god.”

I pressed my palm into his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He finally looked down.

“Mike, you’re beautiful.” I stroked his chest, enchanted by how his hair flamed against pearlescent skin. “Seriously, you’re—”

He leaned down and smothered my words with his mouth. His kiss wasn’t hungry or lecherous—or even sexual. It was passion and intimacy wrapped in . . . need.

I pulled his body down so we pressed together again and kissed him gently, stroking his hair and reveling in his touch. We were both still hard as rocks, but this was no longer about our cocks.

Something had shifted, and I wasn’t sure what it was.

When Mike pulled away from our kiss, his eyes brimmed.

I brushed back his hair and let my palm linger on his cheek.

“Mike?”

His head ducked in the cutest way. “No one’s ever called me beautiful before, not in a way I believed, at least.”

How could this be?

This man, his eyes, his body, the heart he wore so openly—everything about him screamed the deepest possible beauty. How was it possible he didn’t see it in himself when it was so obvious to me?

“Can we move to the couch?”

He gave me a tight smile and quick nod, then stood, extending a hand to help me up.

Before he could sit, I grabbed him about his waist and pulled him into me.

“Mike, I don’t know you well yet, but the man I see is amazing. Please don’t doubt that.”

Mike blinked rapidly, like he was about to sneeze—or warding away tears. He ducked his head again and nuzzled his face into my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and held him there, neither of us moving, for the longest moment.

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