Unwritten
Page 32
“And that’s a good thing?” Blake smiles, watching me.
I nod, letting the music slip through me, dancing alone in the middle of the room. “I’ve had enough of all that high school drama to last a lifetime. It was really great to be around women who just didn’t care.”
If there’s one thing I learned away from home, it was how to be brave: to walk down the street with confidence, to speak up in meetings, and to have some faith in myself. That I belong, that I’m good enough.
Now, I take every ounce of that bravery and fix Blake with a sultry smile. I slowly walk across the room towards him, still feeling the music in my hips, my whole body. I let it roll through me, not looking away for a second.
Blake sits on the couch, watching me. God, I wish I could freeze-frame the way he’s looking at me: the desire in his eyes. It makes me even bolder as I reach him, dipping and swaying just out of reach. I let my eyes fall closed, taking a moment in the dark safety of my own mind as I dance.
I feel the cool air drifting from an open window, the plush carpet beneath my bare feet. I feel my body, as alive and aware as I’ve ever been in my life before.
And I feel him, watching me.
Heat shimmers in the air between us, bringing goosebumps to my skin. Slowly, I open my eyes.
Blake is standing right in front of me.
My stomach turns a slow flip. It feels like he stepped out of the movie screen: the way the light falls across his chiseled jaw, his messy halo of blonde hair. And his eyes, those vivid blue pools that melted my heart a hundred times over, they’re finally fixed on me.
Only me.
I catch my breath, waiting for his frenzied kiss, but instead, he takes a step to close the distance between us. Blake takes my hand in his and slides the other to rest lightly at my waist. He pulls me gently against him.
Then, like a dream, we’re dancing.
I exhale in a sigh of pleasure, tilting my head against his shoulder. This isn’t the sweaty grind of a club, no, this is something far sweeter. Our bodies barely touching, his breath soft against my cheek. I can feel the heat of him, radiating, and my heart is beating so loudly I could swear he hears it too.
He moves me gently, swaying in place. And every moment that passes, my body becomes more attuned to his. Every movement, every beat. To be so close without looking at him, kissing him, it’s a giddy temptation testing all my resolve.
His fingertips grazing my hip. His thumb softly stroking light circles on my palm. Slowly, the tension coils, twisting tighter with every breath. The song ends, but we keep moving together, until my whole body is pulsing with awareness, electric and bright.
Blake finally steps away from me. I sigh with regret, but the breath stills on my lips when I see the look in his eyes.
Dark. Hot. Wanting.
My stomach twists. He silently holds out his hand. I take it, and follow him down the hall.
12.
Blake leads me to one of the guest rooms and dims the light. It’s immaculate: nothing but a huge bed made with crisp white linens, and windows looking out on the neon city below.
I shiver, eyeing the bed. It’s hitting me for the first time what’s about to happen, but before I can freak out, Blake takes my hand again. He drops a kiss on my palm, my wrist, the inside of my elbow. Slowly moving up my arm, melting my nerves with every touch.
“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?” I blurt.
Blake lifts his head. “I’m surprised you do,” he smiles. “You weren’t all that impressed.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I was freaking out inside, I just wanted you to think I was cool.”
Blake lifts one strap of my dress and slides it down over my shoulder. He bends his head, kissing the bare skin revealed. I gulp. “I had the biggest crush on you back then,” I admit in a hurried whisper.
He stops. “I didn’t know that.” His blue eyes search mine for a moment, unreadable.
Damn, I’m screwing this up again.
Less talk, more make-out.
I slide the other strap off, and let my dress fall to the floor in a ripple of silk. I step out of it, left in nothing but a matching set of black lace lingerie, garters and suspenders.
That gets his attention again.
Blake exhales, his gaze roving over me, drinking me in. The awe on his face gives me new confidence, and makes me feel sexier than ever. Back then, I was a girl who’d never been kissed, but now I’m a woman—with years of magazine articles and advice from the wildest girls in Paris on how to please a man.
I step towards him and slowly run my hands down his chest. I lean in, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. One button, two, three… I slowly open his shirt, dropping tiny kisses across his bare chest, until I can pull the whole thing off him and toss it into a heap on the floor with my dress.
God, he’s magnificent.
In the dim light, his skin is burnished gold, his muscles taut under my roving palms. I stroke every inch, holding his gaze as my fingertips sweep across his skin. I watch his expression change, see the flinch as I gently brush his nipples; see the tension in his jaw as I swirl tiny circles over the smooth dip of his hips, right down to his belt.
I slide my fingertips under his waistband. Suddenly, Blake grips me by the wrists and pulls my hands away, locking them behind my back. Then his mouth is on mine, hot and hard, kissing me into glittering oblivion.
God.
I moan against him, kissing him greedily, hungry for the taste of him and the wild passion of his lips, his mouth, his tongue. My head spins, and I writhe against his grip, but he keeps my arms trapped in place, yanking me tight against him and falling back so that we tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and hands and hot, searching mouths.
I nod, letting the music slip through me, dancing alone in the middle of the room. “I’ve had enough of all that high school drama to last a lifetime. It was really great to be around women who just didn’t care.”
If there’s one thing I learned away from home, it was how to be brave: to walk down the street with confidence, to speak up in meetings, and to have some faith in myself. That I belong, that I’m good enough.
Now, I take every ounce of that bravery and fix Blake with a sultry smile. I slowly walk across the room towards him, still feeling the music in my hips, my whole body. I let it roll through me, not looking away for a second.
Blake sits on the couch, watching me. God, I wish I could freeze-frame the way he’s looking at me: the desire in his eyes. It makes me even bolder as I reach him, dipping and swaying just out of reach. I let my eyes fall closed, taking a moment in the dark safety of my own mind as I dance.
I feel the cool air drifting from an open window, the plush carpet beneath my bare feet. I feel my body, as alive and aware as I’ve ever been in my life before.
And I feel him, watching me.
Heat shimmers in the air between us, bringing goosebumps to my skin. Slowly, I open my eyes.
Blake is standing right in front of me.
My stomach turns a slow flip. It feels like he stepped out of the movie screen: the way the light falls across his chiseled jaw, his messy halo of blonde hair. And his eyes, those vivid blue pools that melted my heart a hundred times over, they’re finally fixed on me.
Only me.
I catch my breath, waiting for his frenzied kiss, but instead, he takes a step to close the distance between us. Blake takes my hand in his and slides the other to rest lightly at my waist. He pulls me gently against him.
Then, like a dream, we’re dancing.
I exhale in a sigh of pleasure, tilting my head against his shoulder. This isn’t the sweaty grind of a club, no, this is something far sweeter. Our bodies barely touching, his breath soft against my cheek. I can feel the heat of him, radiating, and my heart is beating so loudly I could swear he hears it too.
He moves me gently, swaying in place. And every moment that passes, my body becomes more attuned to his. Every movement, every beat. To be so close without looking at him, kissing him, it’s a giddy temptation testing all my resolve.
His fingertips grazing my hip. His thumb softly stroking light circles on my palm. Slowly, the tension coils, twisting tighter with every breath. The song ends, but we keep moving together, until my whole body is pulsing with awareness, electric and bright.
Blake finally steps away from me. I sigh with regret, but the breath stills on my lips when I see the look in his eyes.
Dark. Hot. Wanting.
My stomach twists. He silently holds out his hand. I take it, and follow him down the hall.
12.
Blake leads me to one of the guest rooms and dims the light. It’s immaculate: nothing but a huge bed made with crisp white linens, and windows looking out on the neon city below.
I shiver, eyeing the bed. It’s hitting me for the first time what’s about to happen, but before I can freak out, Blake takes my hand again. He drops a kiss on my palm, my wrist, the inside of my elbow. Slowly moving up my arm, melting my nerves with every touch.
“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?” I blurt.
Blake lifts his head. “I’m surprised you do,” he smiles. “You weren’t all that impressed.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I was freaking out inside, I just wanted you to think I was cool.”
Blake lifts one strap of my dress and slides it down over my shoulder. He bends his head, kissing the bare skin revealed. I gulp. “I had the biggest crush on you back then,” I admit in a hurried whisper.
He stops. “I didn’t know that.” His blue eyes search mine for a moment, unreadable.
Damn, I’m screwing this up again.
Less talk, more make-out.
I slide the other strap off, and let my dress fall to the floor in a ripple of silk. I step out of it, left in nothing but a matching set of black lace lingerie, garters and suspenders.
That gets his attention again.
Blake exhales, his gaze roving over me, drinking me in. The awe on his face gives me new confidence, and makes me feel sexier than ever. Back then, I was a girl who’d never been kissed, but now I’m a woman—with years of magazine articles and advice from the wildest girls in Paris on how to please a man.
I step towards him and slowly run my hands down his chest. I lean in, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. One button, two, three… I slowly open his shirt, dropping tiny kisses across his bare chest, until I can pull the whole thing off him and toss it into a heap on the floor with my dress.
God, he’s magnificent.
In the dim light, his skin is burnished gold, his muscles taut under my roving palms. I stroke every inch, holding his gaze as my fingertips sweep across his skin. I watch his expression change, see the flinch as I gently brush his nipples; see the tension in his jaw as I swirl tiny circles over the smooth dip of his hips, right down to his belt.
I slide my fingertips under his waistband. Suddenly, Blake grips me by the wrists and pulls my hands away, locking them behind my back. Then his mouth is on mine, hot and hard, kissing me into glittering oblivion.
God.
I moan against him, kissing him greedily, hungry for the taste of him and the wild passion of his lips, his mouth, his tongue. My head spins, and I writhe against his grip, but he keeps my arms trapped in place, yanking me tight against him and falling back so that we tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and hands and hot, searching mouths.
