Suddenly, Kennard stepped back, leaving Elena with a jolt of emptiness in his wake. Before she could question the shift, she realized he was appraising her from head to toe, his heated gaze a tangible presence that seemed to devour her. The sheer chemise clung to her curves, revealing her silhouette in stark detail. Even in the dimness, the firelight cast an undeniable glow, illuminating her form. Self-consciously, she brought her hands up to shield her chest and lower body, a blush creeping up her neck as she averted her gaze.
“Don’t cover yourself,” Kennard’s voice rumbled, deeper and huskier than usual. Elena shook her head.
“Elena, look at me,” he commanded softly, his words laced with a hint of urgency. Hesitation flickered across her face, then slowly, she met his gaze.
Kennard, his eyes locked on hers, began to undress. He pulled his shirt from his trousers with a practiced ease, the fabric whispering as he swapped arms. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted torso.
“Don’t turn away,” he murmured. “Watch closely.”
But Elena flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips.
“Elena,” he called, his voice firm yet gentle.
Swallowing, she obeyed. The sight that greeted her was breathtaking. Kennard’s bare torso was a map of finely honed muscle, his frame widening from waist to chest and shoulders. He was imposing, powerful – a weapon made flesh. Though she’d known of his physique, witnessing it firsthand was overwhelming.
He ran a hand roughly through his already tousled hair, the movement adding to his raw appeal. Elena watched, mesmerized. He was the only man she’d ever held hands with, and even then, it wasn’t out of affection – he’d been checking on her health. Never had she been this close to a man, embraced by his touch, lost in a kiss that stole her breath. And now, this.
Despite her amnesia, a single, clear thought resonated: this was entirely new territory.
The discarded shirt lay forgotten as Kennard’s focus narrowed, his hands working the buttons of his trousers with practiced ease. His unwavering gaze held Elena captive, as if willing her to witness every step of his undressing. This time, she couldn’t resist the rising tide of panic, twisting her entire body away.
Regret clawed at her instantly. The sounds – the rasp of fabric, the soft thump of his trousers hitting the floor – became amplified in the sudden silence. Her breath hitched, anxiety churning in her gut. What now? she thought desperately.
Hunched over, hands wrapped around her face, Elena braced herself for what she didn’t know. Kennard’s gentle touch, a stroke through her hair, a kiss on the backs of her hidden hands. She flinched, a silent protest as he tried to pry her fingers loose, but deep down, she knew resistance was futile. A muffled shake of her head was the only defiance she could manage.
“It can’t be helped,” Kennard murmured, a hint of frustration weaving through his voice. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her back against him.
A gasp escaped Elena’s lips as a foreign hardness pressed against her lower stomach. Even veiled by the thin fabric, its heat radiated through her chemise, the size and shape unmistakable. A primal fear, a mix of apprehension and a strange, unfamiliar heat, coiled deep within her.
Embarrassed, Elena attempted to pull away. Her resistance was futile. Kennard’s hands cupped her buttocks, firmly pressing her flush against him. A primal hunger burned in his touch; mere contact wasn’t enough. He shifted, grinding his hardness against her stomach. A slick wetness spread where the tip pressed through her thin chemise.
“This is how much I want you,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. “Don’t you feel the same?”
Elena’s head shook in silent denial. Yet, a truth she couldn’t deny stirred within her. Ever since his lips had stolen hers, a foreign heat had bloomed in her core, a yearning that deepened with every touch, every heated kiss.
