Page 73 of Haunted Spurs

My hands, which have finally stopped trembling, hook back onto the bottom hem of my shirt.

Do I want this? Yes. So damn much. I just wish... I had something equally statuesque and perfect to show him.

I pull the shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor.

I am naked from the waist up. I brave his gaze, completely exposing my asymmetrical breasts, a detail I have always hated.

Ron's hand slows its hypnotic pace, but it doesn't stop.

His eyes devour every inch of my pale skin. They linger on the shape of my breasts, on my tight nipples.

"You're a vision," he whispers. He keeps stroking his length, sliding up and down. His mouth is slightly parted, his breathing short. There is no shadow of disappointment in his eyes. There is only pure, burning adoration. It's as if he genuinely loves what he's seeing.

Encouraged by his reaction, I strip off the rest of my clothes.

Ron steps closer. He keeps touching himself, a breath away from my body, his heat radiating against me.

"You are beautiful." His voice is low, virile, rough.

And, as I absorb those three simple words, the final wall crumbles. The ghosts vanish. For once, for the first damn time in years... I truly feel beautiful.

A drop of his pre-come lands on my thigh. It pulls an involuntary shiver from me.

Ron lifts his free hand. He brushes my face, gently tipping my chin up. He leans down and presses his lips to mine.

It's a light, soft kiss, infinitely sweeter than any we've exchanged so far. He rests his mouth against mine almost timidly, tasting me with tenderness. It's a kiss that tastes like reassurance. Like devotion.

Then, without breaking eye contact, his hands slide to my hips. He gently pulls me toward him, right to the edge of the bed.

Ron slowly lowers himself, bending his long legs. And he drops to his knees, settling right between my thighs.

My heart does a backflip in my chest.

What is he doing?

Ron reads the silent question and answers it before I can even ask.

"You said you might hate me a little less if I got on my knees..." he murmurs. He lifts his face toward my core. He slowly runs his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it. "...and I am absolutely determined not to be hated at all."

Ron's hands slide slowly from the curve of my knees up to the inside of my thighs.

"Open your legs for me, Selly," he whispers.

Shit.

No man has ever gotten on his knees for me. And none of them ever cared about foreplay, either.

This is why Ron Willers drives me crazy. There's no other logical explanation. He's attentive. He's devoted. He's fucking good at this before he's even done anything.

It's no wonder I'm on the verge of losing my mind.

He lowers his gaze, staring intensely at my center. He runs a single fingertip along the closed line between my legs. The touch is light as a feather, yet it sends an electric shock straight up my spine.

Completely unable to fight it anymore, I surrender. I release the tension and part my legs, offering myself up entirely to his gaze.

Ron swallows audibly.

"You have no idea the things I want to do to you, baby," he murmurs, his hot breath caressing my sensitive skin.