I pull my nervous lip between my teeth, tugging on the sensitive flesh. He looks down at it, then back up to my eyes. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, and I know he’s holding himself back.
He’s going to kiss me. Do I want him to? I don’t know. I think so. Probably not. But, yes.
Shit.
Just when my brain gives in, he steps back, releasing my chin. He walks back to the room, past the French doors through the bathroom door, closing it behind him.
My breath gives way, and I stand in the middle of the living room with more emotions than I can decipher, aroused being well at the freaking top.
We ordered pizza for dinner,which was better than any pizza I’ve ever had, and ate lazily on the couch together. I haven’t had that much fun eating in, since, well, I don’t think ever. Most dinners at my parents’ house were formal, at the dining table, no matter what kind of food it was.
So this was a breath of fresh air.
We sat in every odd position, sometimes me leaning back with my feet propped up on Hudson’s lap as he attempted to throw sliced olives in the air and catch him in his mouth. He succeeded on every occasion, which makes him far too talented for a random show. Which led me to giving him shit for, more than likely, practicing alone with his previous pizza nights.
I glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I recall tonight and the moments since we met. He’s right. Everything is simple between us.
Simple and scary as hell. One night with him, and I want all of them to be like this. But I have a job to focus on. A career. And he has his baseball and his new position on a new team to worry about. We have goals, and I’m not interested in anything more than a friendship at this point. With anyone. I spent too long trapped in a relationship I didn’t want to be in, and I have no desire to waltz back into another one, assimpleas it may be.
I’ve had a few straying thoughts about the whole one bed thing. It’s a little daunting, even though we’ve already had sex, only making this a tad more awkward. Although I only get flashbacks of our night together, each one is like reliving the best porn clip I’ve ever seen. And of course, the wet dream I had the first night I came home was a whole other experience.
Actually, are women’s sex dreams called wet dreams? I’ll have to look that up later.
I finish up in the bathroom, carefully setting my things in the corner of the bathroom sink, so it doesn’t take up too much space on the counter. I’m dressed in my silk pajamas as I walk through the door into the room we’re now sharing. The tank top’s thin straps rest over my shoulders, and the top stops short of my belly button, exposing a little bit of my stomach. The shorts, if you can even call them that, are more like underwear, but this is normally what I sleep in. I don’t really have other options because I didn’t anticipate having any kind of sleepover.
He’s facing the other direction, plugging his phone into the charger built into the nightstand. Black boxer briefs fit snug against his perfectly shaped ass, which is all the clothing he currently has on. His broad back on full display, ink lines his perfectly smooth skin, the charcoal shades crossing over the top of his back, shoulders, and down the middle of his spine. My eyes trail down again, and I’ve decided here and now, this man has officially turned me into an ‘ass girl’.
I don’t see his face turn in my direction until I hear his phone fall onto the nightstand.
Glancing up, his jaw is slacked, and he’s running his hand through his still damp hair, looking a shade darker than usual.
“Holy shit,” he whispers loud enough for me to hear.
I look down at myself, slightly uncomfortable with my outfit considering the circumstances, and cross my arms over each other, covering my bare tummy.
“Don’t you dare cover yourself.” He’s shaking his head with his demand.
I automatically release my arms as they fall to my sides, like I don’t have a mind of my own.
He stays there, studying me. And like his hair, his eyes are a few notches darker. Maybe it’s the dim lighting, or the fact that his gaze is plowing through me so deeply, but it’s turning my body into jello.
I’ve never had anyone look at me like he’s looking at me. Like he needs to own me. Like his body needs me to survive.
My backstabbing body responds easily to him. My nipples pebble and harden, piercing through the glossy fabric.
I know he knows immediately when his eyes drift down to my chest and he lets out a heavy breath. My hips shift of their own accord, attempting to combat the tingling sensation building at my core.
Can someone eye-fuck you into an orgasm? I think it’s entirely possible at this very moment.
I attempt to ignore my body’s desperate need and walk to one side of the bed, opposite him, as he turns to face me.
He stands there for a second—a year, maybe—his eyes never leaving mine.
“Which side do you like to sleep on?” I ask.
“Whatever side you’re on.” He lunges forward, his knee dipping into the middle of the mattress. One swift move, andhe’s pulling me toward him and I’m wrapped in his arms as he slams his lips against mine.
My lips part immediately for him. His tongue invades my mouth and the same comfort his kiss brought me, since the first time he gave me one, engulfs me. My rigid frame softens into him, and everything I’ve been fighting against melts into nothing.
