Page 75 of Spooked

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.”

I crouched to untie his shoes, and he stepped out of the pants. We were both down to our underwear now—well, just a bra for me since he’d already ripped off my panties—and I’d always thought I’d feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Brax’s eyes were hungry, but my skin prickled with desire, not worry.

He fiddled with the clasp of my bra for a moment, then gave up and tore that off too, leaving me in the high-heeled pumps and nothing else. I started to remove one, but he shook his head.

“No, leave them on. I want to feel those heels digging into my ass later.”

“To share the pain?” I asked without thinking.

Meera said her first time felt as if she were being split in half. Since it had taken place in the back seat of a car, she’d also bruised her elbow and cricked her neck. Thanks to my medical training, I understood the pain would depend to a degree on the amount of hymenal tissue I had, but I was under no illusion that it wouldn’t hurt.

Brax tilted my chin so I couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I can’t promise it’ll be painless, but I’ll do my utmost to make it pleasurable. You’re trusting me with something precious, and I’m not going to abuse that trust.”

Of that, I was certain. “There’s nobody I’d rather be doing this with.”

“Good.”

“So, can we just…you know, get it over with?”

“No. No, I think we’ll take our time.”

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