Page 74 of Hard Limits

“I can walk.”

Barely.

In the elevator, I watched us in the mirrored wall, my shirt buttoned wonkily, my too-long bangs flopping over my eyes as my head rested on Brax’s shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered.

“I’m thinking that my life is a mess, but there’s nothing I’d change about being here today with you.”

That was the honest truth.

Brax’s bed was a huge metal four-poster, the head and foot a series of interlocking curves and rectangles that matched the Art Deco style of the building. The sheets were dark red, and in my culture, red was associated with Durga, goddess of strength and protection, a fierce warrior who embodied courage I could only dream of.

“Carissa has never slept in this bed,” he told me. “I remodelled last year.”

“Keep her name out of our bedroom.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He took my hand in his and kissed my palm. “She’s gone.”

And so was my shirt. Brax yanked it open this time, and buttons scattered everywhere. Dammit! My skirt pooled at my feet and I stood there almost naked, a deer in headlights because I knew what was coming next. I wasn’t scared, but I was definitely nervous.

And Brax was definitely wearing too many clothes.

“You still have your shoes on,” I muttered. “And everything else.”

“Then take it all off.”

My hands trembled as I unbuttoned his shirt and got my first proper look at Braxton Vale. A smooth chest, hard and defined but not too muscular. Just perfect. Tentatively, I ran my fingertips over his skin, so aware of him watching me.

“Am I doing this right?” I whispered.

“There’s no right or wrong, only what feels good and what doesn’t. Exploring each other’s bodies is natural.”

I walked around him, tracing the contours of his back, admiring the view, pausing to press my lips to each shoulder blade. The man was gorgeous. Of course, he was well aware of that.

“Can I?” I asked as I reached for his belt buckle.

“Be my guest.”

He was hard already, his cock forming a tent in briefs I was all too familiar with, seeing as I’d bought them three weeks ago. What I wasn’t familiar with was the deep V on either side of his torso, disappearing into the waistband. He really did spend a lot of time in the gym, didn’t he? Not that I was complaining.

The other surprise? The tattoo peeking out above his right butt cheek. I inched the waistband of the briefs down and found not only a taut ass but also two Chinese symbols, each a couple of inches high. Wow. I’d never pictured him as a tattoo guy.

“What does this mean?”

“Asshole.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It was a joke, by either the tattoo artist or the woman I was with at the time. Probably the woman.”

“A girlfriend got ‘asshole’ tattooed on your butt? What did you do to upset her?”

“I believe the correct term is ‘tramp stamp,’ and she was just a friend. Okay, a friend with occasional benefits, but definitely not a girlfriend. And she had a twisted sense of humour. I considered getting the ink removed, but I figured it’s a part of who I am.”

“At least it doesn’t say ‘egg fried rice.’”

Brax laughed. “True.”

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