Manwhore +1
Page 84
“It was all fun and games.”
“Wow. You don’t have fun with me?”
His eyes light up with playfulness. “Fishing for compliments, Rachel?”
My belly feels a little tight and I realize I want his love, I want his tenderness.
“I’m snorkeling for them,” I admit, laughing.
He laughs too, rising to his elbows and looking at me, eyes tender, and a hot flood of emotion overflows as we smile at each other. “I respect . . . and admire . . . and enjoy every inch of you, Rachel.”
I duck my head slightly, suddenly a little shy and aware of my nakedness. I reach to cover my breasts.
My stomach tingles when he smiles endearingly and runs a hand over the side of my body. He moves down to kiss my belly button, between my breasts, and strokes my thighs, teasing all the parts that are sore and sensitive from lovemaking and looking at every inch with reverence.
He kisses me, tasting sexy and sweaty and minty, before sitting up and lifting me with him so that I end up on his lap.
“I like the look of you, I like the smell of you, and I definitely like the feel of you. Now, be a good girl,” he pats my ass, “and cover up so I can get some work done.”
“If you let me borrow your shower, I’ll take a bath.” I kiss his lips.
He follows me up and I watch him walk in purely glorious sinful nakedness to the guest bedroom’s bathroom to clean up.
I’m so well fucked that my body doesn’t feel solid just yet. But I somehow make it to his room.
Once inside his shower, I squeeze my eyes shut and hum and mull over our evening. Maybe I should have said I loved him right now. Or in the car, when I blurted out that he didn’t. He went to my mother’s. I should’ve trusted that he would say something reassuring to me, if not a flat out I love you.
Tell him, tell him, tell him.
But what if he doesn’t want to hear it yet? He still hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend.
Will he ever?
On a soft, wistful impulse, I put my fingers on the wet marble of his shower, and even though rooms separate us, I can feel Saint through it. I feel his chest under my fingertips and his soft hair and the energy of his being, like a constant stream of lightning running through my veins.
People celebrate his reckless side, the one that makes the news, they celebrate his powerful side, the one that sets the standards, but right now nothing is more noteworthy to me than the fact that Malcolm came to my mother’s and won her over, just like he did me.
WATCHING ME SLEEP
I wake up in the middle of the night, disoriented by the darkness. I’m not in my room. A leg lies beneath mine and my cheek is resting on hard flesh. Squinting, I look up and Saint is watching me, and I feel myself blush.
“Hey,” I say.
He smiles lightly as I tug the sheet up to my chest and sit up, the arm around me moving to lightly caress my back. “Hey.”
When he sits up a little too, I edge closer to lean my shoulder back against his chest.
He used to be my 1 a.m. I-can’t-sleep text. Now he’s my I-can’t-sleep comfort item. Like a blankie. But he’s alive. And I think I’m his 1 a.m. can’t-sleep comfort thing too.
But then, he’s wide awake so I’m not doing a good job, am I?
“Can’t sleep?” I whisper, gazing at him.
He shakes his deliciously bed-mussed head, running his hand down the back of my hair. “Watching you’s even better.”
I glance around. “What time is it?”
I’m about to search his room for any indication of the time, or about to feel for my phone nearby, when his voice stops me.
“I’m going to ask you now.”
“What?”
“There I was, meeting your mother. And I wanted to hear that I was your guy.”
I blink as it dawns on me. I’m so absolutely awake now that a frisson of nerves and excitement starts crawling through my veins.
“I’m going to ask you now.” The caress of his thumb across my lips makes me realize my mouth is parted and how fast I’m suddenly breathing. “I’ve been ready for far longer than you have, Rachel. You weren’t ready . . . maybe nobody can be ready for me.” He smirks, but there’s a gleam of sheer purpose and determination in his gaze.
I stare, helplessly aching. “Ask me,” I breathe.
“No half measures. I might be difficult—”
“Nothing can be more difficult than not being with you,” I say, cutting him off.
“I’m ambitious,” he calmly continues. “I ride my people hard, and I’ll ride my girlfriend harder, what with everything I want from her—but I’ll give her back everything she gives me tenfold.”
“Wow. You don’t have fun with me?”
His eyes light up with playfulness. “Fishing for compliments, Rachel?”
My belly feels a little tight and I realize I want his love, I want his tenderness.
“I’m snorkeling for them,” I admit, laughing.
He laughs too, rising to his elbows and looking at me, eyes tender, and a hot flood of emotion overflows as we smile at each other. “I respect . . . and admire . . . and enjoy every inch of you, Rachel.”
I duck my head slightly, suddenly a little shy and aware of my nakedness. I reach to cover my breasts.
My stomach tingles when he smiles endearingly and runs a hand over the side of my body. He moves down to kiss my belly button, between my breasts, and strokes my thighs, teasing all the parts that are sore and sensitive from lovemaking and looking at every inch with reverence.
He kisses me, tasting sexy and sweaty and minty, before sitting up and lifting me with him so that I end up on his lap.
“I like the look of you, I like the smell of you, and I definitely like the feel of you. Now, be a good girl,” he pats my ass, “and cover up so I can get some work done.”
“If you let me borrow your shower, I’ll take a bath.” I kiss his lips.
He follows me up and I watch him walk in purely glorious sinful nakedness to the guest bedroom’s bathroom to clean up.
I’m so well fucked that my body doesn’t feel solid just yet. But I somehow make it to his room.
Once inside his shower, I squeeze my eyes shut and hum and mull over our evening. Maybe I should have said I loved him right now. Or in the car, when I blurted out that he didn’t. He went to my mother’s. I should’ve trusted that he would say something reassuring to me, if not a flat out I love you.
Tell him, tell him, tell him.
But what if he doesn’t want to hear it yet? He still hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend.
Will he ever?
On a soft, wistful impulse, I put my fingers on the wet marble of his shower, and even though rooms separate us, I can feel Saint through it. I feel his chest under my fingertips and his soft hair and the energy of his being, like a constant stream of lightning running through my veins.
People celebrate his reckless side, the one that makes the news, they celebrate his powerful side, the one that sets the standards, but right now nothing is more noteworthy to me than the fact that Malcolm came to my mother’s and won her over, just like he did me.
WATCHING ME SLEEP
I wake up in the middle of the night, disoriented by the darkness. I’m not in my room. A leg lies beneath mine and my cheek is resting on hard flesh. Squinting, I look up and Saint is watching me, and I feel myself blush.
“Hey,” I say.
He smiles lightly as I tug the sheet up to my chest and sit up, the arm around me moving to lightly caress my back. “Hey.”
When he sits up a little too, I edge closer to lean my shoulder back against his chest.
He used to be my 1 a.m. I-can’t-sleep text. Now he’s my I-can’t-sleep comfort item. Like a blankie. But he’s alive. And I think I’m his 1 a.m. can’t-sleep comfort thing too.
But then, he’s wide awake so I’m not doing a good job, am I?
“Can’t sleep?” I whisper, gazing at him.
He shakes his deliciously bed-mussed head, running his hand down the back of my hair. “Watching you’s even better.”
I glance around. “What time is it?”
I’m about to search his room for any indication of the time, or about to feel for my phone nearby, when his voice stops me.
“I’m going to ask you now.”
“What?”
“There I was, meeting your mother. And I wanted to hear that I was your guy.”
I blink as it dawns on me. I’m so absolutely awake now that a frisson of nerves and excitement starts crawling through my veins.
“I’m going to ask you now.” The caress of his thumb across my lips makes me realize my mouth is parted and how fast I’m suddenly breathing. “I’ve been ready for far longer than you have, Rachel. You weren’t ready . . . maybe nobody can be ready for me.” He smirks, but there’s a gleam of sheer purpose and determination in his gaze.
I stare, helplessly aching. “Ask me,” I breathe.
“No half measures. I might be difficult—”
“Nothing can be more difficult than not being with you,” I say, cutting him off.
“I’m ambitious,” he calmly continues. “I ride my people hard, and I’ll ride my girlfriend harder, what with everything I want from her—but I’ll give her back everything she gives me tenfold.”
