Truly, Madly, Whiskey(43)
He parked, and as she moved her hand, he placed his over it, squeezing lightly so she could feel all of him. She buried her face in his back, like a kid caught with a firecracker who hadn’t thought about the repercussions of being discovered. She felt him grow bigger beneath her palm, and her pulse sprinted, but she didn’t try to pull away. She liked this silent descent into naughtiness. She felt his fingers lace with hers and he moved her hand from between his legs. Removing his helmet, he turned toward her with a wolfish grin. For a beat they didn’t speak; she wasn’t even sure she breathed.
He took off her helmet—because she was frozen stiff from being caught feeling him up—and said, “Want to settle any other curiosities?”
“Um.” Yes, please. “Shall I make you a list?”
He climbed from the bike and locked up the helmets. Then he repositioned her so she was sitting sideways on the seat. He stood between her legs and pulled her forward. The position alone made her heart race in the very best of ways. He cradled her face in his hands, bringing their mouths so close she prepared for a kiss. A hot one. Her lips parted, and she felt light-headed from the anticipation, but he just held her there, searching her eyes as if he was waiting for her to say something. What, she wasn’t sure, because all she wanted to do was plaster her mouth to his again.
“Do I make you nervous? Standing like this?” he asked just above a whisper.
“Only because I’m waiting for you to kiss me and you’re not doing it.”
That earned another sinful smile. “Oh, I’m going to kiss you, baby. I’m going to kiss you until you can’t remember ever asking me to. And then I’m going to keep kissing you, until you’re so hot and bothered you can’t think straight.”
It was all she could do to stare at him, imagining those kisses.
“But first I’m going to spend another minute standing right here. Not kissing you.”
“Because you like torturing me?”
“No, sugar. Because that curiosity you’re feeling is so f*cking sexy, and I want you to be even more curious.” He licked his lips, and she salivated at the sight of the slickness he left behind.
“It’s working,” she admitted. “I’m super curious.”
What felt like an hour later, but in reality was probably a minute, she rose from the bike, trying to get closer, and he lifted her off her feet with one arm around her waist and began walking toward the apartment.
“Put me down,” she said, laughing.
He eased his grip, and she slid down his body, her toes touching the ground. He tugged her up again. They laughed and kissed all the way up the stairs to the landing, where he took her in his arms and backed her up against the door, kissing her so deeply she felt it all over. She grabbed his pocket, searching for the keys and desperately wanting to feel the hard heat between his legs. He drew back long enough to dig out the keys and unlock the door. They stumbled into the apartment, and he kicked the door closed behind them. She was vaguely aware of the sound of keys hitting the floor as they tumbled down to the couch.
He moved off of her, and she instantly missed the weight of him. She pulled him closer, and he angled his hips so they were lying side by side, her knee between his, his thigh over hers.
“Is this okay?” he asked between kisses.
“Better than,” she panted out, pulling him in for another kiss. They kissed for a long time. Slow, loving strokes of their tongues turned to a dance of domination, then dialed back to sweet and tender. It was enough to drive her mad. She tugged at his shirt, and he gently held her hand.
“Tell me, baby.”
“I want to feel your skin.”
He shrugged off his vest, tossed it on the coffee table, and untucked his shirt from his jeans. “Off?” he asked.
Oh, how she loved that he asked. And how she hated it. It gave her time to pause, time to think, and she shook her head. “Just untucked for now.”
The warmest expression washed over his face. He lifted his shirt around his waist and guided her hand beneath the soft cotton. That first touch should probably feel no different from touching his arm or his cheek, but there was nothing familiar about exploring this part of his body without the cover of fabric. His skin was softer than his cheek or arms or hands. Warmer. The muscles beneath were temptingly hard. Pushing her hand up his back, she felt his muscles bunch and flattened her palm between his shoulder blades. Her fingers ran over deep grooves in his skin, rough and patchy in places and slick and smooth in others.
“Scars,” he said softly.
She’d heard stories about how he’d gotten his nickname. “Then it’s true? Tru said you got your nickname because you wrestled a black bear?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about that now.”
She knew a thing or two about not wanting to talk about certain memories, and she let it go.
He lowered his mouth beside her ear and whispered, “I’m yours, baby. No pressure, no expectations. You touch me when you want to touch me. You’re in total control. I want you to get used to being close to me without thinking it has to be sexual.”
“What if I want it to be sexual?” she asked softly.
He nipped at her lower lip. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to touch someone you’re attracted to. We’ll be as sexual as you want to be.”