Drop Dead Gorgeous(66)

As he talks, his hands trace along my skin—arms, neck, and even brushing my down-for-once hair over my shoulder. He follows the touches with small, sweet kisses that bring zings of sensation to my entire body, but it’s his words that make my heart race. “You did that for me?”

“Of course,” he whispers before nipping at my earlobe.

My eyes fall closed, and unbidden, the words fall from my lips in a plea. “Ask me. Please.”

He’s quiet for a long beat, his hands gripping my hips to control my swaying search for him.

“Are you sure?” he finally says, his voice strangled and rough.

I swallow my doubts, let his certainty wash through me, and nod. He spins me in place so suddenly that my stomach flip flops, or maybe that’s the reaction my body has to the raw, bare lust I see in his eyes. He cradles my cheeks in his hands, locking my gaze with his. “Zoey Walker, will you go out with me, Blake Hale?”

It sounds so serious, like a vow he’s asking me to make to him. Definitely not the booty call type of question I accused him of trying so long ago.

Was that only weeks?

How can that be?

I search his eyes, search my heart for any last arguments, but find only one word.

“Yes,” I breathe before I can stop myself.

He catches the word with a kiss, muttering under his breath. I think I hear him say, “Fina-fucking-lly.”

But I’m not sure because my heartbeat is roaring through my ears, my hands roaming over his body, learning the hills and valleys of his flesh as he ignites me with heated kiss after kiss. His hands release my jaw to tangle into my hair, guiding my head to gain access to my neck.

“We don’t have to wait until after the date, do we?” I beg.

His chuckle vibrates against my skin, tickling me deliciously. “Eager, are we?”

I flush, not sure if he’s making fun of me. He senses the change and pulls back, tipping my chin to bring my eyes up to his burning ones. “Zo, me too. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, scared to death that wreck had hurt you. I’ve been doing everything I can to give you time, holding myself back and jacking off every night to thoughts of you. I’m just so glad that you’re finally here with me. You are, right?”

His every word melts my nerves, his bold honesty turns me on even more, and I forget any logical reason I might have had for refusing us both this pleasure. More importantly, I forget all the illogical reasons. “I am.”

A smile I’ve never seen before takes his lips, one filled with hunger and power. A shiver works its way through my body when he commands, “Lie down, Zo. Let me worship you.”

If this were a movie, Holly and I would laugh and roll our eyes at the cheesy line as she proclaimed guys like that don’t exist in real life. But when Blake says it, I believe him.

I pull my T-shirt over my head, my hair cascading over my shoulders, and his eyes and hands drop to my breasts. He kneads them, thumbs teasing over the hard nipples in a way that makes me arch reflexively. “Jeans.”

He ducks down to lick the breast he’s freed from its bra cup prison while I toe off my boots and undo my jeans to shove them down. But I’m not one of those lucky and graceful movie heroine types, and the denim gets stuck mid-thigh. I wiggle my hips desperately, trying to push them down further, but they’re not budging.

“Uh, hang on.” Mortified, I tap Blake on the top of his head, and he looks up with a question in his eyes. “I’m . . . stuck?”

His smile is huge, amused, and giddy with desire as he grasps my predicament. I watch as his eyes drop down my body and behind me to the bed, and a second too late, I realize that he’s measuring the distance.

He pushes, and I tilt backward.

“Ah!” I squeal, but I don’t go far—just to the bed with my knees locked together by my own jeans’ betrayal. Blake lifts one brow. ‘Gotcha’, that smug look says, and then he’s pulling his own shirt over his head to climb on the bed next to me. His skin against mine is pure decadence, sending little sparks of electricity everywhere we touch.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now? Hair all splayed out, your eyes huge and dark with desire,” he asks, running his fingers through my hair, which is probably tangled into a rat’s nest. “Cheeks getting pinker by the second,” he adds, tracing a cheekbone I can feel heating with his thumb. “Flushing with want . . . bra haphazard, legs askew . . .” He brushes his entire palm and fingers over my breast, down my stomach, and to my hip. He dips down to whisper in my ear, “And the best part?”

My hands clench the duvet beneath me, trying to ground myself because I think I’m floating away into the ether and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

Fuck, I need him to touch me.

I’m gonna go off like a bomb with the slightest touch, but right now, I can’t be embarrassed about that.

I just want.

I need.

“What? What’s the best part?” I choke out.

“I can see how wet you are. You’re soaked right through.”

Fire flashes through me, but I don’t have a chance to react to the words because his hand cups my mound firmly and I feel . . . everything.

“Blake!”

His breath hisses as he inhales through gritted teeth, his fingers moving over me through the fabric. My hips squirm, begging for more, and he finally dips inside the thin barrier between us. When his finger glances over my clit and down to my entrance, my hips bow upward, trying to fuck myself.