Kaya
My fingers trail over the dark hair scattered across his chest, before gliding down the ridges beneath his defined pecs, and lower still, until they brush over the thick, rock-hard plane of his middle.
His skin carries old scars—unhealed marks, I assume, from before he first shifted. There aren't many, but the ones that remain cut deep into his slightly tanned flesh, like ornaments carved into wood.
"Your pants," I murmur, tracing the edge of his black jeans, my fingertips skimming the waistband as my eyes linger on the enticing lines disappearing into the fabric.
I want to see him—all of him. Not the way I've seen him before when he shifted out of his wolf. No, this time I want him as he is now. The way only I am allowed to see him.
The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk, and his hands drop to undo the zipper. In one smooth, devastatingly sexy motion, he stands, kicks off his shoes, and lets them fall with a heavy thud.
