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My words seem to snap him out of his spell, but not in a good way.
He rolls away from me, to sit on the edge of the bed, head buried in his hands.
Oh, fuck.
This is bad.
Horrible.
I have killed the moment and possibly freaked him out. Definitely ruined everything.
I scramble to my knees and move behind him. I reach out my hand to hover over his shoulder, but stop just shy of touching him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would be that big a deal. Or that you would even find out. I know it’s weird or icky or whatever and—”
I cut myself off when he turns his head to look at me. His irises are blown wide, his gaze dark and stoney. His breath coming sharp through his parted lips.
“It’s not,” he says on a rasp.
“What?”
He stands, turning to face me, his gaze moving up and down my body where I’m kneeling on his bed, then settles on the juncture of my thighs.
“It’s not weird. It’s certainly not icky.” He clears his throat, running his hand down his front to grip his cock through his own pair of gray sweatpants. “It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He gives his cock a squeeze and tug, like he can’t not touch himself. “The idea that you’ve been walking around this house for days without underwear on.” He shivers, his hand clenching. “While wearing only my clothes? It’s … I can’t…”
His expression is stretched so tight he looks like he might crack, but it’s not his facial expression that holds my attention. It’s the slow, steady movement of his hand, gripping his dick through his sweats, tugging up and down.
I was wet before, but now I’m drenched.
“Then why’d you stop?”
He tears his gaze up to my face. “It’s too much. I want you too much.”
Relief floods through me. Relief. Desire. Glee.
It’s one jumbled flood of feelings and need and it bubbles out of me. “Impossible.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I don’t want to lose control.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“I don’t want to be too rough. I don’t want to hurt you.”
His hand stills.
I don’t know the right thing to say here.
I know he would never hurt me. That he couldn’t possibly hurt me.
Whatever he’s feeling, however big and overwhelming it feels to him, it’s not too much, because I’m right there with him.
He’s not alone in this compulsive need. This urgency that I can’t put into words and don’t know how to explain.
The one thing I do know is that words won’t be enough. I can’t tell him all the ways I want him. I can’t explain why I’m not afraid of him being too rough or how I know that it’s going to be perfect. Ian is a man who lives so much in his own head that he’ll be able to talk himself around anything I try to put into words.
So I don’t talk.
Or rather I don’t only talk.
