“And you would, wouldn’t you.”
“Of course I would.”
“You’d do that to me.”
“It’s all I want.”
“Tell me how, then,” she said, and he broke. His words came tumbling out in a great rush.
“By burying my face between your legs—the way I’ve been dying to for days, for weeks. God, do you have any idea how desperate I’ve been to do that? How wild it makes me to catch the scent of your slick pussy? Knowing what a mess you’ve made of yourself, and what a mess you’d make of me if I just licked and sucked and kissed you there?” he said.
Then just as she thought he was going to do just that, just as she was sure he was actually going to cross that line, he groaned, “Oh, we’re starting out at seven thousand again.”
And somehow she had to force herself back. To return to the sensible person she’d almost been a moment ago. To call what they were doing setting up a study area, or booting up the Nintendo console, or making it all just basic and straightforward.
“I’ll go sort everything out,” she said.
While inside she still burned from everything he hadn’t meant to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
She thought she’d feel calmer after getting everything sorted.
But if anything, she only felt more flustered and feverish and frantic. And she kind of suspected why, too. Because she hadn’t been able to find any candles, or choose the right kind of music. So she’d settled on laying a scrap of blue material over the lamp, and leaving a movie with a sexy soundtrack on in the background.
And she only realized afterward that she had shot right past basic and boring, and directly into way too romantic. In fact, it was the exact situation they would have probably found themselves in as teenagers. The room now looked like the hollowed-out tree they used to hide in; the movie in question was one they’d watched a thousand times. She was even wearing the kind of nightdress she used to when they had sleepovers.
The only thing missing was Seth in a jersey and pajama bottoms.
Like the kind of thing he was wearing when he came into the bedroom.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see my bare chest or not,” he said, which really should have made her say,no this is totally perfect. But her mouth had gone so dry at the sight of him like that—somehow boyish-looking, dorky-looking, yet unutterably sexy at the same time—that the words just wouldn’t come out. All she could do was stare.
It was okay though. He seemed to be staring too. She watched him take in the soft, bluish light, and the flickering of the TV, and then her, seated on the side of the bed. And by the time he was done, his eyes were enormous.I should have gone with the longernightdress, she thought, as his eyes trailed up, over her almost-bare legs. Then lingered where the material ended, too high up on her slightly parted thighs.
The ones she’d meant to close before he came in.
But somehow hadn’t gotten around to it. And now it was too late. She’d broken him.
It seemed to take him forever to walk over to her. And when he finally did, he didn’t touch her or kiss her or even lean over her. He sat next to her on the bed, in a way that should have felt as awkward as they were supposed to feel. But instead, it just seemed to deepen that strange sense of familiarity and realness.
He would have done just that back then, she thought. And was not prepared for how tense that made things. She could feel it crackling in the air between their almost-touching arms.
Twice she came close to telling him that this had been a bad idea, that they should go back to doing things in a mechanical way, or maybe just a frantic way, or anything, just anything, besides whatever this was. But she knew why she stopped short both times. The first, because she made the mistake of looking at him as the words rose in her throat. And the second, because of what he said before she could get them out.
“Is it okay if I kiss you now?” he asked.
Then suddenly she was nodding. As if this were a sexy question, when of course it wasn’t. She didn’t know why it made her heart race. Why it made her want to arch up to him. Especially when he leaned down so slowly and tentatively.
You’re supposed to want him to just get it over with, she told herself. But it didn’t seem to make any difference. Her body still reacted like he had licked between her legs, when his lips brushed hers. Softly, so softly, to the point where she could almost believe it wasn’t contact at all.
But it must have been.
Because it made her ache even more deeply than she already was.
She felt that one point of contact like a brand, like something burning.
By the time he pulled back, she was shaking all over, and so desperate for more she almost grabbed him. But she was glad that she managed to resist, because resisting meant she got to see his face—all full of wonder and surprise—over that one little chaste kiss. Before it slowly slid into something else, something heated and eager and oh god when he licked his upper lip, when he made that soft curve glisten in a way she knew would feel slicker and hotter against her…
