Page 80 of The Goat in the Bedroom
She laughed, but it was self-deprecating. “You don't have to?—“
“No.” I cut her off firmly. “You're perfect. You're strong. You're powerful.” I ran my hand down her arm, feeling the muscle there. “These arms that can tackle anyone on the rugby pitch. Do you know what it does to me watching you play?”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“Drives me fucking crazy. The way you move, all that controlled power.” I shifted, hovering over her slightly so I could look directly into her eyes. “These beautiful, strong shoulders.” I traced my fingers across her collarbones. “This body that does so many incredible things.”
“Gryff...”
“Can I see you? All of you?” I asked. “Will you let me?” Of course I knew what she looked like, but I'd had to leave it up to my very, very fucking vivid imagination to fantasize the color of her nipples, or the way her ass would fit into my hands.
She tensed immediately. “I?—“
“We don't have to. We can stay just like this.”
“No, I want to, I just...” She bit her lip. “I'm sure I'm not going to look like the other women you've been with. There's never been anything delicate about me. Or?—“
“Thank fucking god,” I said with such vehemence that she laughed. “Artie, you could crush a man between these thighs and he'd die happy.”
She smiled for the first time. “That's a weird compliment.”
“But accurate.” I ran my hand down to her hip, squeezing gently. “Can I?”
She nodded, and I slowly, carefully, helped her out of her shirt. The bra underneath was simple, black, and I had to take a breath because she was so fucking perfect it hurt.
“Jesus Christ, Artie. Look at you.” I was so awestruck by getting to see even this much of her, I could barely get the words out.
“Stop.” A soft pink rose up her throat and cheeks. “I don't need to be flattered.”
“I'm not being nice. I'm being honest.” I traced my finger along the edge of her bra. “You're like a fucking goddess. All powerful curves and soft skin.”
Don't say you want her thighs wrapped around your head. That's too much. Don't scare her.
“Can it be your turn, now?” she asked quietly. “I... want to see you too.”
I pulled my shirt off without hesitation, and her hands immediately came up to touch my chest, exploring. When her fingers traced over my abs, I had to bite back a groan.
She was a hundred percent with me, then her eyes went to the side and I could practically see the fear gears trying to tell her to stop. “Touch me like you were, if you want to.”
I wasn't beneath begging, but we were on a precarious edge here and one push too far, and I might lose this one chance with her.
“I do want to.” Her hand hovered inches from my chest.
“Hey.” I caught her hand, brought it to my lips. “Stay with me, baby. Tell me what you're thinking.”
“That I should be better at this. That I should know what to do.”
“There's no should here. There's just us.” I kissed each of her fingertips. “Remember freshman year when we went to that terrible party at the baseball house?”
She laughed. “The one where someone tried to make jungle juice in a kiddie pool?”
“That's the one. You wore that blue dress and spent the whole night teaching me rugby rules using beer cans as players.”
She smirked at me in such a cute way. The way she did when we truly were just friends, being friends. “Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because that's when I first noticed your thighs,” I admitted. “You were demonstrating a scrum and your dress rode up and I completely forgot how to speak for like five minutes.”
“You did not.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at me.
