What? What did he know? “Oh my God,” I pant. This feels better than anything ever has in the entire world.
“You like my mouth on you, love?”
“Yes.” Hell, fuck, yes. “Don’t stop.” Don’t ever, ever stop.
But he does. The big jerk stops. When I open my eyes, he’s staring into mine. “Stay.”
Stay. Stay?
“I promise you we won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable doing. I just want you in my bed. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you and wake up next to you.”
“That was much better, Cooke.”
“Better?”
“Yeah, better than ‘I won’t even be tempted.’” I say it in a deep voice to make it sound like it’s him who’s talking.
“I’m tempted. Believe me.” He looks down at himself, and my eyes follow until they reach his crotch region. His jeans look sort of uncomfortable right now.
I giggle, because nerves. “Oh. Dear.”
Smiling, Cooke takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom part of the suite.
“I, erm, don’t have anything to wear,” I mumble.
“I’ve got something.”
I watch as he digs through his suitcase. Pulling out something red, he steps back over to me. “I brought this for you.”
Taking it from him, I unfold it to see it’s got his team logo on it. He turns it around so I can see his number, 10, and his name, Thompson, printed above it.
“Wow, Cooke.” My first concern is if it will fit. I don’t want to look at the tag to see the size, but gauging just from holding it up, I think it will. It’ll most likely be snug around my ass, but I can’t do a thing about that. “Thank you.”
“Go on, then.” He points to the bathroom. “You use the loo; I’ll undress out here.”
I step into the bathroom and quickly shut the door, all the while biting my lip. Shit.He’s undressing?What if I step out and he’s naked? What will I do? I know what he said a few minutes ago, that we won’t do anything I don’t want to do, but…. “Just breathe, Quinn.” I’m whispering to myself so he can’t hear me. I’m acting like a lunatic. “He won’t be naked.” And what if he is?
“You all right in there, love?”
Shit. “Uh, yeah. I’m good.”
I quickly undress, contemplating whether or not I should wear my bra. I opt not to wear it because a, it’s too tight, and b… well, there is no b, so I unhook my bra and tuck it into my folded shirt. Next, I unbutton, unzip, and shimmy out of my jeans. Standing in only my nicest pair of Hanes Her Way underwear, I slide the shirt over my head. Pushing my arms into each hole, I pray this thing will fit, because I can’t walk back out there and tell him, “Hey, sorry. I’m too fat to wear your ginormous shirt. Got anything in xx-ginormous?” Luckily, when I pull it down, it’s a little loose on me, even over my ass. And it’s long, hitting me at midthigh. “Phew,” I say softly.
Now that the shirt drama is over, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m flushed, but that’s probably just from changing clothes, though it could also be from that kiss. My hair has certainly been mussed because of that. I run my fingers through it to smooth it down. I lean toward the mirror and see my makeup is okay. Before I go, I decide to quickly use the bathroom, wash my hands, and rinse out my mouth. I’m ready. Now all I need to do is open the door.
“Quinn?” he calls from the other room. “Is this too much for you, love?”
Oh shit. How long have I been in here? Without responding, I open the door and step out. My eyes go right to the bed. He’s in it, beneath the covers. I can’t tell if he’s wearing bottoms, but I can see his upper body is free of clothing. I can finally see his tattoos in real life. I could probably touch them if I wanted to.
“Wow,” he says sort of breathlessly. “You look perfect.”
I blink at him a few times but say nothing.
“You all right over there?”
“Sure.”
That makes him chuckle. Stepping closer to the bed, I stop and look at his face. With courage I didn’t know I had, I say, “I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, Cooke Thompson.”
