Exposed to You Read Free Page A

never seen before that moment, and would probably never see again.
    “It’s finished,” she murmured minutes later as she placed the solvent that set the paint on the table. From the corner of her vision, she saw that he didn’t move his hands, keeping his briefs lowered. The fullness behind the seaweed design hadn’t dissipated during the past forty-five minutes.
    “Joy.”
    She glanced up slowly, both hesitant and anticipatory at once at the sound of his hoarse voice.
    “I hope you don’t think I’m a complete jackass for saying this, but that had to be the most erotic thing I’ve experienced since Peggy Barton let me touch her breasts when I was fourteen years old.”
    She just stared at him in amazement for a second before she laughed. The strangling sexual tension fractured slightly, letting her breathe. He smiled, full-out and brilliant.
    Her laughter ceased.
    Oh my God,
she thought, stunned. Her sunburst tattoo would be considered dim next to that smile.
    Suddenly, unaccountably, fear broke over her. She stared at the very image of vibrant life. What would it
be
like to be snuffed out of existence, no longer able to see, to hear . . . to feel?
    Her gaze sunk over him. She absorbed his image hungrily, drinking it like an elixir that vanquished terror. His cock jerked in the briefs when her glance landed on it.
    The realization struck her that if she wanted to touch him, if she wanted to stretch this strange, powerful moment, she was going to have to make the move. Who knew? Maybe she wouldn’t even be here this time next year.
    It felt nowhere near as anxiety-provoking as she would have thought it would to touch him. In fact, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.
    She thrilled to the heaviness of his cock beneath the cloth. Arousal spiked through her, and those life-altering words—
primary mediastinal B-cell lymphoma
—scattered to the periphery of her consciousness like frightened moths.
    “Do you mind?” she asked, looking up at him, her voice vibrating with barely restrained emotion.
    His nostrils flared slightly. “Are you kidding?” He sounded downright incredulous at her question. Their gazes held as she felt his heartbeat thrum against her palm. He reached up and ever so gently, careful of his paint-covered skin, touched her jaw. A strange, strangled sound escaped her throat at his caress.
    She carefully, deliberately reached inside the pocket of the costume boxer-briefs, intent on not ruining the makeup application on his thighs. She bit her lower lip when her hand closed around the circumference of his cock. She drew out his length.
    For a moment, she just stared.
    It was like holding life in her hand.
    His naked penis stood in stark contrast to the elaborate makeup applied to his body. The long, straight length of it running from root to fleshy cap struck her as sublime. She held him up before her face, the tip slanting toward the ceiling. She ran the tip of her tongue from the ridge beneath the head all the way to the base, flicking a firm testicle experimentally.
    He made a muffled gasping noise like his lungs had deflated in an instant. His male scent filled her nose. She twitched her fingers on the shaft, relishing his sheer virility, his weight and firmness.
    Yes.
This is what she needed.
    She tightened her grip, closed her eyes and arrowed his cock between her lips. She abandoned herself to the voluptuous, eternal moment, escaping into it like a fugitive from a harsh, meaningless world.
    *   *   *
    Everett Hughes became distantly aware that his muscles were so tense, they felt like they’d break given one more ounce of pressure. He ached.
    Everywhere.
    He studied the crown of her head like he thought his stare could bore down into her brain and read her thoughts. It would probably do him good to read her mind, he thought with grim amusement. Her thoughts were undoubtedly mundane and matter-of-fact. Nowhere near as X-rated as his had become ever since he’d