Carefully, avoiding the wound near his shoulder, I slid my fingers across his skin, exploring the creases and firmness of his bare chest. His breathing was steady, but there was something about the rhythm that made me feel the effect of my touch. I swallowed, unable to ignore how delicious his skin felt under my fingers.

His shirt, already open, did not stand a chance. With a determined movement, I tore it off, dropping it to the ground without caring about anything other than the man in front of me. My hands followed their path, drawing invisible lines on his defined abdomen, until they reached the zipper of his pants....