Tate’s eyebrow goes up, focus and interest in his eyes, and I stop laughing. Tension snaps in the air, crackling like water drops in hot oil.
“Sure,” he says.
I swallow. “What?”
His eyes challenge me, sparking and playful. “You want to watch this fucked-up movie in my bed, Jordan? You have to cuddle me.”
My stomach dips. Something tingles through me. What game are we playing here? Do I like it?
I like it. I’m nervous and I don’t know what to do, but I like it. I like the thrill. I’ve never felt like this before with a guy. A man. Tate’s nota guy. He’s a man. He’s older, and hotter than anyone I’ve ever met, and I can’t look away from his eyes.
I get the sense he knowsexactlywhat he’s doing right now, and fuck, that is hot.
“Unless you don’t want to, of course.” Challenge sparks in his eyes, and that stubborn part of myself rises to meet it. “I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t. Ever.”
Something settles in his gaze. “Good.”
The moment stretches.So? his eyes say.
“Fine.” I flop down on the bed, looking at the TV. “Come here, then, scaredy-cat.”
He lets out a low laugh. “No. Not like that. Like this.” He lies back and gestures to his side. He wants me to lie against him? Oh god. My heart is beating up into my throat.
This seems risky. It seems like something I’m going to like too much.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, mouth twisting into a wry smile. Voice soft. “Haven’t you ever cuddled someone before, Jordan?”
Our eyes meet and he sees the truth—no. No, I haven’t. Not like this. Not with someone I have a crush on. Not with someone I actually like.
“Oh.”
My face goes hot and I look away. There they are, my insides, out on display for him to inspect and step on.
“Is it fucked-up that I like being the first?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, laughing a little.
“Probably.” I’m still blushing.
“Yeah. Probably.” He studies me for a moment. “Come here, Jordan.”
I go to him, and it’s so easy, sinking into the bed beside him. My head on his hard chest. So comfortable and delicious.
What are we doing? I don’t care.
“Like this?” I whisper, and his hand settles on my back, brushing up and down in slow, calming motions that turn my brain to slush.
“Exactly like this.” I feel his voice through his chest.
“What do I do with my hand?” I whisper, and his chest shakes a little. I like making him laugh, and his other hand comes to my wrist, lifting it and softly setting it on his flat stomach. Through his soft t-shirt, I can feel the ridges of his abs.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with his scent, every anxiety and insecurity in my mind fading out like a dying star.
“How’s your first time so far?” he asks, and I bite my lip.
Tate Ward is fucking cheeky.
“Not so bad.”
