My fingers play with the ends of his hair, trail down his thick bicep, down his forearm. Over his hip, over his ass. Both palms run parallel up his spine, thumbs kneading on their climb up.
I knead his neck, squeeze his shoulders, thumbs doing all the work. The sound of his contented sigh is agony.
So much so, I can’t stand having clothes on anymore. Pull away to remove my own shirt. Unclasp my bra. Brush my long hair out of the way so there’s no barrier between us when my hard nipples brush the flesh of his back.
God, the skin-on-skin contact is intoxicating.
He groans when I kiss between his shoulder blades, breasts brushing his back. Delicate kisses on the back of his neck. Warm, wet kisses. Soft. Gentle.
Sexy.
I scoot closer so I can kiss the spot behind his ear. Lick his lobe. Slide my hand around his middle, covering his pec with my palm. Caress it.
His huge bear paw finds my hip, pulling at me from behind, hauling me closer, stroking my thigh as I pepper his body with my mouth in a most unmassagelike way.
“Shit, Laurel. Move back, let me roll over.”
I roll back. He shifts toward me.
Our mouths fuse together, tongues mate. Those large, capable hands rake up my ribcage. Cup my breasts and stay there, kneading.
“Your hands feel so good.” I encourage him with a breathy moan into his mouth, my fingers finding the curls at the base of his neck. Playing with them. Kissing him senseless.
He breaks away. “My hands aren’t too rough?”
“No. No, they’re amazing. Put them back.”
The truth is, I can feel every coarse callus on the pads of each finger, each and every one a souvenir of the sacrifices he makes to win. For his team. To be the best. Reminding me how damn resilient he is. How fit and virile and masculine.
Those magic hands splay over my collarbone, sliding down my shoulders and arms like liquid. Lose themselves in the waterfall of my wavy hair. Play with the ends, brushing it to the side.
My chest is heaving from my beating heart when Rhett pulls back, studying my pale torso wordlessly, several torturous seconds, reluctance written clearly in his questioning gaze.
Hesitantly, his hand reaches out, fingertip finding my dusky areola. Silently, his brown eyes linger on my breasts, fixated. Remain there, tracking the movements of his own thumb when it brushes over my puckered nipple.
Then the other.
Raging hormones cause my breasts to swell. Heavy. Begging for relief.
Still, he slowly learns my curves, the cool air of his bedroom hardening the already stiff peaks. God, it’s so terrible.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper, arching my back into his cupped hand.
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout everything.” Finger goes lazily round and round my nipple. Plucks at it lightly.
It’s begging for attention.
Mmm. My teeth rake across my lip. “Wrestling?”
He licks his lips. “Definitely not wrestlin’.”
“What then?” I exhale the words, almost out of breath.
“I’m thinkin’ that these are the prettiest breasts I’ve ever seen.” Fingertip skims the tender flesh of my side boob. “I can’t believe I’m touching these.”
He can do more than touch them—and I want him to put his mouth on me so desperately I’m practically panting.
Just then, a loud bang hits the bedroom door—two hard thuds with the flat of someone’s fist, a high-pitched male voice calling out, “Special delivery, motherfuckers!”
More thumping has Rhett’s hand going still, shifting, flattening on my ribcage. Pressing another finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Then he yells, “WHAT? Jesus.” Cranes his neck toward the banging. “What do you want!”
Brief pause. “Ginger, you in there? Make sure our man packages his meat!”
I raise my head to the sound of scraping across the hardwood floor: a long, gold strip of condoms being shoved under the door. Laughter in the hall, followed by the distant sound of the front door slamming.
Two sets of intense gazes fixate on those gold foil packages.
His.
Mine.
Sex, sex, sex, the condom packets broadcast to the room. Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm.
I know Rhett is thinking it too, and I can’t even be sorry for the interruption because I didn’t think to buy any, and if I know Rhett, he doesn’t have any either. If we were going to have sex, he wouldn’t have premeditated it, would have had to get up, walk down the hall, and ask his roommate for one.
The sight of them seems to fuel us both into a passion-induced haze, and he positions himself on top of me, bracing up on his elbows, hovering. Rotating his hips. I can feel his long, rigid erection through his gym shorts, through my jeans.
He strokes the loose hair fanned around my head. Runs a finger along my jawline. Down my neck, to the spot behind my ear that has the ability to drive me crazy with lust.
Takes his time before placing a chaste kiss on my temple. The corner of my eye. Mouth. Chin.
He lets out his breath. “Laurel?”
Mine catches. “Yes?”
“Do you…” When he pauses, I arch my entire body, closing the gap between us, tips of my breasts brushing his pecs.
Wiggle.
“Do I what?” Nuzzle his neck. Lick. “You can ask me anything.”
Our mouths fuse again before he responds, swallowing his question, four hands suddenly everywhere. Frantic. He rolls again, taking me along with him; I’m on top, straddling his hips.
Gazing down while he gazes up, I position myself over his erection. Undo the metal button on my jeans while he watches, transfixed. Pull down the zipper as his hands roam parallel up my obliques. Skim the underside of my breasts.
Toy with the waistband of my pants.
I lean in so my breasts brush against his bare skin. “Do you like that?” I ask, nose trailing along the shell of his ear. “I love your skin. You’re so warm.”
His hands run the length of my spine, bury themselves in the back of my pants. I lift myself when he gently pushes the denim down over my hips. Thumbs hook inside my underwear.
“I’m desperate for you,” I moan in between kisses. “Desperate.”
God, I like him so much. Drown in his goodness. His kind spirit and pure heart. The romance of his second language. Sweet brown eyes and beautiful smile.
“You are?”
“Yes Rhett, I am.”
“Do you want me to…” His gulp is labored, Adam’s apple bobbing. Stares up at my breasts, then at the door. At the floor. “Do you want me to…pick those up off the floor?”
I kiss his jaw, sucking on his lower lip. “I think we’re ready to take the next step, don’t you?”
His giant paw cups my jaw, eyes searching mine. “I know I am, but I don’t want to pressure you.”
“That’s funny—I was thinking the same thing about you.”
We laugh, nerves sending my giggle into small fits. My lower half shakes, body void when he dumps me on the bed to leave my side, stealing across the room, snapping up the condoms off the floor. Tosses them on the bedspread so they’re nearby.
Shucks his shorts, pushing them down his powerful thighs. Stands in nothing but his boxer briefs, flushed, climbing back into the center of the bed.
Pulls me flush against his big, strong body and kisses the stuffing out of me, hands spread on my back, on my glutes, squeezing, a ripple of pleasure already building inside my core.
God I love it when he squeezes my ass.
“I’m glad we got the sex talk out of the way.” I laugh when his mouth moves to my collarbone, gasp when he licks the valley between my boobs. Bumps my nipple with the tip of his nose before drawing it into his mouth and sucking. Flicking it with his tongue. “S-So glad.”
“Looks like someone brought me more cookies,” he whispers against my bare flesh.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
We’re obviously not talking about cookies; we’re talking about sex, and I like it. I like this sexy but cautious side of him. He’s taking risks with me that he’s not entirely comfortable with, and I admire him for it.
I’m so outside his comfort zone, it’s laughable.
Yet, here we are.