“Couldn’t stop starin’ at you on stage,” she breathes, eyes findin’ his mouth. “Swear I tried.”
He starts to whisper, mouth so close it tickles her skin?—
“Guess we?—”
But she don’t let him finish. She dives into him, tongue slidin’ past his lips—fast, messy, starvin’ to taste him too bad to care. If she thinks too hard she’ll chicken out.
In a blink, he pulls back.
Her heartdrops, her breath breaks.
His gaze darts across her face.
“Easy,” he breathes against her mouth as he hovers there. His eyes drop to her chest. “What’s goin’ through that head, huh?” His hand slides higher up her thigh, thumb skimmin’ the seam of her shorts. “You come back here wantin’ somethin’ from me? Or just wanted to be near me?”
“I dunno…” her breath hitches as her hips move again, heat climbin’ higher. “Yeah. But I just… want you wantin’ me, too.”
He exhales. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
She wants to believe him. Lord, she does.
“C’mere.” He palms her ass, pulls her down harder onto his lap. “Ain’t here to run my mouth, sweetheart.” His gaze drifts down to her boobs, to the way her thighs straddle his lap. “Now tell me what you’re thinkin’. You knew where I’d be. Knew what you wanted when you waited. So say it. Right here. Right now. What were you hopin’ for?”
Her mouth opens. She’s got nothin’. ‘Cause whatwasshe hopin’ for?
She swallows. “I dunno what I’m doin',” she finally admits, eyes starin’ at his mouth. “I’m gonna mess this up. But I know I wanna do things.”
A tense second passes, and then his mouth tugs up at the corner.
“You wanna dothings, huh?” he says, reaching for her ankle and slidin’ one boot off. “Then lemme do some things to you.”Boot number two hits the floor. His brow cocks. “That cool with you?”
She nods, not trustin' her voice.
He nods too. Like they’re meetin’ in the middle of somethin’ big.
“Good. Now go on—stand up for me, yeah?”
She rises slowly, knees wobblin’, her body tremblin’, and stands between his knees.
Andrew’s fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts.
Her heart’s poundin’. She’s sweatin’. She’sbeensweatin’. He ain’t even lookin’ up. His eyes are on her chest. Her stomach. Her lungs that’re tryin’ too hard to stay still while his gaze traces her body, readin’ her.
Then he’s tuggin’, peelin’ her shorts down her slick skin, takin’ her wet panties too, draggin’ ‘em past her thighs, past the weight she always hides, ‘til they drop at her feet.
She tried shavin’ in the shower once, bent her leg up on the tub. Mirror in one hand, razor in the other. Ended up nickin’ herself right on the lip. She dropped the mirror, sat down in the tub, water beatin’ down on her neck, cryin’ tears that are tired of tryin’. The ones that choke your throat and make you feel stupid for cryin’ at all.
And standin’ in front of him now, she almost gives up all over again.
Her hands fly to her face to cover her eyes.
She can’t see him lookin’ at her.
“Sorry. I ain’t shaved?—”
“Nah—cut that shit.” He grabs her wrists and pulls them down. “I like you just like this,” he says, cuttin’ her off. “Don’t forget—you grabbed me and walked your ass back here. So if you want it, show me.” He lets her go, nudges his chin to the rest of her. “Take it off. Bra too.You’regonna do it.”
She stands there, feet nailed to the floor.
