(Damn man so hot)

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the rumpled sheets. Thom is reclining against the headboard, a book in his hands, his eyes gliding over the words.

You take a deep breath before taking the first step toward him. You say nothing. There’s no need. He senses your presence, looks up, and blinks slowly, in that distracted yet charming way he does when his mind is elsewhere.

Your hands barely grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. The air in the room brushes against your bare skin, and in that instant, every insecurity you’ve ever had seems to come alive. Your skin, your muscles, the contours you had never shown him before everything is now exposed under his gaze.

Thom sets the book aside without taking his eyes off you. There is no hunger in his expression, no surprise. Only a deep, almost reverent tenderness. His throat moves as he swallows, and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper.

—You are…