I arched beneath him, my fingers finding the hem of his shirt. I tugged at it impatiently, and he got the hint, sitting up just long enough to pull it over his head before tossing it aside.

I had seen Blake shirtless before. I had seen him wet and glistening from the shower, tan and golden from the summer sun.

But here, now, with the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across his skin, he was breathtaking.

And he was mine.

My fingers traced the hard lines of his chest, my nails dragging lightly down his stomach before I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. His hands caught mine, stopping me.

My eyes snapped up, searching his face.

“I need you to be sure,” he said.

I cupped his face, running my thumb along his cheekbone. How could I not be sure? “I’m sure, Blake.”

When I reached for his sweatpants again, he didn’t stop me.

He lifted his hips, helping me slide them down along with his boxers. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts next. “Still sure?”

I nodded, swallowing past the dryness in my throat.

He exhaled, a shuddering breath that I felt against my skin, before peeling both my shorts and underwear down in one fluid motion. I felt the cool air rush over my bare skin as he tossed them aside and pushed up on his knees to looked down at me.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Do you know how many hours I’ve spent imagining you like this?” he asked softly. “I used to just stare at you, at the clothes you wore, and in my head, I’d undress you. Then I’d put your clothes back on and start all over again.”

My heart felt like it was seconds from breaking free of my ribcage. He reached for the condom, tearing the foil with his teeth before rolling it down over himself. Then his hands found my thighs, spreading them slightly as he settled between them.

I couldn’t hide my grin as I watched him. “You’re shaking.”

He let out a short, breathless laugh, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Jesus, B.”

I buried my fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. “Nervous?”

“Not nervous.” He lifted his head, and the look in his eyes nearly undid me. “Just trying to remind myself to take my time.”

Then he was pressed against me, heat searing where our skin touched. One of his hands braced against the mattress while the other traced a slow, deliberate path up my thigh, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to make me gasp. “I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been buried deep inside him for far too long, struggling to find their way out.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.