Beautiful Player
Page 97
“Just f**k me,” he growled. “Down here you won’t have to worry about the noise.”
He thought I was worried about the creaky bed frame. I closed my eyes, rocking self-consciously, and just when I thought I would stop, tell him this position wasn’t working for me, tell him I was choking on words and unanswered questions, he kissed my jaw, my cheek, my lips and whispered, “Where are you right now? Come back to me.”
I stilled over him and rested my forehead on his shoulder. “I’m thinking too much.”
“What about?”
“I’m nervous all of a sudden, and I just feel like you’re mine only for these little bits of time. I guess I don’t like that as much as I thought I would.”
He slid his finger under my chin and tilted my face up so I had to look at him. His mouth pressed against mine, once, before he told me, “I’ll be yours every second if that’s what you want. You just have to tell me, Plum.”
“Don’t break me, okay?”
Even in the darkness I could see his brows pull together. “You said that before. Why do you think I would break you? Do you think I even could?” His voice sounded so pained, it plucked at something raw and taut in me, too.
“I think you could. Even if you didn’t want to, I think you could now.”
He sighed, pressing his face into my neck. “Why won’t you give me what I want?”
“What do you want?” I asked, shifting so that my knees were more comfortable, but in the process, I slid up his c**k and back down. He stilled me with forceful hands on my hips.
“I can’t think when you’re doing that.” Taking several deep breaths, he whispered, “I just want you.”
“So . . .” I whispered, running my hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Are there going to be others?”
“I think you need to tell me that, Hanna.”
I closed my eyes, wondering if that would be good enough. I could tell him I wouldn’t date anyone else, and I imagined he would agree to the same. But I didn’t want it to be up to me. If Will was going to do this, to be with one person, it had to be something that wasn’t negotiable for him—it had to be him wanting to call it off with the others because of how he felt for me. It couldn’t be some loose decision, a maybe-maybe-not, a whatever-you-decide.
His mouth found mine then, and he gave me the sweetest, most gentle kiss I’d ever felt from him. “I told you I wanted to try,” he whispered. “You were the one who said you thought it wouldn’t work. You know who I am; you know I want to be different for you.”
“I want it, too.”
“Okay then.” He kissed me and our pace started again, small thrusts from him beneath me, tiny circles from me on top. His exhales were my inhales; his teeth slid deliciously over my lips.
I’d never felt so close to another human in my life. His hands were everywhere: my br**sts, my face, my thighs, my hips, between my legs. His voice rumbled low and encouraging in my ear, telling me how good I felt, how close he was, how he needed this so much he felt like he worked every day just to get back to me. He told me being with me felt like being home.
And when I fell, I didn’t care whether I was awkward or jagged, whether I was inexperienced or na?ve. I cared only that his lips were pressed firmly to my neck and his arms were wrapped around me so tight the only way I could move was closer to him.“You ready?” Will asked Sunday afternoon, slipping into my bedroom and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. The majority of the morning had played out this way: a covert kiss in an empty hallway, a rushed grope session in the kitchen.
“Almost. Just packing a few things Mom is sending home with me.” I felt his arms fold solid around my waist and I leaned back, melting into him. I’d never noticed how much Will touched me until he couldn’t do it freely. He’d always been tactile—small brushes of his fingers, a hand lingering at my hip, his shoulder bumping against mine—but I’d grown so used to it, so comfortable, I hardly noticed anymore. This weekend I’d felt the loss of every one of those small moments, and now I couldn’t get enough. I was already debating how many miles we’d need to put between the car and this place before I could tell him to pull over and make good on his offer to take me in the backseat.
He pushed my ponytail out of the way as his lips moved along my neck, stopping just below my ear. I heard the tinkling of his keys in his hand, felt the cool metal against my stomach where my shirt had ridden up the tiniest bit.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. “I think Jensen’s been trying to corner me since brunch and I don’t really have a death wish.”
He thought I was worried about the creaky bed frame. I closed my eyes, rocking self-consciously, and just when I thought I would stop, tell him this position wasn’t working for me, tell him I was choking on words and unanswered questions, he kissed my jaw, my cheek, my lips and whispered, “Where are you right now? Come back to me.”
I stilled over him and rested my forehead on his shoulder. “I’m thinking too much.”
“What about?”
“I’m nervous all of a sudden, and I just feel like you’re mine only for these little bits of time. I guess I don’t like that as much as I thought I would.”
He slid his finger under my chin and tilted my face up so I had to look at him. His mouth pressed against mine, once, before he told me, “I’ll be yours every second if that’s what you want. You just have to tell me, Plum.”
“Don’t break me, okay?”
Even in the darkness I could see his brows pull together. “You said that before. Why do you think I would break you? Do you think I even could?” His voice sounded so pained, it plucked at something raw and taut in me, too.
“I think you could. Even if you didn’t want to, I think you could now.”
He sighed, pressing his face into my neck. “Why won’t you give me what I want?”
“What do you want?” I asked, shifting so that my knees were more comfortable, but in the process, I slid up his c**k and back down. He stilled me with forceful hands on my hips.
“I can’t think when you’re doing that.” Taking several deep breaths, he whispered, “I just want you.”
“So . . .” I whispered, running my hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Are there going to be others?”
“I think you need to tell me that, Hanna.”
I closed my eyes, wondering if that would be good enough. I could tell him I wouldn’t date anyone else, and I imagined he would agree to the same. But I didn’t want it to be up to me. If Will was going to do this, to be with one person, it had to be something that wasn’t negotiable for him—it had to be him wanting to call it off with the others because of how he felt for me. It couldn’t be some loose decision, a maybe-maybe-not, a whatever-you-decide.
His mouth found mine then, and he gave me the sweetest, most gentle kiss I’d ever felt from him. “I told you I wanted to try,” he whispered. “You were the one who said you thought it wouldn’t work. You know who I am; you know I want to be different for you.”
“I want it, too.”
“Okay then.” He kissed me and our pace started again, small thrusts from him beneath me, tiny circles from me on top. His exhales were my inhales; his teeth slid deliciously over my lips.
I’d never felt so close to another human in my life. His hands were everywhere: my br**sts, my face, my thighs, my hips, between my legs. His voice rumbled low and encouraging in my ear, telling me how good I felt, how close he was, how he needed this so much he felt like he worked every day just to get back to me. He told me being with me felt like being home.
And when I fell, I didn’t care whether I was awkward or jagged, whether I was inexperienced or na?ve. I cared only that his lips were pressed firmly to my neck and his arms were wrapped around me so tight the only way I could move was closer to him.“You ready?” Will asked Sunday afternoon, slipping into my bedroom and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. The majority of the morning had played out this way: a covert kiss in an empty hallway, a rushed grope session in the kitchen.
“Almost. Just packing a few things Mom is sending home with me.” I felt his arms fold solid around my waist and I leaned back, melting into him. I’d never noticed how much Will touched me until he couldn’t do it freely. He’d always been tactile—small brushes of his fingers, a hand lingering at my hip, his shoulder bumping against mine—but I’d grown so used to it, so comfortable, I hardly noticed anymore. This weekend I’d felt the loss of every one of those small moments, and now I couldn’t get enough. I was already debating how many miles we’d need to put between the car and this place before I could tell him to pull over and make good on his offer to take me in the backseat.
He pushed my ponytail out of the way as his lips moved along my neck, stopping just below my ear. I heard the tinkling of his keys in his hand, felt the cool metal against my stomach where my shirt had ridden up the tiniest bit.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. “I think Jensen’s been trying to corner me since brunch and I don’t really have a death wish.”
