I tasted cupcake as he kissed me slow and deep, unhurried. The kiss went on and on, languid and delicious. He broke away and pulled off his shirt. Next his hands flew to the hem of my sweatshirt. I lifted my arms to help him yank it over my head. My bra followed. Losing my clothes was becoming a habit around him.
He pushed me back on the bed. Without touching me, he surveyed me in the bright light of my room like he was memorizing me. Heat inched over my body as I imagined all the imperfections he was seeing. With a whimper, I tried to push past him, embarrassed at the intimacy, too overcome at the sensations coursing through me.
“Wait.” His hand flattened on my belly, urging me back down. He slid down my body. My heart thumped a painful beat in my chest as I trembled and squirmed, waiting for his next move. I snuck a peek at him. He looked up at me, his chin brushing my belly, his large hands burning two imprints on my hips as his deep gaze pulled me in and sucked me under. “Are you going to trust me?”
“Yes.” I stilled under him as I realized I meant it. “I do.”
He grinned slowly and took my hands. Lacing his fingers with mine, he pressed them flat into the mattress, palm to palm at my sides. “Good.”
He then proceeded to kiss me. All over my body. Moist, open-mouthed kisses on my belly. My rib cage. The valley between my breasts. His mouth loved me everywhere. I sighed, writhed, quivering under his attention. OhGodOhGodOhGod. There was no embarrassment anymore. Just him. His mouth on me.
He unzipped my jeans and dragged the zipper down, exposing the front of my panties. I surged when he pressed a kiss right there. The moist heat from his mouth seared me straight through the thin layer of cotton. His name slipped past my lips on a breath.
He came up then and kissed me hard, the only point of contact our mouths. Meshing lips, tongues, and teeth. He drove me wild. I kissed him back, matching him in heat and pressure. My arms strained, still pinned at my sides by his hands. I whimpered against his mouth and pushed at his palms, my fingers linked in a bloodless grip with his, desperate to be free so that I could touch him.
Then I felt it. The unmistakable hardness of him against the inside of my thigh, scalding through our clothing. I parted my thighs wider and squirmed closer, bringing him directly against me. I lifted my pelvis and thrust my hips, grinding into him.
His lips broke from mine in a hiss. “Shit. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Please . . . my hands . . . I want to touch you.”
His fingers laced tighter with mine, and I felt his strength as our palms pressed flush together. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
His breathing was harsh, mingling with my own ragged breath. Every part of me throbbed, ached. “Please. You’ve touched me so much . . . let me touch you.”
He shook his head once, hard.
My voice cracked a little. “Why not?”
This close I could make out the dark ring of blue, almost black, around his irises. “Because you’re like candy in my mouth. I’m already too worked up for you.”
“But you said I can trust you.”
“You can.” His eyes cut into me, intense and stark—like he was willing for me to believe in him. “I would never hurt you.”
“Then let go of my hands.”
After a moment his grip on me loosened. I was free. I filled my hands with his chest, caressing the carved muscle, the ridiculously cut abs. His head dipped, fell into the crook of my neck as if he was gathering strength from some hidden reserve found only there.
My hands dipped farther south, hesitating only a moment at his jeans. My fingers slid inside the waistband. Before I lost my nerve, I unbuttoned him and dragged down the teeth of his zipper just like he had done to mine.
His head lifted and his eyes gleamed bright with warning. “Pepper . . .” His voice was strangled.
My gaze flicked to his and then back down, intent on my goal. “I never touched one before.”
I tugged open his jeans, pulling them down less than gracefully. It proved especially difficult with him on top of me.
“Fuck it.” He flipped off me onto his back. Lifting his hips, he yanked off his jeans himself. Then he was all mine.
Smiling, I leaned over him, my attention moving from his face to . . . south.
He filled out the front of his boxer briefs impressively. I rested my hand over him, feeling, measuring the outline.
He said my name again, part plea, part groan. I ignored him, curiosity, the rush of blood in my ears, overriding the sound.
I flexed my fingers and the bulge grew under my hand. It was emboldening. Before I could change my mind, I delved inside his briefs and wrapped my fingers around him. His head fell back on the bed. “Pepper.”
“It’s softer than I thought it would be.” I bit my lip, reveling in the length of him in my grip.
He laughed hoarsely. “Sweetheart, I’m hard as a rock.”
“I mean your skin.” It was like silk over steel. My hand moved awkwardly, fumbling for a moment before settling into even strokes.
His hand fell over mine, stalling me. “Pepper, you have to stop.”
I looked up at him. “Isn’t this part of my education?”
The tendons in his throat worked like he was battling for control. I guess it should have worried me, but I only felt empowered. Gratified. Not for a moment did I think he would lose control and cross the line. He had my trust.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
His grip eased off my hand. I was able to move again, glide my fingers over him.
“All right,” he agreed in a thick voice. “Then you should probably call it what it is.”
I glanced up at him quizzically.
“Say it. Dick. Cock,” he supplied. “Don’t be afraid of the word, Pepper.”
My hand stilled. My face burned. I shook my head. “I can’t say that.”
“But you can touch it? Say it. Cock.”
The word sat heavily on my tongue. My hand resumed its movements as I said it slowly, savoring the naughty word, feeling bold and wicked. “Cock.”
The blue of his eyes paled to a pewter. His chest rose and fell with a sharp breath. As if that word alone on my lips aroused him.
My gaze moved from him—his cock—to his face. I didn’t know what fascinated me more. The sight of my hand moving over him or his expression. His eyes were closed. He looked almost in pain.
“Pepper . . . Pepper, stop.” He tensed under me.
I ignored him, squeezing and moving my hand faster.
“God,” he gasped and shuddered, the muscles and sinews in his chest and stomach rippling as his body reached climax.
His breathing gradually evened. He flung an arm over his head. After several more breaths, he muttered, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I rose up over him and smiled. “You had a plan?”
He moved his arm from his face and peered up at me. He tucked a strand of hair back behind my ear. “With you nothing seems to go according to plan.”
Still smiling, I rose to my feet. Snatching up a hand towel, I tossed it to him and then got one for myself.
He wiped himself clean. Standing in my unzipped jeans, I felt some of my earlier embarrassment creep back in. Opening the door to my closet, I picked out a T-shirt and shrugged into it. I stood there then, shifting on my feet and playing with the hem of my shirt, unsure what to do next.
He sat up on the edge of my bed. He hadn’t bothered to put his jeans back on. Clad only in his boxer briefs, he was the embodiment of sex. Gold-skinned. Lean and cut. His six-pack was more like an eight-pack. Ridiculous. The tattoo crawling up his arm and down the side of his torso was the cherry on top of it all.
I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. “What now?”
“Well. If this was just a fling, we’d say good-bye at this point.”
“Oh.” I nodded. But this wasn’t a fling. It was less than that. It was us pretending. Playing at something more.
He settled a hand on his knee and studied me in that unnerving way of his. “Do you want me to stay over?”
“Do you want to stay?”
The crooked smile reappeared. “If you want me here, say it. That’s what would happen if this were more than a fling. If we were really into each other.”
If we were really into each other. The words jarred me. Stung a little with the taste of him still fresh on my lips. But it was a necessary reminder that this was fake.
I inhaled. “Yeah. Then you should spend the night. Yes.”
I told myself to be confident. After what we just did—what I just did—it shouldn’t be that hard.
“You don’t sound too excited. Remember, not such a turn-on.”
I needed to approach this clinically. This wasn’t personal. It was an experiment. He was a hot, experienced guy offering to guide me through the art of foreplay. I already felt more knowledgeable. I could kiss adequately now. I could do more than kiss now. I might not be a master of foreplay, but I was more than capable. Thanks to Reece I was ready for Hunter. My belly clenched thinking about that, wondering if I would like making out with Hunter half as much.
I gathered my night bag from the shelf by my closet with shaking hands, rattled by the realization that I was enjoying my time with Reece far too much. I was enjoying him. This had not been the plan. “I’ll be right back.”
I dove across the hall and washed my face and brushed my teeth, scrubbing until I tasted the coppery tang of blood in my mouth. Stopping, I rinsed my mouth out. Lifting my face, I stared at my reflection, marveling at this girl I had become. Someone about to share her bed with a guy who wasn’t Hunter. It was hard to conceive.
When I entered the room, he was under the covers, looking relaxed with one arm tucked under his head. I turned out the lamp, plunging the room into a wash of gray. The light creeping in through the blinds saved us from total blackness.
I kicked off my jeans. He held back the covers for me, and the shadow of his lean body looked so delicious and inviting against the stripes of my sheets.
I slipped in beside him. A sigh escaped me as he pulled me flush with his body, spooning me. The warm, smooth skin wakened my nerves all over again. His maleness, his size, his strength made my breath shaky.
Electricity buzzed along my nerves. Those parts of me that were heavy with aching a little while ago warmed back up all over again.
His arm wrapped around my waist, his hand resting on my stomach. He pulled away for a second to gather my hair and drape it over my shoulder so it wasn’t in his mouth. I felt his breath on the back of my neck. God. The aching was back. I squeezed my thighs together as if I could assuage it. How was I supposed to sleep?
“This Hunter guy—” he started.
“Yes?” I asked in a small voice.
“If he runs out after you mess around, then it doesn’t mean anything to him. You don’t. Understand?”
I winced, reminded that I had done that to him the other night. “I’m sorry that I—”
“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad for bailing that first night, Pepper. I’m just telling you because I don’t want some guy, Hunter or anyone, to ever use you.”
His breath fanned my nape. I knew his lips were close. Unable to help myself, I rolled onto my side and studied him in the gloom, our noses practically touching.
“Thanks for doing this.” I almost added “thanks for caring,” but that might be assuming too much. I swallowed those words back.
He laughed lightly. “I’m not totally selfless here, Pepper. I enjoy you. Clearly.” His hand brushed my cheek, the fingertips a soft graze. Flutters erupted in my belly. My cheeks burned hotter thinking about my hand wrapped around him.
“I enjoy you, too.” I kissed him then, and this time it was different, slow and sweet and tender. Of course it didn’t stay that way. None of our kisses ever did. It built, deepened. Blood rushed in my ears. I cupped his face and wrapped an arm around his neck, aligning my body to his. After a moment, we broke for air.