Unconditional
Page 35
“Sure,” I lie. “Just tired out, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”
“Did you have fun with your friends?” he asks, and I don’t have the energy to tell him what happened, so I just nod, taking a seat on one of the overstuffed couches in the lounge.
Hunter and Brit curl up on the other couch, so when Garrett saunters back from the kitchen with a bag of nachos, there’s only two places left for him to sit: the big leather recliner, or over here with me. Garrett doesn’t even pause. He sinks down beside me and kicks his feet up on the coffee table with a grin.
I try not to smile, but I feel a rush of excitement all the same.
Talk about immature, I scold myself, trying to look like I haven’t even noticed him. As if it matters where he chooses to sit.
But it does to me.
Everything about Garrett matters now. It matters when he glances over to smile at me when the lights dim and the opening credits start to roll, and it matters when he shifts his weight, leaning an arm on the back of the couch, his hand resting just inches away from my shoulder. Every move he makes, I notice. It’s like my body has woken up to his presence, every nerve flared, alert to the smallest movement, the briefest look.
I’m aware of him in a way that goes beyond rational thought. I feel him now, and it takes everything I have to act cool, to pretend like every instinct in my body wants to close the distance between us, to reach out and run my fingers through his tousled hair.
I sneak a glance in the darkness as he leans forward to pick up his drink. The muscles in his back shift and ripple beneath the taut fabric of his T-shirt. I remember what it felt like to slide my hands over them, feel the power coiled in those broad shoulders, his weight bearing down…
I shiver, folding my hands together to keep from reaching for him.
Garrett glances over at me, catching my gaze.
My cheeks go hot, and I pray he can’t see me blushing in the dim light. I force myself to look back at the screen. I don’t even know what we’re watching, some action movie with a guy running around; I try to focus on the plot, but instead of watching, all I can think about is the man sprawled so casually next to me, driving me to distraction without even realizing it.
“Chips?” Garrett murmurs, offering me the bag. I shake my head. He settles back, but this time, his hand comes to rest almost against the back of my head.
Almost.
In the darkness, I can feel the weight of his hand, just grazing my hair. I shiver, closing my eyes and imaging for a moment that we’re all alone. I could reach out and touch him, lean my head back into his touch. Turn and slide my hand along his arm, reaching to pull his mouth to mine…
An explosion comes, loud, and I snap my eyes open again. When I look to Garrett, he’s watching the screen intently, completely oblivious to the fantasies I’m spinning just a few inches away. God, I’m losing my mind now—imagining touches where there are none, reading into looks and pauses when there’s nothing there to read.
My stomach suddenly clenches with fear. For all my grand plans to seduce him, what if I’ve got it all wrong? He said it was wrong to kiss me, a mistake. What if taking advantage was an excuse, and really, he just doesn’t want me like that?
No. I force myself to stay calm. Garrett wants me. I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his hungry kiss. I just have to find a way to break through that noble self-restraint and show him that I want this too.
My pulse kicks with anticipation. I casually turn, shifting my position on the couch and lifting my legs to rest them in Garrett’s lap.
His head snaps around.
“You’re my personal pillow,” I tell him with a smile.
He gives a strangled-sounding laugh. “Sure thing.”
I settle back into the pillows and now, Lord, focus is impossible because Garrett’s got his hand resting lightly just above my knee.
Heat spirals through me.
Slowly, not taking his eyes from the movie, Garrett gently strokes his thumb back and forth across the inside of my leg.
I can’t breathe.
One touch, one tiny touch, barely caressing me, and I’m coming undone, feeling every whisper of sensation like a supernova, rippling across my skin.
I glance over at him, I can’t help it, and then I see, he’s watching me with a look of na**d lust on his face so strong, it sends a rush of desire right to my core.
His eyes lock on mine, glittering in the dark.
Slowly, his hand slides higher.
Oh God.
I snap my head back around to the TV, trying to look unruffled even as my heartbeat drums a wild rhythm in my veins. He’s stroking only an inch above my knee now, barely moving his thumb, invisible to anyone who might look. But somehow, that soft caress is wildfire, striking out across my body in a fevered blaze, setting my whole world alight.
I burn.
My head spins, and I force myself to breathe, gasping in soft, shallow pants that are thankfully drowned out by the blare of the movie on screen. My ni**les are tight now, aching under my shirt, and I feel the universe contract, spiraling smaller around me until there’s nothing but the darkness and Garrett’s wicked touch and the sharp ache of longing between my thighs. I’m wet for him, craving, and all without a single word.
I could come right here, shatter into a thousand pieces. If only he’d stroke harder, reach higher, slide his hand up to the places that are crying out for his touch…
But Garrett’s hand stays, resting lightly on my knee, caressing me softly, relentless. I drift into an aching daze, blood roaring in my ears, strung out in an exquisite agony until the lights flip on again suddenly and I find the movie’s over, and the credits are running on-screen.
“Did you have fun with your friends?” he asks, and I don’t have the energy to tell him what happened, so I just nod, taking a seat on one of the overstuffed couches in the lounge.
Hunter and Brit curl up on the other couch, so when Garrett saunters back from the kitchen with a bag of nachos, there’s only two places left for him to sit: the big leather recliner, or over here with me. Garrett doesn’t even pause. He sinks down beside me and kicks his feet up on the coffee table with a grin.
I try not to smile, but I feel a rush of excitement all the same.
Talk about immature, I scold myself, trying to look like I haven’t even noticed him. As if it matters where he chooses to sit.
But it does to me.
Everything about Garrett matters now. It matters when he glances over to smile at me when the lights dim and the opening credits start to roll, and it matters when he shifts his weight, leaning an arm on the back of the couch, his hand resting just inches away from my shoulder. Every move he makes, I notice. It’s like my body has woken up to his presence, every nerve flared, alert to the smallest movement, the briefest look.
I’m aware of him in a way that goes beyond rational thought. I feel him now, and it takes everything I have to act cool, to pretend like every instinct in my body wants to close the distance between us, to reach out and run my fingers through his tousled hair.
I sneak a glance in the darkness as he leans forward to pick up his drink. The muscles in his back shift and ripple beneath the taut fabric of his T-shirt. I remember what it felt like to slide my hands over them, feel the power coiled in those broad shoulders, his weight bearing down…
I shiver, folding my hands together to keep from reaching for him.
Garrett glances over at me, catching my gaze.
My cheeks go hot, and I pray he can’t see me blushing in the dim light. I force myself to look back at the screen. I don’t even know what we’re watching, some action movie with a guy running around; I try to focus on the plot, but instead of watching, all I can think about is the man sprawled so casually next to me, driving me to distraction without even realizing it.
“Chips?” Garrett murmurs, offering me the bag. I shake my head. He settles back, but this time, his hand comes to rest almost against the back of my head.
Almost.
In the darkness, I can feel the weight of his hand, just grazing my hair. I shiver, closing my eyes and imaging for a moment that we’re all alone. I could reach out and touch him, lean my head back into his touch. Turn and slide my hand along his arm, reaching to pull his mouth to mine…
An explosion comes, loud, and I snap my eyes open again. When I look to Garrett, he’s watching the screen intently, completely oblivious to the fantasies I’m spinning just a few inches away. God, I’m losing my mind now—imagining touches where there are none, reading into looks and pauses when there’s nothing there to read.
My stomach suddenly clenches with fear. For all my grand plans to seduce him, what if I’ve got it all wrong? He said it was wrong to kiss me, a mistake. What if taking advantage was an excuse, and really, he just doesn’t want me like that?
No. I force myself to stay calm. Garrett wants me. I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his hungry kiss. I just have to find a way to break through that noble self-restraint and show him that I want this too.
My pulse kicks with anticipation. I casually turn, shifting my position on the couch and lifting my legs to rest them in Garrett’s lap.
His head snaps around.
“You’re my personal pillow,” I tell him with a smile.
He gives a strangled-sounding laugh. “Sure thing.”
I settle back into the pillows and now, Lord, focus is impossible because Garrett’s got his hand resting lightly just above my knee.
Heat spirals through me.
Slowly, not taking his eyes from the movie, Garrett gently strokes his thumb back and forth across the inside of my leg.
I can’t breathe.
One touch, one tiny touch, barely caressing me, and I’m coming undone, feeling every whisper of sensation like a supernova, rippling across my skin.
I glance over at him, I can’t help it, and then I see, he’s watching me with a look of na**d lust on his face so strong, it sends a rush of desire right to my core.
His eyes lock on mine, glittering in the dark.
Slowly, his hand slides higher.
Oh God.
I snap my head back around to the TV, trying to look unruffled even as my heartbeat drums a wild rhythm in my veins. He’s stroking only an inch above my knee now, barely moving his thumb, invisible to anyone who might look. But somehow, that soft caress is wildfire, striking out across my body in a fevered blaze, setting my whole world alight.
I burn.
My head spins, and I force myself to breathe, gasping in soft, shallow pants that are thankfully drowned out by the blare of the movie on screen. My ni**les are tight now, aching under my shirt, and I feel the universe contract, spiraling smaller around me until there’s nothing but the darkness and Garrett’s wicked touch and the sharp ache of longing between my thighs. I’m wet for him, craving, and all without a single word.
I could come right here, shatter into a thousand pieces. If only he’d stroke harder, reach higher, slide his hand up to the places that are crying out for his touch…
But Garrett’s hand stays, resting lightly on my knee, caressing me softly, relentless. I drift into an aching daze, blood roaring in my ears, strung out in an exquisite agony until the lights flip on again suddenly and I find the movie’s over, and the credits are running on-screen.
