Page 215
The truer answer is bigger and harder to think about.
“I want to stop disappearing inside everyone else’s life.”
Clint’s thumb moves once against my skin.
“Okay.” He moves closer until I feel his breath when he speaks. “What do you want right now?”
His voice is tinged with something. Like maybe he already knows the answer I haven’t given him. He’s waiting to see if I’m brave enough to say it.
I look at his hand on my chest. At the sheet pooled low in his lap and the line of his hip disappearing under it.
“I thought I wanted to blow you,” I say. “That’s why I came in here.”
Clint blinks.
A laugh breaks out of him, startled and rough. “That’s not the morning alarm I expected.”
“I know.”
“Most people start with coffee.”
“I panicked.”
“And landed on dick?”
Despite everything, I laugh.
Then Clint looks down. His body is betraying him as clearly as mine has betrayed me.
Clint’s thumb moves along my chest again. It isn’t comforting this time. It’s like the edge of an ice cube shocking my skin.
“Okay,” he says.
My breath catches.
“Maybe not like that.” His eyes lift to mine. “But maybe we figure out what you’re really asking for.”
Clint moves first.
His hand slides from my chest to my shoulder, then down my arm. I feel a rush building inside me. Electric bursts where his hand brushes over me. A rush of blood to my face. A bigger rush elsewhere.
He pushes the sheet away from his lap.
He’s so hard. As hard as I am. The shared desire is undeniable, a fact right there between our two bodies.
“Touch me,” he says.
My hand moves. I can’t say that I direct it.
My fingers wrap around him, careful at first, then less careful when his breath catches and his hips shift up. I want my hand to stop trembling, for my fingers to feel sure and steady. I want him to know how deeply I want this.
“Like that?”
“Yeah.” His eyes close, then ease back open. “Like that.”
Then his hand finds me. The first stroke is tentative, almost clumsy, and so intimate I nearly come from the idea of it alone.
Clint’s mouth quirks. “You’re easy.”
