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He stops short when he sees me, his hand still on the door.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, raking his gaze over me.

He stares. I stare back.

He stares some more.

I squirm. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” He kicks the door shut with his foot, his eyes never leaving mine.

I frown. “If you can’t tell, I’m not doing it right.”

“Oh, you’re sure as hell doing it right, but why? I thought we were going to take this slow.”

I sit up, tugging the sheet with me.

“Jesus, you’re naked, aren’t you?”

I am. I might have a vibrator, but I don’t have sexy underwear. Even having never done this before, I know plain cotton panties and bras aren’t part of any seduction routine.

His words rile me. Not the naked part, but before that.

“You thought, Austin. You thought we were going to take this slow. I wanted it at the spring. I want it now. I really want to finish what we started at the Dusty Rose. I want more orgasms. I want sex. I’m ready for it. I ache for it.”

His brow wings up and a slow smile spreads across his face. “You ache, sweetheart?”

I nod and my cheeks warm at all I just admitted. I do. I so ache for him, and my tone only helps give me away. I’m wet and my clit throbs with need. He hasn’t thrown me out. In fact, he’s toeing off his boots as he reaches behind his neck to tug off his T-shirt. I saw him at the spring in only his boxer briefs, but seeing his chest again makes my mouth water.

His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow. Muscles bulge and flex as he takes off his clothes. I remembered how he felt beneath my hands, but hopefully now I’ll have time to explore.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says. “In town.”

He opens his belt buckle.

“I didn’t know what to say to your dad because I didn’t—”

“I don’t think now’s the time to talk about my father.”

He pushes his jeans and boxers down and off and he stands upright, his dick—hard and thick and long—bobbing upward against his belly.

Yeah, I don’t want to talk about my father at all. Austin is more amazing than I imagined.

He moves to the side of the bed. “Drop the sheet.”

I swallow again, my nerves skittering.

He grips the base of his dick and squeezes. With a tight fist, he strokes himself from root to tip and a bead of liquid oozes from the slit. “This is what you do to me, Carly. I love that you’re here. That you want to do this with me.”

He reaches out and curls his fingers into the sheet that’s hiked between my breasts. The hold has the fabric lowering a little, although if I truly wanted to stay covered, I could resist.

But it’s futile now.

He’s here.

He’s what I want.

I won’t let a piece of cloth get in the way now.