“Holy shit,” he mutters, pressing his fingertips into my back as if he’s afraid I’m going to slip from his grasp. I love the little grin he’s trying to contain. I feel the same.
“You, um… do you have to go?”
His grin widens and he glances away. It’s like he’s trying to stop himself from being too excited and it’s adorable. He’s adorable.
I lean down, kissing into his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin, feeling his moan vibrate against my lips. Every tiny indication that he likes what I’m doing is gasoline on a flame, until I’m ablaze with lust. This place is going to go up in smoke.
“I can stay,” he manages, his voice thick.
“Good.” I give him a slow, seductive smile and turn for the bedroom. “Come with me.”
26
Iclose the bedroom door behind Myles, then cross the room to flick on the bedside lamp. A warm, yellow glow falls over the room, and I cringe when I spot a pile of laundry in one corner. I was hardly planning on bringing him back here.
But he can’t see any of that, because he won’t take his eyes off me. “Come here,” he murmurs. He reaches for me but I shake my head.
Instead, I slowly unzip my dress and let it pool around my ankles. I’m wearing awful underwear again—I had no idea he’d be showing up to take me out this evening—but I don’t care, and neither does he.
He adjusts the impressive bulge in his jeans, giving me a sheepish smile. Somehow, he’s both sexy and cute at the same time. I stare at him, trying to soak this moment in. How did I ever convince myself I couldn’t want him?
I close the distance between us and slide my hands up the front of his shirt. His fingers brush over the bare skin on my back, sending little fireworks scattering across my body.
“Cat…” His eyes dart over my face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitating. I might have all kinds of feelings whipping through me that I don’t want to acknowledge, but he needs to know there’s not a doubt in my mind over what we are about to do. Because tonight, everything feels different. “Myles, you’re not…” I pause, swallowing hard. “You’re not who I thought you were. At all.” I raise a hand to his face, dragging my thumb over his smooth skin and rough jaw, and he lets out the softest sigh. “I really do trust you, you know.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “And I don’t know if it means anything to you, but I trust you, too.”
“Why wouldn’t that mean anything to me?”
“I don’t know. I guess… you’re not the only one who’s scared of getting hurt.”
I laugh uneasily, stepping back. “What? I’m not—”
“Hey.” He pulls me back against him, wrapping his arms around me. “Let’s just be honest tonight, yeah?” His eyes pierce mine and I realize I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to. But for the first time in forever, I don’t.
“Okay,” I whisper, letting myself sink into his gaze. I want to ask him what he meant—how he could possibly be afraid of getting hurt—but I can’t find the right words. I want to know if he’s serious, or if it’s just another one of the things he’s saying to get me in the mood, like last time.
But the more I turn that idea over—the more I think back to his words on the dance floor at Bounce, the way he’s been with me all night—the more I begin to think hedidn’tjust say things to get me in the mood. He meant what he said. He always means what he says.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs.
Oh, no. I’m not sharing any of that with him. He’ll go all Freud and we’ll have to talk for hours and that’snotwhat I want.
I rest a hand on his chest with a playful smile. “I was just thinking about the best way to thank you for coming out with me this evening.”
His eyebrows rise. “Well, it was ahugeinconvenience…” A warm, sexy laugh reverberates against my fingertips. “Seriously, though. You don’t have to thank me.”
“No?” I ask, trailing my hand down the front of his shirt, tugging teasingly at his belt buckle, sliding my palm over the thickness behind his zipper.
He presses his hips forward with a groan. His hands skate down to grip my butt and he walks me backwards to the bed. I climb on, pulling him down beside me. When he removes his tie and reaches for his buttons, I push his hands away, wanting to undress him myself. He chuckles and sets his hands down, letting me take control.
“I love this shirt on you,” I say, slowly working my way down the buttons, each one exposing more of his chest, the start of his tattoo, the patch of hair.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod, pausing my unbuttoning to lean forward and kiss his chest, unable to wait until his shirt is off. I breathe him in deep. His masculine smell is like a drug and I can’t get enough. I want to huff it in until I see stars.
