Beautiful Player
Page 40
His eyes searched every inch of my face. “I don’t know . . . if I’ve ever been this distracted by someone,” he said.
I was so close, close enough to see each of his eyelashes in the firelight, close enough to make out the tiny scattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose. Without thinking I leaned in, brushing my lips over his. His eyes widened and I felt him stiffen, frozen for only a moment before his shoulders relaxed.
“I shouldn’t want this,” he said. “I have no idea what we’re doing.”
We weren’t kissing, not really, just teasing, breathing the same air. I could smell his soap, a hint of toothpaste. Could see my own reflection in his pupil.
He tilted his head and closed his eyes, moving in just enough to kiss me once, lips parted. “Tell me to stop, Hanna.”
I couldn’t. Instead I reached up, cupping the back of his neck to bring him closer. And then it was he who pushed forward, harder, longer, and I had to grip his shirt to keep myself steady. He opened his mouth, sucking on my lower lip, my tongue. Heat pulsed low in my belly and I felt like was dissolving, melting until I was nothing more than a racing heart and limbs that twisted with his, pulling us both to our sides and down to the floor.
“I don’t . . .” I started, breath tight. “Tell me what I should do.”
I felt the shape of him hard against my hip and I wondered how long he’d been that way, if he’d been thinking about this as much as I had. I wanted to reach down and touch, watch him fall apart like he had at the party, the way he did in my mind every time I closed my eyes.
His lips moved over my jaw, down my throat. “Just relax, I’ll make it good. Tell me what you want to do.”
My hand moved under his shirt and I felt the solid strength of muscle in his back, his arms as he rolled us over to hover above me. I said his name, hating how weak and unfamiliar my voice sounded, but there was something new there, something raw and desperate, and I wanted more.
“I used to imagine what it’d be like to have you on top of me,” I admitted, not sure where the words were coming from. He rested his body more fully on mine, his hips settling between my open legs. “When you were lounging in the living room with my brother. When you’d take your shirt off outside to wash the car.”
He moaned, moving a hand to my hair, his thumb drawing a path along my face and pressing into the skin along my jaw. “Don’t tell me that.”
But it was all I could think about: how I remembered him from those years, and the reality of him now. I couldn’t possibly count the number of times I wondered what he would look like without his clothes, the sounds he’d make when he was chasing his release. And here he was, heavy on me, hard between my legs, beneath his clothes. I wanted to catalog every tattoo, every line of muscle, every inch of his carved jaw.
“I used to watch you from my window,” I said, gasping as he shifted so that the length of him pressed directly over my clit. “God, when I was sixteen you starred in every one of my dirty dreams.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes; he was clearly surprised.
I swallowed. “Should I not have told you that?”
“I . . .” he began and licked his lips. “I don’t know?” He looked dazed and conflicted. I couldn’t look away from his mouth. “I know I shouldn’t think that’s hot but Christ, Hanna. If I come in my pants you have no one to blame but yourself.”
I could do that? His words lit a fuse in my chest and I wanted to tell him everything. “I would touch myself, under the covers,” I admitted in a whisper. “Sometimes I could hear you talking . . . and I would pretend . . . wonder what it would be like if you were there. I used to make myself come and pretend it was you.”
He swore, dipping back down to kiss me again, deeper and wetter, his teeth dragging along my bottom lip. “What would I say?”
“How good I felt and how much you wanted me,” I said into his kiss. “I wasn’t very creative at the time, and I’m pretty sure your mouth is way filthier in reality.”
He laughed, the sound so low and rough it was a physical pressure on my neck where he breathed. “So let’s pretend you’re sixteen, and I just snuck into your room,” he said, moving his mouth just over mine, his voice coming out the slightest bit unsure. “We don’t have to take our clothes off if you aren’t ready.”
And I wasn’t sure what to say because yes, I wanted to be completely bare under him, to imagine what it would feel like to have him naked and over and inside me. But actual sex with Will tonight felt too fast, too soon. Too dangerous.
I was so close, close enough to see each of his eyelashes in the firelight, close enough to make out the tiny scattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose. Without thinking I leaned in, brushing my lips over his. His eyes widened and I felt him stiffen, frozen for only a moment before his shoulders relaxed.
“I shouldn’t want this,” he said. “I have no idea what we’re doing.”
We weren’t kissing, not really, just teasing, breathing the same air. I could smell his soap, a hint of toothpaste. Could see my own reflection in his pupil.
He tilted his head and closed his eyes, moving in just enough to kiss me once, lips parted. “Tell me to stop, Hanna.”
I couldn’t. Instead I reached up, cupping the back of his neck to bring him closer. And then it was he who pushed forward, harder, longer, and I had to grip his shirt to keep myself steady. He opened his mouth, sucking on my lower lip, my tongue. Heat pulsed low in my belly and I felt like was dissolving, melting until I was nothing more than a racing heart and limbs that twisted with his, pulling us both to our sides and down to the floor.
“I don’t . . .” I started, breath tight. “Tell me what I should do.”
I felt the shape of him hard against my hip and I wondered how long he’d been that way, if he’d been thinking about this as much as I had. I wanted to reach down and touch, watch him fall apart like he had at the party, the way he did in my mind every time I closed my eyes.
His lips moved over my jaw, down my throat. “Just relax, I’ll make it good. Tell me what you want to do.”
My hand moved under his shirt and I felt the solid strength of muscle in his back, his arms as he rolled us over to hover above me. I said his name, hating how weak and unfamiliar my voice sounded, but there was something new there, something raw and desperate, and I wanted more.
“I used to imagine what it’d be like to have you on top of me,” I admitted, not sure where the words were coming from. He rested his body more fully on mine, his hips settling between my open legs. “When you were lounging in the living room with my brother. When you’d take your shirt off outside to wash the car.”
He moaned, moving a hand to my hair, his thumb drawing a path along my face and pressing into the skin along my jaw. “Don’t tell me that.”
But it was all I could think about: how I remembered him from those years, and the reality of him now. I couldn’t possibly count the number of times I wondered what he would look like without his clothes, the sounds he’d make when he was chasing his release. And here he was, heavy on me, hard between my legs, beneath his clothes. I wanted to catalog every tattoo, every line of muscle, every inch of his carved jaw.
“I used to watch you from my window,” I said, gasping as he shifted so that the length of him pressed directly over my clit. “God, when I was sixteen you starred in every one of my dirty dreams.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes; he was clearly surprised.
I swallowed. “Should I not have told you that?”
“I . . .” he began and licked his lips. “I don’t know?” He looked dazed and conflicted. I couldn’t look away from his mouth. “I know I shouldn’t think that’s hot but Christ, Hanna. If I come in my pants you have no one to blame but yourself.”
I could do that? His words lit a fuse in my chest and I wanted to tell him everything. “I would touch myself, under the covers,” I admitted in a whisper. “Sometimes I could hear you talking . . . and I would pretend . . . wonder what it would be like if you were there. I used to make myself come and pretend it was you.”
He swore, dipping back down to kiss me again, deeper and wetter, his teeth dragging along my bottom lip. “What would I say?”
“How good I felt and how much you wanted me,” I said into his kiss. “I wasn’t very creative at the time, and I’m pretty sure your mouth is way filthier in reality.”
He laughed, the sound so low and rough it was a physical pressure on my neck where he breathed. “So let’s pretend you’re sixteen, and I just snuck into your room,” he said, moving his mouth just over mine, his voice coming out the slightest bit unsure. “We don’t have to take our clothes off if you aren’t ready.”
And I wasn’t sure what to say because yes, I wanted to be completely bare under him, to imagine what it would feel like to have him naked and over and inside me. But actual sex with Will tonight felt too fast, too soon. Too dangerous.
