“Maybe,” she whispers, arching her back just enough to lift her tits up.

She’s wearing an old Knicks T-shirt. Slowly, I trace the “K” and graze the stiff tip of her nipple. Stella’s breath catches. I run my finger back up, teasing. But it teases me too, and I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning, from dropping the game and just taking her.

“You’re so pretty here.” My knuckles caress the curve of her breast. “Can I see you bare, sweet Stells? Will you give me a peek?”

I’ve seen her breasts before. I’ve had my hands on them, my mouth on them. Fucking heaven. But here in the dark, in this house that isn’t mine or hers, it’s different. It’s a simple thrill that gets to me more than any full-on sex I’ve ever had.

I don’t know what it does for Stella, but she makes a little noise, her body shifting on the bed like she’s struggling to keep herself still. Her voice is breathy and innocent as if she’s unsure. “Just a peek?”

Damn, she knows how to play. My dick is so hard, it hurts. “I won’t put a hand on you, I swear.” And I won’t. If I touch her now, it’ll be game over. “Give me a little look at those pretty tits, honey.”

In the dark room, she’s illuminated by the greenish streetlight spilling through the window, so I can’t tell if she’s flushing. But her lids lower as her lips part, and the swells of her breasts lift in an agitated breath. Her hands are clumsy as she reaches down and grabs the hem of her shirt. My balls tighten in anticipation.

God, she’s sexy, wiggling her hips to get the shirt clear of her ass. Then it’s sliding up over those curves. Her panties don’t have a heart on them. They’re covered in tiny polka dots. I want to touch each one with my tongue. I hold myself still as the soft swell of her little belly and the quarter moon of her navel are exposed. She’s a peach, lush and ripe.

Stella goes slowly, drawing it out. By the time the plump curves of her lower breasts are exposed, I’m sweating. She pauses there, her eyes meeting mine. The moment holds, expands until I can feel it pressing against my skin.

“Show me,” I rasp, not recognizing my own voice.

Stella bites her lower lip, glancing at me from under lowered lids. She’s killing me, and she knows it. I love that. With a small sound, she eases the top over her breasts.

And there she is, full, round tits capped with tawny nipples that point upward. Freckles dust the expanse of her chest, I know, but they’re hidden in the shadows. I want to turn on a light just to see them, but I don’t move. My fingers curl tight to keep from reaching out. “You’re beautiful. You know that? Absolutely gorgeous.”

Stella stretches as if luxuriating in the feel of her body being on display, like she’s as tight and hot as I am. Hands still clutching her shirt, she gazes back at me, her breasts lifting and falling with each shallow breath she takes.

“You like me looking at you, sweet Stella?”

She licks her lower lip. “Yeah.”

Before my eyes, her nipples pucker and harden to rosy buds.

My fingers grip the sheet. “Look at those pretty nipples getting so stiff. Are they aching, baby?”

I know she’s blushing. I can feel the heat coming off her. When she speaks, it’s a crackle of sound. “Yes.”

“Give those honey tips a pinch,” I whisper thickly.

I love her strangled moan like I’ve shocked the hell out of her.

She hesitates, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, but then her hands ease down over her breasts. I bite back a groan, refusing to even blink. Delicately, she grasps her nipples and squeezes, her head falling back on a gasp.

My reaction is visceral, a punch of white-hot heat straight down my dick, and I have to press my hard-on into the bed to ease the ache. “God. God, do that again.”

She does. Her lashes flutter as she tugs on her tits.

“So beautiful. You’re perfect.” My voice gravel in the dark. Her thighs shift against each other, impatient, needy. I watch the action. “Are you wet, honey?”

“Mmm.” She bites her bottom lip.

“Put your hand in your panties and feel how wet you are.”

Stella exhales in a rush, her body jerking. “Oh, God.” She doesn’t look at me as she reaches down. Her eyes close, a knot forming between her brows like she’s in pain. When her hand slips under the front of her cotton panties, she gives a little mew of distress. “So wet. John, I’m so wet.”

I nearly lose it right there. For a second, we both just breathe, Stella with her eyes closed and her hand cupped around herself, me watching on, knowing she’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “Will you let me watch you?” I ask her. “I want to see you get yourself off.”

“You … you don’t want to touch me?” she whispers back, her body trembling.

“I want to touch you so badly it hurts.” I swallow hard. “But I promised I would keep my hands to myself.”

“John.” She’s half laughing, half glaring at me. “You’re evil.”

I grin, but it quickly slides away, and my voice turns urgent. “Show me. Show me how you like it. Show me so I’ll know exactly what to do to you when we get home.” Because the second I have her alone in my house, all bets are off.

“Okay,” she says, “but you have to show me too.”

Heat licks down my spine. “You want me to come for you?”

Rain patters against the windows as Stella’s wide eyes stare back at me. “You ever do that before? Jerk off in front of someone?”

I’ve had a lot of sex. Done a lot of crazy shit, some of it fun, some of it that left me feeling seedy and questioning my choices. But I can answer her honestly. “No one has ever asked me to.”

Usually, women want to do that for me. They’d jerk me off or suck me dry while telling me repeatedly that they can’t believe they’re touching Jax Blackwood’s dick. That got old real fast, and I learned to mentally detach myself from my partners. I’m not detached now. If anything, I’m so part of the moment, it’s almost too much.

Before, I’d have said jerking off, or seeing a woman masturbate, was just another sex act. Contemplating doing it with Stella, I realize it’s not. It takes trust to really open yourself up, lay yourself bare. Suddenly, I feel exactly like the teen I’m pretending to be, because I know fuck-all about true intimacy.

The back of my neck draws tight. “We don’t have to,” I whisper, “if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m nervous.” She gives me a wobbly smile that makes me want to kiss her. “I’ve never done this before. But I want to with you.”

So much braver that I am. Before I can confess that, she drags her panties down her hips. I stare for too long, my mouth likely hanging open like a panting dog. But then I snap out of it and fumble with my boxer briefs. I’m so hard that my dick snags on the fabric and slaps into my stomach when I free it.

Stella giggles.

That sound. It bubbles over my skin, trips my heart. I love that sound. I’m smiling back, chuckling low in my chest until I catch sight of her. Panties around her knees, shirt bunched up at her collar, and every glorious, lush inch in between on display. For me.

I want to know if her little patch of hair is red-gold too. I’m desperate to find out. Desperate to know all her colors, her flavors, the scent and texture of her skin. I almost ask—beg—to turn on the light, but my voice gets lost, my brain scrambling, when she parts her thighs and slides her hand between them.