I can’t breathe. Not because my air is somehow cut off, but because it’s impossible to breathe with him like this. Like he needs me. So I wrap my arms around his head and lace my fingers through his hair and wait for him to pull back.
We stay that way for a long couple of minutes. I can feel his heart beating, feel him calming down from whatever was getting him frazzled. When he finally pulls back, his face is somber.
“I’m sorry for . . .” he winces, unable to come up with the right term.
“Being an asshole?”
He nods, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yes. For that.”
“Say it.”
“What?” he laughs, pulling back further.
“Say, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole, Brynne.’“
“Now who’s being ridiculous?”
“Say it.” I take his hand and press it between my legs. “If you want to touch that again tonight, you’ll apologize.”
“Oh fuck,” he groans, trying to push into me. I take a giant step back. He squares his shoulders and pastes on a not-so-genuine smile. “I’m so, so sorry for being an asshole today, Brynne. Please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven.”
He rolls his eyes, making me giggle. “Anything else?” he asks.
“Want to tell me about your day?”
“Not really.”
I shrug and climb on the bed behind him. Grabbing his lapels and tugging, he helps me shrug his jacket off. I toss it to the side and press my front against his back, reaching over his shoulders to his tie.
He doesn’t resist. He leans his head to the other side and I work at the tie.
His jawline is rough and stubbly, brushing against my arm and sending chills up my spine. I discreetly look at his face and take in every bend and nook, looking for some flaw, something that isn’t completely perfect. I come up with nothing.
“My mom always says when she’s had a crazy day at work that it’s just work,” I say, hoping it helps. “So maybe you should just try to think like that. Whatever happened today is just work. Tomorrow is another day.”
“It’s not that easy. Not with what I have going on.”
I free his tie and toss it to the side. I begin working on the buttons.
“There are few things,” he says, “That make me more frustrated than knowing I could solve a problem and being held back.”
“Are you sure it’s your problem to solve?”
He just nods, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons. “Maybe not technically, I guess, but it is. I feel like it’s mine to solve, and the assholes I’m working with are incorrigible.”
“Um, you own restaurants, right?”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”
“Okay. So, what? You need to install a new fire suppression system or something?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I wish it were that easy, Brynne.”
I undo the last button and remove his shirt, nearly gasping. His back is on full display, and for a second, I forget about our conversation. I take in the ridges of his muscles, the dips and swells of each piece. His shoulders are broad, everything rippling like a work of art when he glances at me over his shoulder and catches me admiring his body.
“Sorry,” I grin, my cheeks flushing.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice thinking you like looking at me.”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
“For the record,” I say, shifting so I’m right behind him, “It’s just one of the things I like about you.” I take his beefy shoulders in my hands and knead them back and forth.
“Fuck,” he hisses, hanging his head. “That feels fucking good.”
He doesn’t know how good it feels to have him under my hands, to feel his skin move beneath mine. He’s a layer of silky skin stretched over the hardest muscle fibers I’ve ever felt. I’m certain I could get off just touching him.
“Oh,” he groans as I move to the back of his neck. The timbre of his voice shoots straight through me.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes.”
I let my breasts brush against his back. He rocks back against me, increasing the contact.
“Well, I like this too,” I breathe. “I love feeling your body in my hands.”
“You have no idea.”
“I think I do.”
Skirting to the side, letting my nails drag across his skin as I climb off the bed, I stand before him again. “Stand up.”
He does as I ask, unfolding himself to his full height. I watch as his abs move and his V becomes apparent. I bite my lip and try not to grin.
My fingers find his belt buckle and I deftly undo it. My knuckles brush against his cock, swollen and rock hard. I fumble with the button on his pants. He shoos my hands away and undoes it himself, dropping his pants and kicking them off with his shoes and boxers to the side.
I suck in a breath as I take him in completely for the very first time. I do what he does to me: start at his face, at his deep grey eyes, and let my eyes feast on every inch of his lean, tight body. When I make it to his cock, I can’t go any farther.
My mouth goes dry as I realize how big—and how hard—he is. I’ve always been bad at math, but he’s the biggest of any man I’ve ever been with.