The towel hit the floor with a soft little flutter that sounded way too loud in the hush of the room. I stared up at him, heart hammering so hard I swear it shook my ribs, every inch of me prickling hot and tight and ready. He was so tall, so broad, all that hard muscle and heat pressing me back against the cold stone, and when he tilted my chin up, his eyes burned—one flecked with deep glowing red, the other bright glowing silver.
Look up, little cub.
His voice was low, rough, dragging slow over every word like he was tasting them. I swallowed hard, my breath hitching, and forced my eyes up to his—only to immediately regret it because he looked like he knew every single dirty, wanting thought running through my head.
Oh gods oh gods oh gods he's so big. And he's so close. And why does he have to look this good? It's unfair. It's actually unfair. I'm going to melt into a puddle right here on the floor and he's going to step over me like I'm nothing but a mess.
