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“I appreciate you.”
Gwendolyn
Of course it’s raining. Not a single part of this date is going the way Sawyer planned, and I’d feel bad for him if I wasn’t having such a great time. I feel terrible knowing that he’s in trouble with his school because of my books (even indirectly). I feel terrible knowing that the second part of our date was supposed to be mini-golf, and now it’s closed. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel incredible every time he looks at me or touches me. Thus, I’m having a wonderful time.
I’m not opposed to the idea of a Netflix and chill kind of night, even if his intention is truly to sit there and watch a movie, start to finish. But before he settles on that he checks the list of on-board activities one more time.
“Are you finally going to serenade me?” I ask as we arrive at the bar. Karaoke will be over in about ten minutes, and then it’ll be time for live music.
“Oooh, sadly, there’s no time.” Sawyer gives a theatrical shrug and searches the room for some open seats. It’s packed, but there’s a booth hidden around a corner and tucked away so far you can’t even see the stage from it. He leans close to my ear so I can hear him. “I’ll go get some drinks.”
I nod and claim the table, sliding in with my back to the rest of the room. The pleather against my skin feels cold, and I feel myself shiver as goosebumps run down my arms. Sawyer arrives a few minutes later. I scoot closer to the wall to make it clear I want him next to me and not across from me, and he lowers himself onto the bench.
“You’re cold,” he says, already shrugging out of his jacket.
“I’m fine.” I’m clearly freezing.
“Try this.” He helps me into it, the backs of his fingers grazing my arms as I slip into the sleeves. “Better?”
“Mhmm. Much better. Thank you.” It’s the same jacket I saw folded over my desk chair a few nights ago, and my heart quickens at the thought of clothing draped over furniture.
He loosens his narrow tie and straightens it under his vest. The navy three-piece suit looks great on him, and without his jacket I can see how the vest tapers at his waist, mimicking the cut of his muscles as they descend to his hips. “I don’t know how you’re cold, Gwen,” he says, unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve. There’s a hint of sweat at his temple as he rolls his sleeves up a few inches.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m wearing significantly less clothing than you.”
“Trust me,” he says, glancing sideways as he raises his drink to his lips. His forearm tenses, his muscles and veins on full display, and I’m afraid he’s going to shatter the glass. “I noticed.”
I feel my face warm under his gaze, not used to this particular brand of quietly intense attraction. I’m also giddy, because he looks hot as hell trying to keep himself from acting on anything right here, and because I know the reason he looks so strained and miserable is because he wants me. What a rush that knowledge is. I sip the drink he ordered for me and realize my mistake: I should have had him sit across from me. I want to be able to see him better, like the way his eyes keep lingering on my lips or the way his jaw clenches and unclenches every few moments.
Actually, this side view is good for watching his jaw, and for sliding my hand onto his thigh.
At this movement, every muscle tightens. I feel his thigh contract under my fingers as they skim the length of his muscle, see his arm twitch and flex and tighten again. His free hand opens and closes, then grips the table, and his pulse pounds at his temple.
“Gwen,” he utters a moment later, when my lips meet the skin just behind his ear.
My eyes close and my lips are poised to kiss him again. The way he says my name is everything. I feel the fabric of his pants pull under my hand, and my muscles clench in response and anticipation. I shift my fingers just a few inches toward his lap, but his hand comes down firmly on mine. Then he throws his head back and a groan morphs to desperate laughter as he draws his free hand down his face.
“Are you trying to make me come right here?”
“Only if you can handle three times in one night.”
“Three?” Even in the dim light of the bar, I can see the color rush to his face and his eyes go wide. “Have you—no, you know what? I don’t even want to know.”
When I pull my hand back and twist my fingers into his, he tenses again and downs the rest of his drink. “Did you want another?” I ask, but he shakes his head.
“The only thing I want to taste right now is you, Gwen.”
Now it’s my turn, for the color-rushing-to-the-cheeks thing and also for the warmth-rushing-to-other-places thing.
“Can we get out of here?” he asks. There’s a new emotion in his eyes that I haven’t seen before, and if the sound of his voice is any indication, I’m going to enjoy finding out what it means.
“Please.” It comes out a whisper.
He stands, still holding my hand, and helps me out of the booth. I swipe my drink from the table and let him pull me through the crowded bar and to the first elevator we can find. Inside the empty car he pins me against the back wall, and the door is barely closed before he plants his lips on mine and works his tongue into my mouth. His fingers dig into the bare skin on my back.
He redirects his mouth to my throat, and my fingers grip the railing while I pant into the space above his head. I feel every inch of him against me, teasing me, making promises for the fun we’re about to have, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to rip his clothes off and let him have me now.
“Sawyer. Maybe… maybe not right here?”
