The button fly of his jeans turned into a torture device at the sight, but he couldn’t help playing with her a little more. “Seems needlessly uncomfortable for you. The bed is plenty big.” Parting his legs, he patted the mattress between them invitingly.
She considered his proposal for a moment, chewing her lip the whole time, and slowly shook her head. “No. I think we should stick to the book.”
“Okay.” He assumed the preferred position and gave her a quick squeeze with his knees. “But for a wild woman, you’re awfully strict on the logistics.” His amusement dried up when she rested her hands on his thighs.
“Wild woman in training,” she corrected, and reached for his fly.
He intercepted her hand. “Just hold on a minute. This book of yours says just sit the guy down, whip it out, and get to work?”
She frowned and he could practically hear the gears in her mind turning while she mentally reviewed everything she’d read. “Um, I guess they didn’t really cover any particular lead-in. Is there something I’m supposed to do first?”
“You could try touching me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want. Gently,” he added when her eyes zoomed in on his crotch.
She nodded and, to his surprise, placed her hands on his knees. Slowly, she ran them up his thighs, following the inseams of his jeans. He held his breath when she reached the top, then expelled it slowly as she trailed her hands down again.
“Wasn’t so tough, was it?”
Her eyes flicked to his. “No. To be honest, I’ve got kind of a thing about your legs.” Her hands started up again, this time her thumbs leading the way. His cock began throb impatiently.
“That so?” The words scraped over his throat like sandpaper.
“Umm-hmm. They’re long and muscular. I’ve been wondering if those muscles felt as good as they look.” Having reached the top of his inseam, she shifted her hands around to the front of his thighs and squeezed. “They do.”
Holy shit, he was going to die.
“Anything else you’ve been wondering about?”
Nodding, she scooted closer, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and gave it a little tug. Obligingly, he lifted his arms and she swept it over his head. After tossing the shirt away, her eyes found his. She rested her hands on his pecs and just stared at him for a long moment. Then her eyes dropped and her breath shuddered out in a rush.
“Good lord, Tyler, you’re like a work of art.”
The reverence in her voice sent heat creeping up his neck. “I’ve been called a lot of things, Doc, but never art.”
“Well, it’s true,” she insisted, and slid her palms down his chest and along his stomach. She stopped there, her hands moving restlessly back and forth over his painfully tight abs. “What happened here?” she asked, fingers tracing the pale scar slashed down his side. “Another wild night at Rawley’s?”
The scar was a souvenir from Big Joe, but he wasn’t about to bring his dearly departed daddy into the evening. “No, it’s old…”
His explanation ended in a groan when she lowered her head and ran her lips along the jagged line. He buried his hand in her hair and dragged her head up for a long, hot kiss. When he eased back, she pressed her forehead against the underside of his jaw and inhaled slowly.
“Anything else you want to touch, Doc?”
Her eyes dropped to his lap. “Now?”
“Now would be awesome.”
She slipped one hand into the front of his jeans, nails scraping lightly under the waistband of his shorts on her quest to find him. He surged up to meet those roving fingers and suddenly, circulation became a critical thing. Groaning, he tugged at his fly. Like a homing pigeon, her free hand followed and their fingers tangled in a frantic race to pop the buttons. Finally, they had his jeans open, his shorts shoved down, and her hand banded around his brutally sensitive cock.
He watched, halfway between amused and agonized, as she looked down and sucked in a breath.
“I’d forgotten all about your nickname until now.”
He laughed, even though her busy hands were fast eliminating his ability to think straight. “What nickname?”
&n