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“Okay, then,” I say out loud.
With my palms still on her hips, I stand, picking her up with me. Thank God for leg day. She squeals as I sling her over my shoulder, fireman-style and head for the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Savannah
* * *
I knew Ian was strong, but I’m still surprised when he stands, lifting me with him as if I weigh absolutely nothing. He tosses me over his shoulder like I’m a rag doll and practically jogs up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom on the third floor.
I’d complain if the view of his ass wasn’t so good. And if his speed didn’t convey that he’s just as eager as I am.
He tosses me on the center of his bed, then crawls up between my legs, skimming his hands along the outside of my pants.
His pants, actually.
He brought up a duffle bag of my clothes a couple of days ago. I welcomed the panties and bras, but never quite transitioned from wearing his oversized sweatpants and T-shirts back into wearing my own clothes. I kept waiting for him to say something about it. But he hasn’t.
Until now.
Now, as soon as he reaches the waistband of the sweatpants, he bunches the hem of the shirt in his hands. I lift my hips so he can free the back of the shirt. He doesn’t move to take the shirt all the way off but bares only my belly before settling between my legs to rain kisses on the skin he’s exposed.
He’s kissing his way down my stomach, inching the waistband of the sweatpants down as he goes, when I’m struck with a burst of panic as I realize what he’ll find when he pulls my sweats all the way off. My sweats that are actually his sweats. And that I haven’t been wearing any underwear under. Gah. Is that going to gross him out?
I plant my palms on his shoulders. “Wait. Stop.”
My words come out sounding like more of a gasp than a request, but he stills instantly, looking up at me.
His gaze roves my face, as intense and serious as ever.
“What is it?” He moves to pull back with a decisive nod. “You don’t want this.”
“No, that’s not it.” My hands clench on his shoulders, trying to hold him in place, close to me, but also still so I have a moment to think. “Don’t … I just …”
“What is it?” he asks again, a note of real concern in his voice.
He’s lying between my legs, half up on one elbow as he studies me. We’re both still fully clothed, but despite that it is possibly the most intimate position I’ve ever been in. Certainly the most intimate conversation I’ve ever had. For me, sex has always been a bit perfunctory. A thing to do and be done with. Pleasant. Good. Sometimes even great. But never something to discuss. To talk about.
But suddenly I feel this need to talk to Ian before we go any farther. At the very least to give him a heads up.
“Here’s the thing. You know how I started wearing your sweatpants and T-shirts because I showered and didn’t have any clothes here?”
He nods, eyes suddenly alight with mischief. “Yeah.”
“And then I just sort of never stopped wearing your clothes. And you never said I should. Even though you brought me clothes from my cottage.”
His lips twitch in a smirk. “Because seeing you in my clothes is so fucking hot, it makes me crazy.”
“Glad you think that.” I release a huff of breath, biting down on my lip. “Because I didn’t have any clean underwear that first day. And so I didn’t put any on under your sweatpants. I haven’t been wearing underwear, even though you brought me clothes. Because I liked how your clothes felt against my skin.”
Ian has gone completely, stone still. He’s frozen in place. Not even breathing by the time I finish talking. He’s just staring at me, his expression somewhere between shocked and …
I don’t know what.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. It’s been pretty obvious that he has sensory issues of some kind. I’d have to be the most insensitive twat ever not to have noticed. And also, maybe he’s on the spectrum or something. So … I don’t know. Maybe this information has horrified him. Repelled him.
“Say something.”
