I reached for the hem of his shirt, and he bent to help me pull it over his head. I'd glimpsed him shirtless in the village before, but this was entirely different. This was an invitation. This was mine to explore. My fingertips mapped the terrain of his chest—hard muscle, warm skin, the raised lines of scars that held stories I wanted him to tell me someday. His heartbeat thundered beneath my palm.
"You're shaking," I whispered.
"So are you."
We were. Both of us trembling like teenagers. But none of that mattered. This was stripped down to something fundamental—raw and real and terrifying in the best possible way.
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped me out of my clothes, each piece falling away under his reverent gaze. Standing bare before him, I expected the usual flutter of self-consciousness, that voice that catalogued imperfections. Instead, I feltseen—wholly, completely seen—and absolutely radiant under the heat of his attention.
"You're perfect," he murmured, and the way he said it made me believe in magic.
The rest of our clothes disappeared in a flurry of eager hands and surprised laughter when his belt buckle refused to cooperate.
When Ruka finally stood before me with nothing between us, I forgot how to breathe. Seven feet of pure power, every inch of him sculpted like an ancient god brought to life. His shoulders could block out the sun, his chest a work of art that narrowed to lean hips. The sheer magnitude of him should have overwhelmed me—didoverwhelm me—but in a way that made my blood sing.
My gaze drifted lower, and my heart performed acrobatics. He was gloriously hard, his cock thick and proud and undeniablyhuge. A thrill of nervousness tangled with desire in my core. He was impressive—everywhere—and a tiny voice of reason wondered about the logistics.
"Jordan." His voice had gone rough, uncertain. He'd caught the flicker of hesitation cross my face. "We don't have to—"
"No." I closed the distance between us, rising on my toes to pull him down to me. "I want this. I wantyou." I let my hand trail down the landscape of his torso, over the ridges of his stomach, until my fingers wrapped around him—or attempted to. "Every magnificent inch of you."
The sound he made—half gasp, half groan—sent courage flooding through me. Yes, he was intimidatingly large. Yes, there was a very real possibility this might require some creative problem-solving. But the way he looked at me—like I was something sacred, like he'd stop the instant I asked—made me want to try. Made me want to take everything he offered and give him everything in return.
"We'll go slow," he promised, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'll take care of you."
And I believed him completely.
Ruka lifted me with effortless strength, his hands secure and warm as he carried me the few steps to the bed. The mattress welcomed us as he laid me down with a tenderness that made my chest ache, then settled beside me, propped on one elbow.
His gaze traveled over me with such raw hunger that my skin prickled with heat. Then he descended, claiming my mouth in a kiss that tasted of promises and barely restrained need. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to drown in him.
When he broke away, his lips blazed a trail down my jaw to the sensitive curve of my neck. He lingered there, kissing and tasting until I was squirming, my breath coming in shallow gasps. He moved lower still, across my collarbone, down to my shoulders—each kiss a brand, each touch deliberate worship.
Then his mouth found my breasts, and the world narrowed to sensation.
His hands—those impossibly large, gentle hands—cupped me reverently, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked under his attention. When his mouth closed over one, hot and wet and perfect, I gasped, my back arching off the bed. The swirl of his tongue, the careful graze of teeth, the exquisite pressure—it was almost too much and not nearly enough.
He lavished attention on one breast while his hand teased the other, rolling and pinching with just the right amount of pressure to make me writhe beneath him. Then he switched, giving equal devotion to the neglected side, and a moan tore from my throat.
"Ruka," I breathed, his name a plea.
He hummed against my sensitive flesh, the vibration rippling through me, and continued his worship—alternating between feather-light kisses and firmer attention that had me trembling, desperate, my entire body thrumming with need.
Heat pooled between my thighs, my body responding to him with an urgency I'd never experienced before. When his hand slid down my stomach, moving lower with deliberate slowness, every nerve ending came alive. His fingers traced the inside of my thigh, and then he paused before drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath—the kind that told me he'd discovered exactly how ready I was for him.
"Jordan," he groaned, the word half-prayer, half-curse. His fingers moved higher, and when they finally reached where I needed him most, we both made sounds—his a low, appreciative rumble that vibrated through his chest, mine a desperate whimper.
"You're so wet. So ready for me," he murmured against my breast, wonder threading through his voice. His fingers began to explore, stroking and circling with a reverence that made my toes curl. Every touch sent lightning through my veins, building something inside me that felt too big to contain.
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine—dark, hungry, barely controlled. "You smell so fucking delicious. I need to taste you," he said, his voice rough gravel. "Please let me taste you."
Thepleaseundid me completely.
He kissed his way down my body like he was mapping new territory—over my ribs, across my stomach, along my hip bones. Each press of his lips felt like a vow, and when he settled between my thighs, gently coaxing them wider, anticipation stole my breath.
The first stroke of his tongue made me cry out, my hands flying to his hair. He groaned against me, the sound vibrating through my most sensitive flesh, and then he was feasting onme with single-minded devotion. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate patterns, learning me, discovering what made me gasp, what made my hips lift seeking more.
"Ruka," I whimpered, my fingers tightening in his hair. "Oh God—"