“And about last night?” I roll my hips forward, just a little nudge against his, swallowing down that damn tightness. “I’ve gotta tell you sunshine, I kinda liked you teasing me.”
There, that’s better.
But shit, no it’s not.What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Sorry,” I choke out, “Jesse, shit, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. I get that that kind of thing isn’t on the table for right now.”
Before I get a chance to do more than just scoot my legs away from his a bit, he grabs hold of my thigh and hauls me back.
Holy fuck.
Only now my cock needs to calm the fuck down. Because that?Hellasexy.
“Tris—”
And oh, thank fuck, he’s laughing.
Andohhh, the way he leaves his hand curled around the back of my thigh a moment longer, just sort of stroking it up and down the teeniest bit before he lets go…
“Tris, it’s alright.” He leans in, serious again, all sexy smell of citrus and cinnamon mixed up with the minty scent of his toothpaste, and brushes the softest kiss against my lips. “Don’t change how you treat me. Don’t stop being you. You’re just what I need, exactly how you are.”
He kisses me again. Longer. Firmer. But just as sweet.
“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass, okay?” he asks when he pulls away.
“Careful what you ask for, sunshine,” I wink at him, crazy-ass smile spreading across my face.
“Kiss me some more?”
“If you say so,” I grin before diving in, catching that plump, soft lower lip of his between mine.
So yeah. Kissing Jesse?Totallymy new obsession.
I mean seriously. Those lips of his? Fucking. Magical.
Which means I’m spendinga lotof my night as we kiss tryingnotto think about his mouth on any other parts of my body…
Bet you can guess how well that’s going.
And in between, we talk. Lying on our sides, with Jesse’s fingers stroking through my hair and mine all tangled up in his shirt against that warm chest of his.
He tells me about the sort of stuff I can’t tell him. That he lived just outside Chicago in the suburbs all his life until he moved to Seattle for college, first undergrad, now his PhD. That his parents still live there, in the same house he grew up in.
Mom’s retired from PR for some big ad company. Dad’s a lawyer.
I can see them and their house in my head. All pearls and suits and white picket fence and perfectly trimmed lawn.
My skin fucking crawls when I imagine how my mom, passed out partway undressed with her unbrushed hair halfway over her face, lying on a ripped up old couch in a shithole apartment, would measure up beside them.
No fucking way Jesse needs to know about that shit.
“We’re not all that close,” he explains. “It took them a while to come to terms with me being gay when I came out to them when I moved away. They didn’t talk to me for a while.”
My hand flexes around his shirt. “Assholes.”
Okay, so Imightkinda have growled the word. Just a teensy bit.
Jesse only shrugs. Like it’s old news. Which I guess it is. For him.
