Page 39 of Yearn
And she was smiling.
Not that polite, strained smile she wore for the neighbors who always came by, not the weary one she gave her kids when she’dused up every ounce of energy at work but still wanted them to feel loved.
This smile was relaxed, beautiful, and bright. It was the kind of smile that made me forget oxygen existed.
Her face looked different too, without the weight of the day pressing on it.
Lighter.
Softer.
Breathtaking.
Her gaze widened as she took me in, then slid—slowly, helplessly—down my damp muscular chest, over my sculpted abs, and then lingered where the towel bulged from my thick, aching erection.
Heat flashed in her gaze so quick I almost doubted it.
Almost.
Hmmm. You see how hard I am, but do you know that you’re the reason for it?
She lifted her view to me and cleared her throat. “I uh. . .am sorry.”
“Why?”
“You’re busy—”
“I’m not.”
“It’s late.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. . .” Her gaze hit my cock again, she blinked and looked away.
I smirked.
She cleared her throat. “I should go. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“Stay. You’re not interrupting anything.” I stepped to the side. “Come in. Please.”
“O-kay.” She entered in, carefully, as if she were entering someplace sacred.
Her silk pants whispered as she moved past me, the fabric sliding against her thighs, clinging just enough to show the outline of her thick hips. The red top gaped slightly when she breathed, hinting at the swell of her breasts, the soft dark brown skin I wanted to bury my mouth in.
God, she had no idea. If I’d been a gentleman, I would’ve excused myself, put on pants, maybe even laughed it off. But I wasn’t interested in being a gentleman tonight.
I wanted her to look at me andsee—not just the polite tenant who helped with the kids, not just the boy with books stacked too high.
I wanted her to see the man. The muscle cut sharp across my chest, the ridges of my abs flexing every time I shifted, the raw size of my thick cock fighting against the towel at my waist.
I wanted her to know how hard I was for her.
How heavy.
How much my cock ached.
When I shut the door, I got in front of her and shifted my stance deliberately, letting the terrycloth tug tighter across the thickness, making the bulge impossible to miss. My length twitched under the towel, an obscene throb that pulled her gaze down again before she could stop herself.
