Fair Game (The Rules #1)(82)

He would’ve made me stay with him all day, but I had to go in to Light my Fire at noon. I had a five hour shift and normally they go by fast, especially on Saturdays. The weather was perfect, which usually means a beautiful day draws in a lot of downtown shoppers and tourists eager to explore the little shops.

But all I did was mope around and think about Shep. Mull over what happened between us the night before. Daydreamer extraordinaire, that was me, to the point that my boss Enid called me back into her office and asked what the hell was wrong with me—direct quote.

How could I tell her that I was sick? She’d think I was crazy if I told her I had Shep flu. Though really it was a Shep hangover but that doesn’t make any sense either…

“Work was fine,” I say, not really wanting to talk about work at all. I have a shift tomorrow too. I usually work all weekend, every weekend but now I’m thinking that’s too restrictive. I won’t see Shep as much. Though am I really making future plans with Shep in my head? I must be losing it. Clearly. I need to remember to take whatever it is we’re doing here one day at a time.

That’s about all he can give me, I know.

“Thinking of me the entire time?” He scoops up my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, dropping a warm, lingering kiss on my knuckles. I swear I feel the touch of his lips in the deepest, most secret part of me.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tell him, my breath lodging in my throat when he sends me a smoldering look. One that says he’s mentally undressing me.

“I’m just stating a fact. At least, for me it’s a fact.” He kisses the back of my hand, his gaze going back to the road. “You’re all I’ve thought about since I dropped you off this morning.”

I shouldn’t like his admission so much. More like I shouldn’t read so much into it. This isn’t the first time he’s said this sort of thing to me though. I’m starting to think maybe Shep and I could date and see each other like two normal people, versus just having the occasional hookup.

Ugh, why are you even thinking like this?

Deciding it’s best I say nothing, I remain quiet, disentangling my hand from his and resting them both in my lap. I avert my head, staring out the window, nervousness coursing through me the closer we get to his house. We’re going to do this again. And it’s going to be good. How can it not be? Though I’m dying to do it with Shep again I’m also…scared.

Scared I’ll enjoy it too much. Scared I’ll want him even more. Scared I’ll start to fall for him. Scared I’ll believe we could really have something. Scared he doesn’t feel the same way about me, about us, whatsoever.

I clutch my trembling fingers together and will myself to keep my shit together.

The moment he cuts the engine after pulling the car into the garage, he reaches for me, our bodies separated by the center console, his mouth fused with mine. He kisses me long and deep, his tongue searching, his hands in my hair, tugging and pulling. When he breaks the kiss first we’re both breathing hard, and he’s looking at me like I totally confuse him.

The feeling is mutual.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” He touches my bottom lip with his thumb, drags it slowly back and forth and I release a shuddering breath. “I get near you and it’s like I lose all control.”

I feel the same exact way, but no way can I admit that.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmurs as he cups my cheek. His gaze is zeroed in on my mouth and I lick my lips, pleasure rippling through me when he closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper, making him growl.

Making me smile.

“I can’t move,” Shep murmurs, his deep velvety voice washing over me. I shiver at the sound, my skin hot and damp with sweat, my muscles loose and languid.

“Me either,” I whisper back, keeping my eyes closed. My heart is…still racing. Third orgasm of the night, best one yet if that’s even possible. I have to give credit where credit is due.

Shepard Prescott has a magical mouth. And the most perfect, long fingers ever created. Ohhh, his fingers. And his lips. His tongue. Holy crap, his tongue. I could write a poem praising his oral skills. Though that would probably be in bad taste.

We’re lying in the middle of his giant bed, facing each other. We’re both naked and warm and I’m still a little shaky, though I have no idea if he is or not. He’s watching me though. I can feel his eyes trail over my skin and for once, I don’t feel self-conscious. I flat out don’t care what he sees. I’m sure I look a wreck. But he’s the one who wrecked me so he may as well take a good long look at what he’s done.

“You are so pretty right after you come.” His fingers are in my hair, right along my hairline, smoothing it back from my face. I keep my eyes tightly closed, not wanting to open them, afraid it might ruin the moment. Worse, that I might ruin the moment. I don’t do well with praise. It always embarrasses me, and when that praise has to do with the way I look after he makes me come? Um, mortifying. “Your cheeks are always so pink. Your entire body is. You’re f*cking glowing.”

There’s a reason I’m glowing. He’s lit me up from the inside. I’m completely wrung out. Just a heap of liquid limbs and warm skin, a pounding heart and tingling bits—and it’s all his fault.