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Then again… I lift my head, look down at her. I’m her boyfriend now, right? Her pretend boyfriend, whatever. I’m down with that. The one who’s gonna show her what it’s really like, having a boyfriend who cares about her, about her pleasure, about her body, about her everything.
Which includes sex. Definitely includes sex, and waking her up with pleasure is part and parcel of it.
Right? I never had a real girlfriend, either. Prison and homelessness don’t exactly lend themselves to relationships. I’m not boyfriend material, despite my claims, but I’d do anything to try it with her.
Hey, I know how it should be. What couples do. I’ve watched the people around me. And I’ve read tons of romance novels while recovering from my injuries. Tons. Swear to God.
That should help, right?
As for sex… I’ve had my fair share of that, so at least there I’m on solid ground.
Still my heart hammers fit to burst through my ribcage as I stroke her hair back from her face and tangle my legs with her, so I can roll over her on the couch. She wakes up, then, face scrunching up as I lay her on her back.
She’s still wearing those old-fashioned black pumps, and I caress the length of her legs upward, from her slim ankles, past her knees, under the flared skirt of her dress to reach her panties.
“Seth?” Her voice is smoky with sleep, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth slack. She’s goddamn perfect, and the hot wave of desire that rolls through me threatens to take me under. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you.” I tug on the lacy material with more gentleness than I thought possible, the way my body is arching toward her, impatient to find her. Giving her a chance to stop this before it starts. “If you still want me to.”
Say yes. Fuck, please say yes.
“Kiss me,” she says instead, and I take that as a yes anyway as I stretch on top of her, pressing between her legs, moaning when her lips part under mine and her tongue meets mine boldly.
Fuck. Oh God. No girl has even turned me on as much as this one. Every part of my body clenches with need. I brace my hands on either side of her face and lick her mouth, her sweet taste setting my blood on fire. Her hands slide under my T-shirt, over my abs, up to my pecs, and her legs fall open, her hips rise to meet mine.
Okay, I won’t fucking last, not like this. Can’t help moving, dragging my hard-on along her seam, and despite the barrier of our clothes, sparks of pleasure fly up my spine.
I break the kiss and arch back, press down on my dick with the heel of my hand to ease the pressure.
“You okay?” she whispers, eyes wide and dark.
“Yeah. Too close.” I grin up at her. “Want you too much. See what you do to me?”
Her gaze dips down to my hard-on, and her eyes widen even more.
Yeah, baby. All for you.
As if my thoughts call to her, she slips her hands over my sweats to cup me through the cloth.
My brain short-circuits and I jerk, heat pooling inside me, spreading like liquid fire. “Wait. Dammit, wait.”
I grip her hand, move it away, struggle to catch my breath and stop the orgasm building behind my balls, inside my dick, rising like a storm about to hit.
About to turn me inside out.
Her hand twitches in mine. Her eyes flare with darkness. “Seth…”
“I’m gonna undress you now,” I whisper, focusing on her, lifting her captured arm and pressing it down by her head. “Take off your pretty shoes, your pretty dress, your pretty bra and panties. Then I will look at you until I can remember every inch of you when I’m alone at night, every curve and every freckle and mole. And then I will kiss you, lick you and touch you everywhere, until you remember me every time you close your eyes and shiver.”
She does shiver, then, her nipples peeking through her bra and dress, her hand curling into a fist, tensing in my grip. She sits up a little, leaning back against the cushions.
Without another word, I release her wrist and reach for the small buttons running down the front of her dress. I pop them one by one, tearing two off with my clumsy, big fingers. Damn tiny buttons. Growling, I shove the material apart and…
Fuck, she’s perfect. The lacy black bra cups her tits, pushing them up, toward me, teasing me. Tempting me.
Can hardly believe I’m allowed to fucking touch this time, whatever the price. I run my thumbs over the plump flesh, so satiny soft, and then down, over the scratchy lace, tracing the peaks of her nipples—hard and straining under my touch.
Bending over her, I mouth them through the lace, loving how they tighten more, how her hands find their way to my head and her fingers tug at my short hair.
