Page 116 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“But,” I paused to watch as he pulled off his hoodie. “I’m notanyone.”

“Maybe I wanted to surprise ya.”

“Did you?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna buy it, and I wanted to think it over myself before I got anyone else’s opinion.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not like you, Myla,” he added. “Don’t run everythin’ by my mom and my girls and the chick that makes my coffee—”

“To be fair, the chick that makes my coffee is my cousin,” I muttered. “I mean, I call her aunt, but that’s more of a respect thing. She’s actually my dad’s cousin—” I met his eyes. “I’ll shut up now.”

“I know who Charlie is,” he replied flatly.

“Okay, I get not talking about every little thing,” I conceded. “But we’re together now, right? That’s what you said. So, you have to tell me now. Especially when it’s big stuff like that. I deserve to know.”

“I woulda told you before,” he said, shoving his jeans down his hips. “You weren’t talkin’ to me.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“We done arguin’ about this shit?”

I nodded.

He was wearing navy blue boxer briefs, and they didn’t hide anything. Every line of his body was right there for me to stare at, and I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. I’d found plenty of people attractive in my life, slept with a few of them, admired some of them from afar, but I’d never seen anyone that checked every single box the way Cian did. He was gorgeous andmuscular, and his hands were calloused, and his tattoos were fucking fantastic, and I was instantly turned on.

“You gonna wear those clothes to bed?” he asked, reaching down to pull off his socks.

The tattoo on his back was as familiar to me as my own signature. The Aces insignia was distinct and surprisingly beautiful, but seeing it on Cian hit different. It was proof that he was—for lack of a better way to explain it—one of us. He was loyal to my family in a way that would never happen outside of the club and was completely separate from our relationship. There was something profoundly comforting about that.

“I think you were made for me,” I murmured as he straightened.

“That’s good, baby,” he said, his expression softening. “’Cause you were definitely made for me.”

He strode around the bed and reached for the bottom of my sweater, pulling it off in one smooth motion.

“Ah, come on,” he said, staring at my breasts. “You were wearin’ that at dinner with my family?”

“It doesn’t show lines,” I replied. “That sweater shows every bump of a lace bra.”

“It’s see through.”

“It’s seamless.”

“See throughmesh.”

“Wait ’til you see the underwear,” I joked.

“They match?” With a quick tug, Cian pulled my pants down to my knees. “Damn,” he murmured, pressing his face into the juncture of my thighs.

I let out a noise of surprise when I felt him nip me through the underwear.

He pushed the pants to my ankles so I could step out of them and turned me around so he could see the back.

“You can’t wear this shit outta the house.”

“Excuse you?”

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