Page 59 of I Saw Her First
I huff a laugh as I eat, trying not to let him see how much I want that. To come home to Weston after work and drink wine in the kitchen, listening to his records while I cook for us. I can’t think of anything better.
We eat in silence, savoring the food, and when he’s finished, Wes turns to me with a huge grin. “That was delicious.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin, eyes dancing as they move over my face. “So you’re both a photographer and a chef,” he muses, and I laugh.
“Hardly.”
My gaze falls to a drop of tomato sauce on his shirt and I frown. “Shit. That will stain if we let it.”
Weston follows my gaze, chuckling. “Typical. I’m the worst with spaghetti. Lydia always used to tease me about it.” He’s wistful for a moment, then glances at me, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter.”
I shake my head, pushing to my feet. “Take it off, and I’ll clean it up.”
His eyebrows rise playfully. “You want me to take my shirt off?”
Warmth singes my cheeks. “I mean, I can get the sauce out if you do, but if you don’t feel comfortable, I understand.”
But he’s already moving his hands slowly down the buttons, releasing each one, eyes glinting as he does. When the shirt falls open and he tugs it right off, my mouth goes dry.
Oh, fuck. I am not prepared for this.
I mean, I knew he had a good body, because I’d watched him on the beach like the little perv I am, but up close he’sdivine. I could stare at him for hours, taking in his sheer masculine beauty, the solid presence of him. Olive shoulders and pecs,sculpted and firm from hours carving through the water, salt-and-pepper hair dusting his chest, trailing down his trim waist and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. Heat rolls through me like a wave, starting at my toes and building between my legs. I itch to put my hands on him, to feel every contour of his muscles, to lick my way down his stomach and get into those jeans.
He holds the shirt out to me, amusement flickering in his eyes as I peel my gaze from him and force myself to focus on cleaning the stain. It only takes me a few moments, but I give myself an extra minute to lean over the sink, catching my breath. I’m restless and antsy with need, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, desperate to get him into bed.
I don’t notice Weston come up behind me, until his arms slide around my waist, the heat of him pressing to my back.
“Thank you for dinner,” he murmurs into my ear, sweeping my hair to one side so he can drag his mouth over my neck.
My knees give way, and I grip the counter harder, the movement of his lips igniting fire in my belly. I try to play it cool but I can’t hold out any longer.
Spinning around, I let my hands land on his pecs as I stare up into his eyes. They’re dark pools of desire, the blue swallowed up by the black of his blown-out pupils, and I push up onto my toes to press my lips to his. He eagerly obliges, slanting his mouth across mine. The first lick of his tongue sends lust spiraling to my core, my greedy hands roaming his exposed top half, loving the feel of his hot skin under my fingertips. He groans when I grab his ass and pull him tight against me, aching to feel that hardness I felt last night. The minute it presses into my belly, I lose all sense of reason.
“I need you,” I rasp between kisses. “Wes, I need you so badly.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, mouth moving along my jaw before he reluctantly draws himself away. He adjusts the erection straining against his zipper, catching his breath. I don’t wait for him to say anything more before taking his hand and leading him through the living room into my space. I draw back the curtain to reveal the tiny alcove, my twin bed, the chair where I read and look out over the street. It occurs to me it would probably be far nicer to do this at his house, but I don’t have the patience to wait another night.
Weston wanders through the room, taking in every detail, and I drop onto the edge of my bed, my gaze glued to his movements. I’ve never felt so physically turned on by a man like this before. Interested? Occasionally. Attracted? Sure. But not at his mercy like this, where the low timbre of his voice, his musky, masculine scent, or even just his proximity is enough to make me feel electric. I’m hyper-aware of his every movement, the rhythm of his breath, where his eyes rest.
Wes stands above me at the foot of my bed. I expect he’ll climb on beside me, but instead he says, “So this is where you sleep.”
I nod, unable to fight the way my gaze strays to his bare torso, at eye-level like this. My hands tingle at my sides, eager to reach out and touch him again.
He takes my chin in his hand, tilting my face up to his. “Have you ever touched yourself here while thinking of me?”
His question sends a bolt of heat through my veins. I’ve touched myself a hundred times in this bed while thinking of him, but I never imagined I’d actually get him here.
“I…” I glance away, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.
“You have, haven’t you?”
I gulp as Weston gently lifts my chin so I’m forced to look at him again. “Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes flare with heat, darkening as they move over me, pinning me helplessly to the bed. “Show me.”
What?
I huff a laugh. “I can’t…”
“Show me, Daisy.”
