He Touches Me by Cynthia Sax Page A

relishing his solid form.
    Blaine brushes his lips over mine. He tastes of black coffee and honey. “I doubted myself. This is new to me too.”
    â€œIt’s scary, isn’t it?” I press deeper into his body, my safe haven, my shelter in the storm. “But not as scary as the numbness I felt before meeting you.” And when I thought I’d lost him.
    â€œYes.” Blaine shudders, his chest vibrating against my breasts. I unbutton his jacket and slip my hands inside, sliding my fingertips over his soft cotton shirt. His muscles ripple under my palms, his body enticingly warm, and his grip on me tightens.
    He holds me and I hold him, gathering strength from each other, two damaged souls learning to trust again. Blaine threads his fingers through my hair, separating the strands, the elastic band falling to the carpeted floor. I rest my cheek against his silk tie, inhaling his scents, rubbing circles into his back.
    He’s hard, the ridge in his dress pants pressing against my stomach. My nipples are taut, my breasts aching for our touch. “So did you come up with a solution?” My voice is husky with my rising desire.
    Blaine sighs, his chest rising and falling against me, and he pulls away. “I’ll need your help, Anna,” he admits. Red streaks across my control-­freak billionaire’s cheekbones.
    â€œWhat do you need from me?” I’ll do anything he asks.
    Blaine takes my hands, his fingers rough and warm. “I need you too much.” He leads me into his office, flicks on the lights and shuts the door behind us, ensuring complete privacy. “It’s . . . overwhelming.” He releases my ­fingers.
    I wait for him to tell me how to help. Blaine stalks to the floor-­to-­ceiling windows and gazes out, gripping his hands tightly behind his back, his spine straight and his shoulders squared.
    I stand beside him. The stars sparkle in the dark sky, appearing close enough to touch. Cars move along the streets, everyone in a rush to get somewhere. I’m in no rush. I’m where I want to be.
    â€œI always put you first but . . .” Blaine pauses, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left.
    But . . . I lower my gaze. His erection pushes against the zipper of his dress pants and I understand what my generous lover can’t put into words. “If you come first, you’ll have more control.”
    He gives me a curt nod and continues to stare at the sky, his chin raised.
    He’s asking me to touch him. Heat flows up my body. “I like your solution.” I slide behind him and I place my palms on his fabric-­covered thighs.
    Blaine jerks, his reaction exciting me, filling me with a feminine power.
    â€œEasy,” I coo, as though I’m soothing a wild animal. Blaine’s muscles flex under my hands, and I rub, inching my fingers closer and closer to his hardness.
    I’m in control. I glide my hands over his length, savoring his size, the proof of his need unyielding under my fingertips. He widens his stance, allowing me more access, and I press my hips against his firm ass, moving against him as I stroke him through his pants.
    â€œToo many clothes.” I sigh softly, frustrated by the barrier, wanting, needing, to feel bare skin.
    Blaine tugs on his tie and removes the strip of silk from around his neck. He’s undressing. My heart pounds. I’ve seen him once without his jacket, never without his shirt.
    He turns. I step backward and he meets my gaze, his green eyes dark. “I’ll show you, Anna.” He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses the garment on the tabletop. “I’ll show you everything.”
    He watches me as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt. I glimpse tanned skin, delineated muscle, and scars, many, many scars. His finely honed form is decorated with silver stripes and more ominous bullet-­sized circles.
    I raise my eyebrows in silent