Thank fuck that it turns out that my apron’s great at hiding boners.
And yeah, of course by the time I left the shop, Reagan had managed to drag it out of me that while yes, Jesse and Ihave indeed beennaked in his bed, no, we still haven’tactuallyfucked.
Yet.
Dinner was thelastthing on my mind when Ifinallymade it through to the end of the day and back to Jesse’s place, totally skipping over even stopping off at my apartment. Why would I need to go there when I know what’s waiting for me next door? But because he’s Jesse—all practical and responsible and way too fucking sweet formyown good—skipping out on eating in favor of getting him naked and in bed that very moment wasn’t gonna happen.
Never mind the fact that not having had him for nearlytwo whole daysnow will be the thing that’s gonna kill me, not lack of food.
To pay him back for making me wait when I’m legitimatelydying, I’ve spent the whole time at the restaurant, that same little hole in the wall Thai place he’d taken me to on our first date, with my chair scooched right up close against his, letting my hand wander all over his thigh under the table, stroking and massaging up and down.
On the walk over here, only the fact that the wettest, coldest rain I’d ever felt in my life was pouring down on us had kept me at least abitdistracted from how I wanted nothing more than to turn around and drag him right back to his apartment.
The way his fingers had skimmed along my neck though when he’d helped me out of my coat when we’d gotten to our table? Soverynothelpful. Add in the fact that I’mtotallysure the fucker did it on purpose, and that was all it took to send every one of my thoughts straight back to the whole naked-in-bed thing.
Hence my highly enjoyable exploration of my sunshine’s hotAF thigh.
Just like that night when I’d tried to lure him into some sexy bath time though, the joke’s on me, ‘cause the way Jesse’s shifting around in his chair and the feel of his thick muscles tensing up under my hand as I stroke over them, always stoppingjustshort of where I know his cock’s gotta be straining at his jeans, hasmeall kinds of hot and bothered too.
My totally unhelpful mind takes over from there, replaying particularly juicy moments from the night before last, right along with what he’d said after…about how he wants to take his time with me. Make me feelsogood…
Fucking god,I seriously think I might just drop dead if I don’t get to touch him soon. Ifhedoesn’t touchmesoon…
When I finally give in—finallybeing the key word, ‘cause seriously? I’ve gotta deserve somerealcredit for how long I held out—and let my fingers stray just that teensy bit farther up to give his fucking-hard-as-a-rock bulge a squeeze, my own cock throbs and leaks, and I can’t hold back a moan at the exact same moment as Jesse full-on chokes on the mouthful of water he’d just tried to swallow down.
“Jesus,” he gasps when he can get a breath, which is seriously delayed by how, the whole time he’s coughing, both of us are totally cracking the fuck up. It’s late enough that the restaurant’s empty except for us, so it’s not like we’re gonna piss anyone off with how loud we’re being.
Thenohhh. Suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore, and neither am I, ‘cause he’s staring at me, pupils blown wide as he leans in, whispering in this thick, growly-hot voice, “You win, Tris. Are you happy?”
Oh, fuck yes. So happy.
‘Cause I definitely like the sound of this.
38
Jesse
I’d never realized ten blocks could feel so far, but the distance between the restaurant and my apartment felt like a million miles.
All day, I haven’t been able to get Tristan out of my head. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I’d told him that when I’d brought him lunch.
By some miracle, for the second day in a row, I’d still managed to have one of the most productive days I’ve had in years; jotting down pages of notes and actually writing a few thousand coherent, maybe even persuasive words. In the spaces between each thought and word though, there’d been nothing but Tris.
Now, the feel of his fingers laced tightly through mine as he tugs me along the sidewalk isn’t nearly enough. The silence between us is charged; heated and irresistible, like the dangerous glint in his eyes every time he glances back over his shoulder with a look that makes my pulse leap.
For all that I wish we were already at my apartment this moment though, I don’t want to rush a thing that happens once we are. I’d told Tris I want to take my time with him, and god, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my lifethan to do exactly that.
My near desperate need to have him naked and falling slowly apart under my touch is shot through with my equally great need to find every possible way to show him how he deserves to be treated. All the ways I want to touch him and kiss him, using my hands and my mouth to show him how impossibly perfect he is to me, keep flashing through my mind, making my dick throb in time with the heavy beat of my heart.
Giving in and just falling into bed with him as soon as I’d had Tristan in my arms tonight had been so very tempting, but it had felt too selfish after he’d worked all day and probably hadn’t had anything to eat besides the salad and sandwich I’d brought him. Now though, after sitting through what felt like hours of the most delicious torment of his teasing, I’m seriously regretting the decision for either of us to have ever left my apartment.
It must have been raining when we first ducked out of the restaurant, but I didn’t even notice until we passed under a streetlight. Even then, I’d only realized it because I’d been staring at Tris.
The moment the light had fallen on him, it was impossible not to get lost in all the drops of water dripping from his hair, leaving damp tracks from his cheekbones down to the sharp line of his jaw, then running along his neck. Fucking Christ, I want to pull him back against me and lick away every last raindrop from his skin.
By the time our building is in sight, it’s pouring in earnest. The pounding of the rain is loud as it pelts down around us, but not loud enough to dampen the sound of Tris’s laughter as we half run the remaining distance, trying and failing to avoid the quickly forming puddles that litter the sidewalk.
When we duck under the overhang of roof covering the stairs leading up to my apartment, he’s still laughing, flicking his head to shake droplets of water from his hair. The motion leaves the soaked black strands in a tousled, gorgeously wet mess that clings to his cheeks and forehead, and I literally cannot force myself to look away as I pull him to a stop.
