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The shockwave
s finally ebb away, leaving me trembling. I wrap my arms around him, rest my head on his padded shoulder, and he buries his nose in my hair. His heart is pounding against mine.
We stay like that for a small eternity, trying to catch our breath. I try to pull away, but he tightens his hold on me for a moment longer.
“Now,” he says, muffled in my hair, “I’m ready to race.”
***
He may feel ready, but I don’t. I watch him as he gets dressed. He’s showered—in fact, we showered together, and let’s just say we had to shower twice, because the first time turned into him making me come with his fingers and then pounding into me until we both collapsed on the shower floor.
I stand at this bedroom door, nervously shifting from foot to foot. I’m already dressed, while he had to shave. Watching him shave was also sexy.
It’s a fact. Everything this guy does is sexy. He could be changing a light bulb or taking out the trash, and I’d still be drooling. In fact it’s all I can do right now not to climb him like a monkey and start all over again.
Christ, I really don’t want him to go to this race. I keep stroking the screen of my cell phone, keep thinking to call and ask someone for—what, help? Their opinion? Money?
“The T-shirt I made for you,” I say and lick my lips as he sits on the bed to pull on his biker boots.
“What?”
“The T-shirt I gave you. I want to see it on you. Please.”
He blinks at me, probably wondering why I’d want that now, but that’s easy. Any excuse to get him out of his clothes again is a valid one.
And delay leaving.
But he gets up and opens his closet, and there is the T-shirt, neatly folded, the gloves placed beside it. He takes the T-shirt out and unfolds it, spreading it out on the bed. Pats it gently.
“You were serious about not wanting to get it dirty, then?” I walk into the room, glancing at his face.
“Don’t wanna destroy it,” he replies quietly. “Rip it, or spoil it.”
“It’s not such a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. For me.” He straightens and pulls off his T-shirt, distracting me for a moment.
Bare-chested Ocean moment. Please step back. Could be hazardous.
Then he takes my T-shirt and puts it on, and damn, I’m good. That color really brings out his eyes and hair, and it fits perfectly.
“So why is it such a big deal for you?”
He smooths his hands over the fabric. “It’s a present. Your present.”
And then I remember what he said about not having presents as a kid. Hell, as an adult, either. He made gifts for his brother, but nobody made gifts for him.
“I’ll make you more,” I say, swallowing past the knot in my throat. “Come here.”
He looks uncertain as I approach him but hugs me back when I slip my arms around him. “What is it?”
“I’ll make you muffins and T-shirts, and pants, and gloves, and hoods. I’ll bake you cakes and cook you soups and prepare you sandwiches. I love you, Ocean Blue.”
He snorts against my shoulder. “So I have two first names now?”
“You always did, it seems.” I pat his back and release him. “You’re Ocean, born in a trailer park outside Milwaukee, with a talent for drawing, a guy who looked after his brother and fought for scraps of food in the trash.” God, the knot in my throat only grows. “And you’re Blue, a self-made entrepreneur, car-racer and bad boy extraordinaire who’s free and a little crazy.”
“And who do you love?” he asks, his voice hoarse and his gaze hot.
