Page 107 of Ricardo

In her state of vulnerability, I don't want to keep making her take the first move. I am not a shy man, and as much as I want to see her without her panties, I know that this is a new thing for her, this reclaiming of her own sexuality. I will be patient.

So, instead of pushing her, I stand before her, completely naked, completely exposed, my cock hard and heavy between my legs, jutting out toward her.

Her eyes widen, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

But she doesn't look away.

She looks her fill, her gaze roaming over my body, from my chest to my stomach, and then down to my cock, which twitches under her avid scrutiny.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and I have to clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep from grabbing her, from throwing her down on the rug and burying myself inside her.

I let her look her fill.

And when she finally looks back up at me, her eyes are dark with a hunger that matches my own.

"You are... beautiful," she says, her voice full of awe.

The word hangs in the air between us, a simple, profound truth that takes me by surprise. No one has ever called me beautiful before. Handsome, yes. Powerful, yes. Intimidating, certainly. But never beautiful.

Coming from her, in this moment, it feels like the highest compliment I have ever received.

I close the distance between us, my hands going to her hips.

“Se io sono bello,” I murmur, “allora tu cosa sei, tesoro mio?”

Chapter Thirteen

Julia

If I am beautiful, then what are you, my treasure?

The Italian words are a warm and seductive caress over my skin. His hands are on my hips, the heat of them searing me through the lace of my panties.

I have no answer.

I have no words.

All I have is the sight of him, naked in the firelight. I have the memory of Harrison's body—always fit, always meticulously maintained, as if he were an expensive car he were polishing.

He'd stand before me, proud and preening, and I’d feel nothing. No. Worse than nothing. I’d feel a sense of dread, a quiet checklist in my head of all the ways I was supposed to respond.

But Ricardo...

The sight of him robs me of breath.

It's not just that he is handsome. It's not just that he is well-built, with broad shoulders and a chest that narrows to lean hips that lead down to... oh God.

It's the sheer, unapologetic masculinity of him. There is no preening here. No posturing. He is simply… a man. Comfortable in his skin. And he is looking at me as if I am a feast laid out before him.

And I am hungry. I am so, so hungry.

I have been starving.

"I want..." I start, but the words catch in my throat. Because I don't know where to start. I want to touch him. I want to taste him. I want him to touch me and taste me and fill me up until there is no room left for anything else.

I reach out, my hand trembling as I place it on his chest, over his heart. I can feel the steady, strong beat of it under my palm, a rhythm that feels more real, more honest, than anything I have felt in a long, long time.

My fingers drift lower, caressing the taut skin below his navel, a path I am suddenly desperate to follow.