“His eyes are piercing and intense, the stare they give me brimming with threat and interest, folding thick arms over a broad chest, rippling the muscles in his forearms and etching the tattoos down his arms into stark highlight.”

“Then he folded his arms on his chest, so his biceps strained at the sleeves of his t-shirt, courtesy of the arm curl machine.”

“I’ll accept your apology on one condition.” He folded his arms across his chest.“Anything?”“You trust me.”

“He lay down beside me, pulling me back to his chest and throwing his arm over me. “Mine,” he whispered in my ear.”

“What's it like feeling the smooth heat of that arm, tracing the supernatural muscles bunched in his arms and chest, teasing anyone with a pulse and hormones to lick their way down the divots and planes of that skin, to unbutton the leather shielding his body and taste all the way down to that silver buckle on his belt.”

“He pulls me over the railing and against his chest, gathering me into his arms, easing an arm under my knees. I press my face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.”