But today, I ignore it completely.
“Are you sure you have to leave me tomorrow?” Wes pouts, closing the laptop on his chest as credits start to roll. We just finished watching a movie in his bedroom, and I push up to a seated position, resting my back against his headboard.
“Unfortunately, I do,” I say, unable to help my responding frown. “My mom will kill me if I don’t help with the basement.”
Wes sets his laptop on the nightstand and sits up beside me, turning his body so that we’re facing each other on the bed. “My offer still stands, you know. Take me home with you, and I’ll sort through everything myself. You can just stand in the corner and order me around. ‘Move this. Trash that. Now drop and give metwenty.’” He pauses. “Actually, that sounds kinda hot now that I think about it.”
I shoot him a funny look. “Being forced to do push-ups?”
“No, taking orders from you. I love it when you get all feisty.”
My face warms, and I playfully nudge his knee. “Wes.”
He cracks a smile. “What? You don’t want the chance to treat me like your own personal lackey? This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, Ives.”
“As much as I’d love to boss you around for the day, bringing you home would be…” I trail off, trying to find the right words to describe the shit show that would ensue if I sprang Wes on my family.
“A wonderful surprise?” he jokes.
I almost laugh at that. “I wish. It would be a bad idea,” I tell him seriously. He nods like he understands, though I’m not sure he really does considering his family is nothing like mine. I see the disappointment in his eyes before he masks it, and my heart pangs. “I’m sorry, Wes.”
He gives me an easy smile that only makes me feel worse. “Hey, nothing to be sorry about, okay? I was pushing my luck. I get greedy if someone doesn’t put me in my place.”
“Okay,” I mutter, but I’m still afraid that I’ve hurt his feelings. He picks up on the false note in my voice and leans forward, his hand reaching up to cradle my cheek.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his dark eyes searching mine. “Everything’s fine, okay?”
“I wish I could take you,” I say softly.
His thumb grazes my cheekbone, his face only inches away from my own. “I know you do.”
I lean closer, pulled in by his magnetic force, and his eyes drop to my mouth. My breath stutters out as my mind flashes back to our kiss in his car, and judging by the way his eyes darken, he’s picturing it, too.
Slowly, sweetly, he closes the distance between us and brushes his lips against mine. It’s a feather touch, one that jumpstarts my heart, and my eyes drift closed.
One brush of our lips. Two brushes. Three. My eyes flutter open as he pulls away, and when his thumb traces along my jawline, I lean into his touch. His hand weaves through my hair, fingers closing around the back of my head, and he pulls me back in for another kiss.
This time, I part my lips, tentatively testing my tongue against the seam of his. He parts with a soft groan that sends a jolt through my body and tingles straight down my spine, and I can’t help the responding whimper in my throat.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I should probably stop, but I don’t want to.
Careful…
His tongue strokes mine, and my insides shake and shudder. Our kisses deepen, turning almost desperate now, and I press my body closer to his, molding myself along his muscle. This is nothing like it was in the car, I realize. In his bed, we’re not confined by the seats or the straps or the hour. In this room, in this bubble, I can feel all of him if I want to.
Do I want to?
Careful…
I lie back on the bed, pulling him with me. Here, I can feel the heat of his breath, the strength of his hands, the warmth of his lips on my skin. He lowers his body over mine, careful not to crush me with his weight, and my thighs tighten around his hips. He kisses me eagerly as our bodies press together, and my eyelids flutter at the friction, my breath coming short. Even with our clothes on, I love the feel of him this way, love the pressure of his hips rocking into mine as we kiss, and I wonder why we haven’t been doing this from the moment we met. What have I been so afraid of all this time?
“God, I can’t get enough of you,” Wes murmurs before he trails a series of kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I tilt my head back, arching slightly to give him better access as he lightly sucks the sensitive spot just below my earlobe. My stomach dips, and I tug him closer, desperate and breathless and needy.
And then his lips are back on mine, and I’m weaving my fingers through his hair like I’ve imagined doing a million times, and he’s kissing me like he’s been imagining it for a million and one. My hips roll against his, chasing the growing ache inside me, and his fingertips trail up the sensitive skin of my inner arm. His hand closes around my wrist?—
—and presses me into the bed. His hands tighten. His grip is too firm, and I’m too drunk, and I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home.
