I let my hands settle under his shirt, against his skin. I’d never felt anything like it. Raw power radiated from the ﬂesh-covered muscles, his abdomen taut and rippled, and I wanted to see it. I wanted to see, to feel, every inch of him. His body was a drug, and I craved more. I pushed his shirt up as he continued kissing me, until ﬁnally he pulled away and reached behind to yank it off.
He knelt at the edge of the bed, looking down at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was too busy tracking every inch of skin he’d uncovered. Like I’d imagined, his tattoos continued to more than just his forearms. They arced up over his biceps and massive shoulders, trailing down his chest, several littering the ridges of his stomach. Some wrapped around his sides, and I could only imagine what I’d ﬁnd when I looked at his back.
He groaned. “Christ, Madison. You need to stop looking at me like that.” He came down next to me this time, his body half covering mine, the evidence of exactly how much he wanted me pressed into my hip. He slid his hand to my waist and down to my hips before he moved under my shirt. Slowly, so slowly I ached, he continued and allowed the piece of cotton to bunch up against his wrist, his thumb tracing soft circles as he went. And the whole time, he watched me. His eyes never left mine, and the intensity in them stole my breath.