Shane (Damage Control 4)

He leans back, propping his hands on the mattress, and his cock is clearly outlined inside his jeans. Hard. Thick. Big.

A flush is climbing up my neck. I kneel on the rug to unlace his boots, doing my best not to look up, because I’ll rip off his pants and climb him like a tree.

He’s just had a bad flashback. Don’t be stupid, Cass.

But he’s hard.

So what? Focus on helping. Let him take the initiative. He’s like a minefield, a sexy, pretty minefield, and although he’s told me the triggers he could think of, that doesn’t mean we’ve covered everything.

I tug off his boots and socks, drop them to the floor. Placing my hands on his denim-clad knees, I start to rise.

“Cass.” Just that, just my name on his lips, in that raspy-sexy voice, and I gulp. If it was up to me, I’d be riding him already, scratching my nails down that perfect chest, down those lickable abs, watching his beautiful face twist in need and pleasure, his big cock filling me like nobody else ever did.

Holy shit, my nipples are hard and achy, my breasts heavy, and my pussy is clenching on nothing. Need him.

This is crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone like this, like I’m about to come just from looking at him and remembering the feel of his cock under my hand and in my mouth. His taste, bitter-salty, his smell, musky and deep, the sounds he made…

God, Cass, stop.

He’s observing me, his eyes hooded, and damn, I wish I could read his mind. Wish I could tell if he wants me right now, if he’s ready, or if it’s too soon.

“I, um.” I clear my throat and finally manage to get up. I gesture at his jeans. “Need help with these, too?”

He shifts on the bed, and my gaze is helplessly drawn to the outline of his hard-on. Crap, it looks even bigger now. “I got it.”

And now I’m watching as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans and pushes them down.

Freeing his cock.

Because he’s going commando.

Oh. My. God. “Warn a girl, will you?” I manage, my pulse tripping.

He pushes his jeans all the way off, then glances up at me, and I can’t decide if the look in his dark eyes is wicked or simply aroused.

But oh boy, is it hot.

“I thought,” he starts, then reaches down and grabs his dick, and I’m sure I’m panting now, tongue lolling and all, “that it’s time for some more sex therapy.”

“Sex therapy.” I can’t look away from his big hand on his big cock. He’s not stroking himself, just gripping his dick. A pearly drop beads on the flushed head. “I thought you’d want to talk about—”

“No. Not now.” He sits up. “I want you. I know I’m a mess, and I scare you on a regular basis.” He scowls. “But I’m not gonna break. I want you on my cock, your tits in my face. I want to come deep inside you.”

Oh shit. My core clenches so hard I moan. “But the triggers—”

“Don’t pull on my hair. Don’t try to push me onto my back. I’ll need…” He releases his dick, looks around. “Something to ground me.”

Something to hurt himself with.

This isn’t good. We should talk first, find anchors for him, anchors that don’t leave him bloody.

Look at me hesitating to have sex with the most handsome guy in the world. Who am I and what have I done with Cassie?

It’s because I care for him, I realize. I don’t want him hurt in any way.

Again the memory of him at the construction site fills my mind—pale, disoriented, soaking wet, caught in a tragic dream.

But he wants this. He wants me, and he needs to feel strong again, in control. He needs pleasure.