Page 26 of Unbearable
I ended up spending the weekend with Tyler, which should really be no surprise to me. Monday morning, I’m rushing around his apartment trying to find my clothes when I see him at the kitchen table working on his carburetor he has torn apart.
He watches me pulling my jeans on. His eyes regard me with a steady intensity, my face his focus.
Once I have my jeans on, I make my way over to him. There’s a cup of coffee next to the carburetor, almost gone. He gives a nod to the counter. “I made some for you.”
“That’s nice of you.”
His eyelids are low and dark, slow smiles and burning blue. “Thought you could use some. We wereuppretty late.” He gives me a once over and twists in the chair, turning to face me with his hands on my hips as I stand in front of him.
Moving my hands to his broad shoulders, I laugh, feeling bare to the world, and especially him when he looks at me like this, but also incredibly alive.
He forces me to straddle his lap on the chair, which isn’t forcing because I’ll gladly straddle him. Licking his lips, he gazes up at me like he’s about to speak. I blink and swallow, afraid of what he might say. Pushing his thumb over my collarbone and over my chest to my heart, my eyes hold his. “Are you leaving right now?”
He leans in so our noses and foreheads are touching before kissing me softly.
“I’ll be back on Friday.”
“Hmmm,” he hums, dropping his mouth against my shoulder. “Tell me something dirty.”
“I want you to touch me.” We’ve probably had more sex in the last two days than we have in an entire week, but I can’t help it when it comes to Tyler. I want him all the time.
His kisses falter, a smile pressing against heated skin. “Is that what you want me to do to you?”
I nod. “Touch me.”
“Where?” His voice is rough, enough that I shiver as it hits the side of my neck.
“Down there.” I’m not good at dirty talk. I’ve never really mastered it and I’m afraid I sound like a child asking for candy when they know they’re gonna be denied.
He does touch me though, despite the lack of commitment in my voice. His fingers dip inside my jeans to my center when he sticks one finger inside me. “How’d you get yourself so wet?”
My head falls forward against his shoulder. “From thinking about you.”
“Thinking about what?” He’s forcing me to be vocal and tell him all the naughty things I want him to do to me. I can sometimes do it in the bedroom, but here, in the morning with the sunlight filtering in, I’m somewhat bare and nervous.
My voice shakes around the words, “Fucking me.”
Tyler’s head is down, staring at the carburetor on the table when he pushes it aside and lifts me up so I’m sitting on the table.
Leaning back, he reaches for the hem of his dark shirt, yanking it over his shoulders. My stomach jumps knowing where this is going on hiskitchen table.
Holy hell. YES!
His shirt drops at his feet, steady and sure palms hold my cheeks and he leans in, a kiss so heavy I’m drowning in him and I never want to surface from this. I never want to surface fromhim.
My heart kicks against my chest, my breath growing heavy as heat rushes up my thighs. “You’ve ruined me, Tyler.”
His lopsided grin is there, boyish and adorable but so dirty. He knows what he’s done to me. “I hope so.” Taking my body in his hands, he scoots me to the very edge so my bottom is so close to his face I’m left shaking with anticipation. I watch the muscles in his stomach and arms, flexing with each movement.
Rough and wild, his hands are on me, memorizing the curves before him. His fingers move lower, sliding across my exposed skin to meet in the middle of the button. His touch burns, igniting my nerve endings and making my heart race. My eyes drift closed. But not for long. I can’t be denied his stare for long. Moving my hands up above my head, I grip the edge of the table, craving his touch.
He’s not looking at me; he’s watching my body.
Standing, his body comes in contact with mine. His jeans are still on—as mine are—when he grinds his hips into mine, his arousal straining against his jeans.
Leaning over me, his mouth finds mine. It’s eager but controlled. He gives his heart when he kisses me like this. Everything he says and does shows that.
With one hand against my stomach, he unbuttons my jeans and then draws back, watching me closely but saying nothing. I don’t say anything either because words aren’t necessary. I don’t need to hear how much he wants me. He’s showing me.
