Fox watched while I ate myown candy, making a show of licking my fingers and squirming as he stared at mymouth, lips parted, eyes wide, breath speeding up a little.
I loved that he looked at meand saw someone he wanted. I lovedbeingwanted.
Once I was done, I offeredthe second peanut butter cup to Fox, letting him take bites of it straight frommy fingers until there was only small piece left. I set it on his tongue,brushing the pad of my thumb over his lower lip.
He caught it in his mouth,sucking and swirling his tongue around it while he made soft, enthusiasticsounds and held my gaze.
I shifted, trying not tothink about the fact that my jeans felt tight all of a sudden. Not that I wasn’tallowedto get hardaround Fox. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be that way for the trip back onthe bike.
It would’ve beenembarrassing to come in my pants on a tight curve or something.
The wet pop as Fox releasedmy thumb was the glistening maraschino cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae ofsexual frustration he’d just shoved in my direction and raised asuggestive eyebrow over.
I wanted him so much ithurt.
“Starting to develop a tastefor those,” Fox said, laughter in his voice. “Starting to develop a taste foryou,” he added.
That was exactly what Iwanted to hear. I surged forward, catching his still-parted lips, heartstuttering at the needy moan that rumbled in Fox’s chest as I licked the faintesttrace of chocolate from his mouth.
He laughed into my mouth,hand coming up to curl around the back of my neck and hold me in place. Mystomach swooped as his fingertips slipped under the back of my collar, skintingling at the touch. It wasn’t even a sexy place to be touched, except that itwaswhen Fox wasdoing it.
Every touch made me feelspecial. Wanted.
Loved.
Fox made me feel loved, andI wasn’tan expert on the concept—despite the number of songs I’d released about it—butI…
I was in love with Fox.
Even the second time, thethought was like stepping off a cliff. Like one of those old cartoons where acharacter ran straight off the edge of one and there was nothing under theirfeet when they looked down.
Except I wasn’t falling. Or atleast, it didn’t feel that way.
Falling in love didn’t feel likefallingat all.
It felt like soaring.
For once in my life I hadall my feathers and I could spread my wings and take off, feel the wind whipthrough my hair, watch the ground pass me by as I looped and flapped and flew,free.
And below me, Fox waswatching with a smile on his face, waiting for me to come back to him, ready tocatch me if Ididfall.
I wanted to tell him. Iwanted to tell him so badly that the words almost came tumbling out of me thenand there, a confused jumble of thoughts and feelings andneed, pouringstraight from my heart.
The sudden lurch my stomachgave at the thought stopped me. What if I was wrong? What if he didn’t want to hearit? What if, what if,what if?
But I still…
The scar on his lip caught myattention.
Icouldtell him.
Shuffling closer so that ourbodies were pressed together, I kissed my way along his jaw, taking my time toenjoy the scratch of the artful stubble there. Fox gasped, his grip on my waisttightening, breath speeding up again.
“Fox?” I whispered in hisleft ear, heart hammering in my chest.
“Can’t hear you, love,” hesaid, the faintest hint of sadness in his voice. I didn’t want to hurt him, butI couldn’t think of another way to do this.
Just for now.
