Beautiful Player
Page 96
I’m only one man, for Christ’s sake. I’m not a god. I can’t resist taking Hanna now and figuring out everything afterward.
It felt like cheating; she wouldn’t give me her heart but she’d give me her body, and maybe if I took enough of her pleasure, stored it up, I could pretend it was more.
It didn’t matter at the time how much I might regret it later.
Chapter Seventeen
It had never been like this, ever. Slow. Almost so slow that I wasn’t sure either of us could get there, or that I even cared. Our lips were only millimeters apart, sharing breaths and noises and the whispered pleas to Feel that? Do you feel that?
I did feel it. I felt every one of his stuttering heartbeats under my palm, and the way his shoulders shook above me. I felt the unformed words on his lips, how he seemed to be trying to say something . . . maybe the same something I’d been skirting around since I snuck into his dark room. Even before that.
He didn’t seem to understand what I was asking.
I’d never expected it to be so hard to put myself on the line. We’d made love—what felt like the true meaning of the phrase earlier; his skin, my skin, nothing else between us. He called me Hanna at the dinner table. . . . I don’t think anyone had ever said that name out loud in this house before that. And even though Jensen—Will’s best friend—was in the other room, Will had stayed with me to do dishes. He’d given me a meaningful look before I headed to bed, and texted me good night, saying, In case there’s any question, my bedroom door shall remain unlocked.
It seemed like he was mine when we were in a room full of people. But here, alone behind his closed door, it was suddenly so unclear.
Are there others? . . .
I thought that’s what you wanted.
The rule should be that there aren’t other lovers . . .
So we break this rule then?
. . . Silence.
But what was I expecting? I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms tighter around him as he pulled almost all the way out and then slid slowly back inside, inch by perfect inch, and groaned quietly in my ear.
“So good, Plum.” His hips rolled over me, one hand sliding down my ribs and back up to cup my breast and simply hold it, his thumb sweeping over the tight peak.
I loved the deep, molten sounds of his pleasure, and it helped distract me from the truth that he hadn’t given me the words I’d wanted tonight. I’d wanted him to say, There are no other women anymore. I’d wanted him to say, Now that we’re doing this without protection, we don’t break that rule, ever.
But he’d been the one to open this conversation before, only to have me shut it closed. Was it true that he really wasn’t interested in being more than friends-who-fuck? Or was he unwilling to be the one to start the conversation again? And why was I being so passive? It was as if my fear of messing things up with him had stolen all of my words.
He arched his neck back, groaning quietly as he slid in and out of me, achingly slow. I closed my eyes, pressing my teeth into his neck, biting down, giving him every bit of pleasure I could think. I wanted him to want me so much that it didn’t matter that I was inexperienced or unsure. I wanted to find a way to erase the memory of every woman who came before me. I wanted to feel—to know—that he belonged to me.
I wondered for a sharp, painful beat how many other women had thought the exact same thing.
I want to feel like you’re mine. I pushed on his chest so he had to roll off me and I could climb over him. I’d never been on top with Will, not for sex, and looked down at him, feeling unsure, guiding his hands to my hips. “I’ve never done this.”
He gripped his base with one hand and guided me over him, grunting as I sunk down. “Just find what feels good,” he murmured, watching me. “This is where you get to drive.”
I closed my eyes, trying different things and struggling to not feel foolish in my inexperience. I was so hyperaware of this earnest feeling pulling my ribs tight, I wondered if I moved differently, more clunky, less carefree and sexy. I had no idea if it felt good to him.
“Show me,” I whispered. “I feel like I’m doing it wrong.”
“You’re perfect, are you f**king kidding?” he mumbled into my neck. “I want to last all night.”
I grew sweaty, not from exertion but from being so wound up I thought I might burst from my skin. The bed was old and squeaky; we couldn’t move the way we were used to—roughly for hours and using the entire mattress and frame and pillows. Before I realized what was happening, Will lifted me off him, carried me to the floor, and sat up beneath me so I could lower myself back onto him. He went so much deeper this way; he was so hard I could feel the press of him in some unknown, tender place. His open mouth moved across my chest and he ducked his head to suck and blow on my nipple.
It felt like cheating; she wouldn’t give me her heart but she’d give me her body, and maybe if I took enough of her pleasure, stored it up, I could pretend it was more.
It didn’t matter at the time how much I might regret it later.
Chapter Seventeen
It had never been like this, ever. Slow. Almost so slow that I wasn’t sure either of us could get there, or that I even cared. Our lips were only millimeters apart, sharing breaths and noises and the whispered pleas to Feel that? Do you feel that?
I did feel it. I felt every one of his stuttering heartbeats under my palm, and the way his shoulders shook above me. I felt the unformed words on his lips, how he seemed to be trying to say something . . . maybe the same something I’d been skirting around since I snuck into his dark room. Even before that.
He didn’t seem to understand what I was asking.
I’d never expected it to be so hard to put myself on the line. We’d made love—what felt like the true meaning of the phrase earlier; his skin, my skin, nothing else between us. He called me Hanna at the dinner table. . . . I don’t think anyone had ever said that name out loud in this house before that. And even though Jensen—Will’s best friend—was in the other room, Will had stayed with me to do dishes. He’d given me a meaningful look before I headed to bed, and texted me good night, saying, In case there’s any question, my bedroom door shall remain unlocked.
It seemed like he was mine when we were in a room full of people. But here, alone behind his closed door, it was suddenly so unclear.
Are there others? . . .
I thought that’s what you wanted.
The rule should be that there aren’t other lovers . . .
So we break this rule then?
. . . Silence.
But what was I expecting? I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms tighter around him as he pulled almost all the way out and then slid slowly back inside, inch by perfect inch, and groaned quietly in my ear.
“So good, Plum.” His hips rolled over me, one hand sliding down my ribs and back up to cup my breast and simply hold it, his thumb sweeping over the tight peak.
I loved the deep, molten sounds of his pleasure, and it helped distract me from the truth that he hadn’t given me the words I’d wanted tonight. I’d wanted him to say, There are no other women anymore. I’d wanted him to say, Now that we’re doing this without protection, we don’t break that rule, ever.
But he’d been the one to open this conversation before, only to have me shut it closed. Was it true that he really wasn’t interested in being more than friends-who-fuck? Or was he unwilling to be the one to start the conversation again? And why was I being so passive? It was as if my fear of messing things up with him had stolen all of my words.
He arched his neck back, groaning quietly as he slid in and out of me, achingly slow. I closed my eyes, pressing my teeth into his neck, biting down, giving him every bit of pleasure I could think. I wanted him to want me so much that it didn’t matter that I was inexperienced or unsure. I wanted to find a way to erase the memory of every woman who came before me. I wanted to feel—to know—that he belonged to me.
I wondered for a sharp, painful beat how many other women had thought the exact same thing.
I want to feel like you’re mine. I pushed on his chest so he had to roll off me and I could climb over him. I’d never been on top with Will, not for sex, and looked down at him, feeling unsure, guiding his hands to my hips. “I’ve never done this.”
He gripped his base with one hand and guided me over him, grunting as I sunk down. “Just find what feels good,” he murmured, watching me. “This is where you get to drive.”
I closed my eyes, trying different things and struggling to not feel foolish in my inexperience. I was so hyperaware of this earnest feeling pulling my ribs tight, I wondered if I moved differently, more clunky, less carefree and sexy. I had no idea if it felt good to him.
“Show me,” I whispered. “I feel like I’m doing it wrong.”
“You’re perfect, are you f**king kidding?” he mumbled into my neck. “I want to last all night.”
I grew sweaty, not from exertion but from being so wound up I thought I might burst from my skin. The bed was old and squeaky; we couldn’t move the way we were used to—roughly for hours and using the entire mattress and frame and pillows. Before I realized what was happening, Will lifted me off him, carried me to the floor, and sat up beneath me so I could lower myself back onto him. He went so much deeper this way; he was so hard I could feel the press of him in some unknown, tender place. His open mouth moved across my chest and he ducked his head to suck and blow on my nipple.
