I stared as he sprung free, thick and heavy. Truthfully, this part of a guy’s body wasn’t always the most attractive thing in the word, but Reece . . . oh yeah, it was just as yummy as the rest of him.

Speaking of the rest of him.

As he settled back down, I tugged up the hem of his shirt and he lifted his arms, letting me pull it off. I tossed it somewhere where I hoped he never found it, and got a huge eyeful of what it looked like when a man was no longer a boy and worked his body hard to stay in shape.

Golden skin stretched smooth and tight over his pecs and then down on a chiseled, rock-­hard stomach that was tightly rolled. A trail of dark hair ran under his navel, down to where he waited. I dragged my gaze back up. There was a scar just to the left of his navel, skin puckered in an irregular circle. There was another above that. And I knew if I got his pants off, there’d be a third.

My breath caught as I thought about how close I came—­how close all of us came—­to losing him. Leaning forward, I kissed him, wishing I could take back eleven months of being stupid, because time . . . it was short and never promised.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked again.

His eyes searched mine. “There’s a lot I want you to do, Roxy.”

“Pick one.” Or two. Or three. I’d do them all.

Reece reached down, wrapping his fingers around his cock. Holy smokes, I felt the need to fan myself as his grip tightened. My lips parted as he slowly brought his hand up to the head and then back down. “This is what I want you to do.”

Blood was pounding in my ears and I barely heard myself say, “You . . . you are so freaking hot, Reece.”

He groaned as his hand swept up again and his back bowed, and I couldn’t help it. I moaned. His gaze flew back to mine, a different kind of fire burning in their depths. “I think I know what you want.”

“What?” I breathed.

Reece reached out with his other hand, curling it around the base of my neck as he stroked himself again. A bead appeared at the tip. “You want to watch me.”

Every part of my body burned. Not out of shame, but because it was true. “I’ve never watched a guy—­”

“That’s all I need to hear,” he said, moving his hand.

My breath shortened in my chest as I watched him, his grip getting stronger and stronger. I couldn’t believe that I was doing this—­couldn’t believe how arousing it was—­or that I was still in his lap, my cami forgotten around my waist, my skin flushed. I started to look up.

“No. Watch me,” he ordered, and I shivered at the demand in his voice.