Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(53)

Something in those dancing eyes told her by “specialty” he meant something sexual. And that idea started pounding away in her heart, her stomach, and then traveled lower.

She clutched her mug. “I’m okay,” she said, anything but.

“Guaranteed to get your mind off your headache.” The side of his lips tipped.

Her hips shifted. Definitely something sexual.

He tugged the blankets aside and ran a gaze down her clothes—actually his clothes. She didn’t want to know how he’d gotten her out of her cute yellow dress and into the black shirt pooling around her thighs.

He planted a fist on either side of her body, his weight depressing the bed. She held the mug of hot coffee between them and stared at him over the rim.

“Put the mug down.”

“I’m okay.”

“Want you trembling, barely able to speak, Ace, not ‘okay.’ ”

Oh. Well, when he put it that way… wait, no. She was a hungover mess. And they had no parameters yet for their relationship. And she needed to brush her hair.

Plus her coffee would get cold.

“Put the mug down,” he repeated, proving how little he cared about the temperature of her coffee.

“Shouldn’t we talk about—”

Carefully, he removed the mug from her hand, put it on the nightstand, and scooted up the bed until he practically lay on top of her. She backed her head into the pillow as he lowered his face to hers.

“Kiss me.”

She lifted her head an inch, smacked her puckered lips against his, and dropped her head onto the pillow again.

He righted a brow—the right one—and pulled his mouth into a look of pure dissatisfaction. “My kid’s gone. The curtains are closed. We are in bed together.”

Her heart knocked against her chest as he reminded her of the things she already knew. “We haven’t talked.”

“Nope.”

“I—I need to,” she stated.

His eyes went to the side in thought, then snapped back to hers. “Okay, Ace. You talk. I’ll be down here.”

He moved so fast, she didn’t have the opportunity to brace herself, but she should have because one minute she was looking at his face inches away from hers, and the next, Evan Downey was underneath the covers, tugging the T-shirt she wore up to reveal her stomach, and darting his tongue into her belly button.

“Evan!” She palmed the top of his head over the covers and pushed, but he didn’t move, continuing to run his tongue around her belly button as his fists found the edges of her panties.

No, no. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

“Evan, come out of there.” Her words drifted out on a sigh. A soft sigh, the longing so evident, they both heard what she really wanted. And what she wanted was for him not to come out of there.

His chuckle and muffled reply confirmed he, too, wanted that. “When I’m done.”

“I’m serious.” She scooted herself up the bed to get away. The move had the opposite of the desired effect, placing his face directly between her thighs. When he muttered the word “perfect,” she felt the rumble of his voice there. Between her thighs. The very spot where he’d had her touch herself in the studio.

Oh my.

And now he was—

Oh. Oh, that’s very nice.

The warm slide of his tongue played along the edge of her panties and then dipped beneath the material. His mouth was warm and wet and, again, before she knew what had happened, he’d tugged her panties away and kissed her thigh as he swept them down her legs.

Then she came to her senses.

Clamping her legs together, she trapped the cotton panties between her knees and whipped the blanket off. His messy bedhead was now messier, his lips damp, and his brows lowered.

“What are you doing?” That was supposed to be a demand, but she sounded breathy. Or, more accurately, out of breath.

“You want to watch.” He shrugged briefly. “Fine by me.” He tugged at her panties again.

She held her knees together. “Evan.” That came out a little whiny, but she pressed on. “I need to know what you’re doing.”

This made him lift his head and sigh. “Charlie, if you don’t know what I’m doing, your sex life has been a sad, limited experience.” He grinned. “Let me enlighten you, baby.”

What he’d said hadn’t been far from the truth. She and Russell used to have sex she’d qualify as “good,” but not earth shattering. The few boyfriends before him were okay, but nothing noteworthy. Especially since she was sixteen when she lost her virginity (stupid) and twenty-two when she dated Josh (inexperienced). Not to mention the guy after Josh who was annoying and moronic and she refused to even think his name. With her limited experience, she’d thought Russell and she had found their rhythm. The way a couple builds habits and learns to maneuver around one another. They’d discovered a way to satisfy one another that, yes, was basically a trade of services, but fulfilled a need. What they each needed. Sexually. But getting Russell to do what Evan was eagerly offering… Well, that was always something she had to barter for with quite a bit of… um… artillery.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered. “To do that to you.”

She winced, hating to admit that she wasn’t, but she wasn’t. She’d lusted after Evan, yes, and had enjoyed his company in the studio without reciprocation, which in her mind meant one thing. This time, he’d expect her to reciprocate.