Diary of a Bad Boy(46)

“Are you going to spoon me?” I ask, teasing him.

“Yeah, I’m going to spoon you so fucking hard, now turn over.” His answer sets off a wave of butterflies in my stomach.

Unable to hide my smile, I flip to my other side only to be pulled into Roark’s warm chest by his impressively strong arm. He situates our pillows and buries his head in my hair, his arm wrapped around my waist, our bodies pressed closely together.

I can’t breathe, being this close to him, having him holding me protectively. It feels like too much.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he says, nuzzling my hair, then down my neck. A wave of goosebumps spreads over my skin. “Lavender,” he mumbles. His hand that’s wrapped around my waist slips to my thigh where he maneuvers it under my shirt. I still as his hand glides back up my body, past my hip bone, to my stomach where it settles.

Breath held captive in my lungs, I’m still unsure what to do as his hand spans across my stomach and his nose runs against my ear. “Are you okay if I touch your skin?”

A dull throb pulses between my legs, my nipples pucker tightly against my shirt, and I have this intense urge to rub my legs together, to somehow give into the heavy feeling settling in my core.

“Yes,” I breathe out heavily.

Thankfully he’s too tired to notice the desperation in my voice or the need thrumming through my body. His thumb is so close to my breast, just a few more inches and he’d be touching it. I’m tempted to scoot down, and I think about it for a second before I stop myself. I don’t want an accidental boob graze, not from Roark. I want his intention to be to want to touch me, to feel every last inch of me.

“Thank you, Sutton,” he whispers.

“For what?”

His lips graze my ear, setting every nerve in my body on fire, pulsing, throbbing. So needy. I shift against him, moving my ass against his crotch, and he groans and nibbles on my ear.

I need him to do that again. I reach behind me and tangle my fingers through his hair, encouraging him. His breath filters through my ear before his teeth tug on my lobe.

Yes.

I move my rear against his crotch again, and this time I’m welcomed by his hard erection.

His hand grips tighter on my stomach, his thumb stroking my skin. I lightly moan as he moves his mouth down my neck. He doesn’t kiss, he doesn’t nibble, but it’s almost like he’s feeling the contour of my neck with his lips.

It causes a feather-like sensation to roll down my arms and across my stomach. He’s barely doing anything—just a graze of his lips and a swipe of his thumb—and I’m already wet, ready, desperate for him to give me more.

Unable to control my movements anymore, I turn in his grasp so my back is on the mattress. His hand rotates over my stomach, his thumb almost directly between my breasts.

“Sutton, turn back around.”

Feeling bold, I say, “Touch me, Roark. I want to feel you all over my body.”

“Christ,” he groans, the tip of his thumb grazing my breast. “Sutton, stop moving.”

Chest heaving now, the juncture between my thighs needy for this touch, I spread my legs, dropping one open and place my hand on top of his.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Instead of answering, I glide his hand down my stomach and just when I start to move past my belly button he stops. I groan in frustration. “Roark, please.”

“No,” he whispers in my ear. “Not now, not like this.” His tongue peeks out and licks across my ear. I take the opportunity to slip his hand past the hem of my boy shorts.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers dancing dangerously where I want them. “Touch me,” I whisper. “I’m so wet, Roark.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, his breath picking up now. “Fuck, Sutton.”

His fingers glide along my pubic bone, teasing me. “Just one finger, that’s all I need. I’m about to combust, Roark. Just give me something.”

I can hear him swallow hard before he speaks. “I can’t. I’m drunk, Sutton.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says, removing his hand and putting it back on my stomach.

I groan out of pure frustration and flip to my side, turning away from him. Why does he have to make this so complicated? It’s just sex. It’s not like I’m asking him to make a baby with me. I just want some pleasure. No, that’s not all I want. I want Roark to be the one pleasuring me. Making me feel desired, turned on . . . sexy. I know I’m not, but boy do I need that right now. His touch. His caress. His body over mine.

“Don’t be salty, lass,” he says close to my ear, his thumb drawing light circles on my stomach.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I bury one hand under my head and shut my eyes. The throbbing in my body grows more persistent, reminding me there will be no relief for me anytime soon.

Turned down twice by this man. Will he ever say yes? Will he ever give in? I’m beginning to think he’s not going to. If he would hop on the opportunity to bed me, tonight would be the night, but even drunk, he has the stupid sense to leave me alone.

“Sutton, you know I want to.”

“Your words mean nothing to me right now, Roark.”

“Ooo,” he coos. “Sharp declaration.”

“Don’t be playful. I’m mad at you.”