Page 179 of Tell Me Something True

“Strip. Now.”

Rearing up into a sitting position, she bent over to undo the straps of her sandals, but her fingers were stiff and clumsy, and she fumbled several times with the tiny tab until she finally got the strap out of the hook. But then she glanced up to see Miles reach behind his head and pull his T-shirt off.

And her fingers stopped working altogether.

Her fingers. Her brain. Her lungs. All just shut down over a man’s naked torso.

Yes, yes, she’d seen him shirtless before. Countless times. The last time being when she’d helped him shower after his anxiety attack. But she hadn’t taken the time to study him. To admire him.

She was making up for that here and now.

He was so beautiful. A work of art disguised as a man with dark, messy hair, watchful eyes, and golden skin. His shoulders were broad, his biceps rounded, his pecs defined. And his abs? Those stacks of muscles had her own decidedly non-stacked, much softer stomach quivering pleasantly.

But it was the dense, dark hair covering his chest that had her mouth going dry. It was thicker than when they’d been together. Neatly trimmed, it covered his upper chest and those defined pecs, then thinned into a line that bisected his ribcage—and those stacks of muscles—before continuing past his belly button to disappear in the waistband of his jeans.

A long, lovely happy trail she’d gladly follow any day.

Noticing her watching him—and not doing what he’d told her to do—Miles paused, his shirt balled in his hands. Studied her in that serious, solemn, narrow-eyed I see all and know all way of his.

Maybe he did see and know all, or maybe he just saw her, knew her, because instead of insisting she do as he’d said, instead of reminding her that she was supposed to be doing for him, he took the steps needed to close the distance between them.

And held out his shirt to her. Like an offering.

Like a gift.

As if he was telling her that for all his commands, demands, and control, he would willingly dismantle himself for her.

Piece by piece.

Bit by bit.

That he’d willingly give those pieces and bits to her to hold.

That he trusted her with them.

Straightening, she accepted his shirt with trembling hands. Held it against her chest, as if the warm, soft cotton could muffle the sound of her pounding heart.

He stepped back to his original spot then toed off his sneakers. Kicked them aside.

When he reached for the button of his jeans, she wanted to continue holding his gaze. She did. There was something raw and intimate and so very honest about looking into his dark eyes while he left himself so open to her. As if he was baring more than just his body to her.

But she couldn’t.

And it wasn’t because that rawness was too overwhelming. Or because that intimacy was too frightening. It wasn’t even because that honesty left her feeling shaken and exposed herself.

It was because she didn’t want to miss what he revealed next.

Dropping her gaze to his fingers, anticipation like a second skin, she watched as he worked the button of his jeans free. Kept her eyes glued to his fingers as he tugged down the zipper, the soft zzzzip of it skimming along her nerve endings. Raising goosebumps along her arms.

He shoved down his jeans and boxer briefs and she followed the denim and cotton as they moved down his body. Was riveted by each inch revealed to her. The smooth, pale skin of his upper thighs. The hard, curved muscles of his quads. The bumps of his knees. Was enthralled by how his skin got darker and hairier the farther down they went. How the muscles of his legs bunched and flexed as he bent slightly, lifting one leg, then the other to tug his clothes off. Stayed bent over to take off his socks.

He straightened to his full height. Had she said he was a work of art?

Try a masterpiece.

His cock jutted out, long and thick, the head tipped with a dot of glistening precum. Remembering the taste of him, she licked her bottom lip. Shifted forward, her upper body angled toward him, and she whimpered, then pressed her lips together to try and capture the sound. Smother it.

But he heard. He heard and he saw that she was trembling, her breathing unsteady. Her attention zeroed in on the tip of his cock.

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