I didn’t struggle but wrapped my fingers around his waist.
God, his skin was soft but his muscles were hard and he was warm all over.
Shit!
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” I told his back.
“Don’t worry, love, I’ll get you ready.”
Oh boy.
“I think we should… oh!”
I cried out because he tossed me over his shoulder and I landed on my back on the downy covers of his soft bed.
He towered over me, still as a statue except his eyes which travelled the length of me, their path burning my skin like it was a physical thing.
Oh God, I was in trouble.
“Tor –”
“Take off your dressing gown,” he ordered.
My brows drew together. “My –?” I started to ask.
“Take it off, Cora, or I will and I won’t be gentle.”
Holy crap.
I got up on my elbows. “Tor!”
He pulled off his bathsheet.
I started hyperventilating.
I was not wrong. He had great thighs. And there was something else about him that was great too. So great, just looking at him in all his glory, I forgot to be nervous, scared or wonder what future lay ahead of me.
I just wanted all of that for me.
And I was going to get it. I knew this when he fell forward, his arm coming out to control his fall, his hand landing in the bed beside me, him landing mostly on me.
But he held his body away and he did this in order to untie the satin sash of my robe, doing it with a non-too-gentle yank that jerked my whole body with it.
The heat between my legs intensified and got wet.
Or wetter.
Oh my.
“Uh –” I started.
“Quiet,” he ordered, shoving the chiffon aside.
“I think –” I tried again.
“Quiet,” he repeated then yanked the nightgown up.
Oh… my.