When Everything Is Blue(58)

“I thought you were super cute,” he says. His voice is thick and husky, both of us speaking in half sentences, drowsy with the desire. “I liked your pretty eyes. And your smile. And the funny way you talked. All the weird things you said.”

“Like Doom Blade is the answer to a Tarmogoyf?”

Chris chuckles. “You were so sweet and geeky with your Magic cards. You taught me a whole new language.”

“Yeah, it’s called Dweeb.”

“I like dweebs. You follow your own beat and do your own thing. That’s sexy.”

I smile, and he kisses the corner of my mouth, grips my hips, and draws them forward until our groins bump together. “You’re sexy,” I tell him. I want him all the time.

“What did you think of me when we first met?” he asks, glancing up at me, his eyes hooded with desire.

“I thought you were scary.” I hook my thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, my hands cupping his muscular ass. When Chris is fired up, he blazes brighter than the sun. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger, that’s for sure. “And then I wanted to be just like you. You were good at everything—surfing, basketball, making friends, cracking jokes.” This is weird to think, but I probably developed my sense of humor based on what Chris thought was funny. There is no greater pleasure for me than in making him laugh.

“Even back then, before it was anything, I wanted to be around you all the time,” he says dreamily as I kiss his neck.

“Me too.”

“I missed you this summer. Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” I whisper. Yes and yes and yes….

“Then why didn’t you call me?” He sounds hurt by it.

“I was trying to get over you.”

“But you couldn’t.”

I shake my head. Lord, how I tried. He grips the nape of my neck with one hand and draws my mouth to his, kissing me softly at first, deepening as our tongues find each other, a slow and sensual dance. I let him lead. Wherever Chris goes, I’ll follow.

My hands crawl up under his shirt, and he pulls it over his shoulders in one deft move. He tugs at mine, and I lift my arms for him to disrobe me.

“This isn’t fair,” I tell him as my fingers travel over the grooves in his abs, making their way down to his hipbones, all those hard lines on smooth skin. I sit down on the edge of his bed, eye level with his dips, kissing one exquisitely sculpted groove and then the other.

“All yours,” he says, thrusting his pelvis forward and turning me on even more. I go to reach for the button on his pants, and he pushes my shoulders until I’m flat on my back on his bed, climbs on top of me, and splays both hands across my chest to hold me down. As if I would go anywhere. “Is it weird I want to lick all of this?” he asks.

“I’m not edible,” I remind him, using my arms to shield my chest from the intensity of his gaze.

He pulls my hands away and anchors them to the bed. “Don’t be shy,” he whispers into my ear. “Not with me.” He kisses my throat, drags his lips across my chest to suck on one nipple and then the other, flicking the tip of it with his tongue. I squirm and he holds my wrists more firmly. He draws his nose down the center of my chest to my happy trail, stopping just at the waistband of my briefs, tugging a little at the elastic with his teeth. I shiver because it tickles and gets me all twisted up inside, wanting more and more and more.

“You like that?” he asks.

“I like everything.”

Chris sits up so he’s straddling my thighs, gyrates a little, revving me up. He turns me on with the slightest touch. I love his body—its texture, shape, and smell, the way he moves with confidence in who he is and what he wants.

He grips my upper arms with both hands, tells me to flex, then squeezes my biceps.

“Are we going to arm wrestle?” I tease.

“I’m doing all the things I could never do before,” he says so matter-of-factly. “Now, sit up.” I oblige, taking the opportunity to scale my hands down his smooth back, squeezing the tight bands of muscle at its base, kissing his neck and shoulders, every little freckle that’s tormented me over the years.

“Your skin’s so nice,” I murmur, warm like honey and tastes like spice. “You taste so good.”

Chris juts his hips forward so his hard-on strains against my own. I’d like to go down on him, but he seems to want to keep our touching above the belt, so we make out like that for a while, him on top of me, me on top of him, scissored side by side. Chris likes to get a little rough, grappling me into submission. He still has the ability to pin me every time, but here’s the secret: I let him. Chris’s door doesn’t have a lock, so even though it’s closed, there’s a slight danger of getting caught, which makes it that much sexier and forbidden.

After what seems like hours, my nerves are raw, my lips are swollen and tender, and my stomach has another hickey because it seems Chris really does want to devour me. I’m a little afraid to turn him loose on the boys.

“So… you really want to do it?” he asks, picking up from our earlier conversation. I wonder if he’s been thinking about it this whole time. He’s leaned on one elbow, staring at my chest while tracing one of my nipples in slow circles. It tickles a little, but I don’t stop him. His golden hair is a mess of waves, his lips are plump, his skin ruddy and glowing. His confidence is dimmed only a little as he waits for me to respond.