He doesn’t. He keeps right on pressing himself into me as his hips move back and forth, gradually increasing his pace, each time hitting my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan.
“Love,” he pants.
“Yeah.” I pant right back. “Please don’t stop.” And then it hits me like a tsunami. I see stars and fireworks. “Ahhh,” I say as I feel myself pulse. The feeling is something I can’t describe. I know it was an orgasm. I’ve never had one before, but I’m not an idiot. All I know is I want more of them. Many more of them.
Cooke has stopped moving against me, but he’s still there. And hard. Very hard. His breathing is labored, but he’s got a huge smile on his face. “Did you like that?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ve never had an orgasm before.”
“I know. I could tell by the shocked expression on your beautiful face.”
“I liked it. I want more.” He shifts slightly, and I frown. “What about you?” I nod toward his… oh wow. The towel has fallen away, only covering one leg and his right hip. It’s… he’s right there.
“I’m fine.”
“B-But—”
“No worries, love. I’m good. I’m going to sleep with a smile on my face because I just gave you your first orgasm.” He smirks. “I like being number one.”
I slap his muscled arm jokingly, then run my palm over the same arm. He’s warm, and his skin is smooth. “Your tattoos are amazing.” On his left arm he has what looks like an old clock face from his shoulder down, and there are leaves, flowers, and other symbols weaved in and out of all the organic stuff. On his other arm he has a face. It could be Buddha, but I’m not sure. Similar vines and plantlike things are all around them. I see words and numbers in the mix as well. “They all mean something, don’t they?”
“Aye.”
He doesn’t offer up any details, though. Or maybe he just likes being touched. His eyes close, and his breathing has evened out.
“Does this feel good?” I ask.
“Aye.” His voice sounds weaker, huskier.
So I keep doing it until I hear a tiny snore. He’s asleep, which gives me a chance to look at him. Toreallylook at Cooke Thompson in the flesh is amazing, because one thing’s for sure: he’s the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.
As I close my own eyes to sleep, I can’t help wondering what this all means. If you had told me a day ago that I’d be in bed with Cooke, and that he was sexually attracted to me, I would have laughed. Sure, I had a crush on him since the first second I laid eyes on him, but he was a fantasy, like all the guys I’ve liked over the years.
So why now? Why, of all people, does Cooke like me?
* * *
I’mawoken in the middle of the night, twice, with kisses. Kisses on my neck, cheek, and then, when he knows I’m awake, on my lips. The first time, he murmured in a sleepy, sexy voice, “I can’t bloody believe you’re here.”
I kiss him back. “Me neither.”
This second time, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me until I’m on top of him. I’m half asleep until I realize what he’s doing, and then I wake right the heck up. I try to scoot off him, but he won’t have it. “Love. Stop squirming.”
The second I feel his erection between my legs, I stop immediately. “Cooke. I’m too heavy.”
“Bollocks.”
“I-I don’t know what I’m doing.” I attempt another getaway, but he stops me once more.
“Shh, just let me look at you.” And he does. He looks at me from the top of my head down to my knees. “Seeing you in my jersey is fecking hot, love.”
“Fine.” I let him look at me. It’s not easy, because my self-conscious inner demons want to ruin this for me.
“Stubborn,” Cooke mutters, but I don’t think he’s too concerned, because his hands that started at my waist move down to my upper thigh, just beneath the jersey I’m wearing. I watch as they slowly slide up farther. My mouth is suddenly dry, so I swallow hard. I should stop him before he gets to my belly, because the second he feels all of that, he’ll run screaming. But then I look into his eyes, and what I see there makes me tingle. He’s looking at me like he’s enjoying himself, like he likes how I feel.
“So soft,” he whispers.
