Fumbled (Playbook #2)(59)
This position almost feels more intimate, but also more equal, so I don’t fight it. “Talk.”
His eyes go soft, as if he’s looking at me for the very first time, and he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “If I could do anything, I’d go back in time and be there for you and Ace. I wish I could’ve seen you pregnant. Your tits were probably phenomenal . . . Your ass too.”
I tell him the heartbreaking truth. “They were obscene.” Boobs as big as your head are really freaking painful. My back will never fully recover from pregnancy.
“I wish I could’ve seen your stomach and watched the changes as they happened. But that can’t happen, so all I have, the only thing I can see, are the changes that stuck around.” He leans in so close, I can feel his every breath against my mouth. “I don’t know if you think I’m expecting to see the girl I was with last, but I’m not. I’m dying to see, and worship, the woman you are now. The woman who has busted her ass for the last nine years raising our son by herself.”
Well, crap.
How do I say no to that? Especially when I want to say yes.
“Okay.” I nod. “You can leave the light on.”
“Are you sure?” TK asks like he didn’t just full-court press this issue.
I inhale a deep breath before answering, “Yes.”
“Good.” He smiles, his white teeth gleaming against the dark beard framing his mouth.
I bite my bottom lip and try to stop my hands from fidgeting as he lifts the hem of my shirt, raising it one agonizing inch at a time. He pulls it over my head and I close my eyes trying to calm my breathing. His fingertips dance across my shoulders, pushing the already loose bra straps down my arms.
My eyes are still shut when I hear a sharp intake of breath.
And I don’t open them when TK’s hands grip my hips and his forehead rests against mine.
“Poppy.” His voice is husky and his breathing sounds like it does after a hard practice. “Please look at me.”
It takes me a minute to do it. To prepare for whatever I’m about to be met with.
But when I open my eyes, I realize I could’ve spent my entire life preparing for this moment and I still wouldn’t be ready for what TK gives me without a word.
It’s a look of adoration I’ve only seen in movies. It’s every single guard or layer of protection TK is always carrying, removed. There’s no humor, no defenses, nothing but TK looking at me as if I’d hung the stars and the moon for him.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts.” He grinds out each word.
I shake my head. I suck at accepting compliments and right now I can’t even begin to try. Emotions—words I refuse to speak—are clogging my throat and I’m afraid if I say anything, everything I’m fighting to keep in will fall out.
“I need you to believe this. I need this to penetrate that thick skull of yours.” His fingers on my hips flex, his fingernails digging into my skin. “You’re fucking stunning. You’re gorgeous here.” He leans in, dropping a chaste kiss on my lips. “And here.” He rolls us back over to our original position. His hands slowly travel up my sides, goose bumps following their path, until they cup my breasts. His thumbs graze my nipples. It’s the smallest, gentlest touch, but it’s like I’ve been shocked with a defibrillator. Electricity floods my system, sending my heart rate sky high and my back clear off the mattress.
TK takes full advantage. His mouth clamps around my nipple, sucking hard, then teasing it with a swirl of his tongue before moving to the neglected one. I can’t control my breathing or the pulsing between my thighs. As much as I want to thread my fingers into his hair and hold him to me, they are tangled in the sheets, tethering me to the bed because I think I might float away if I let go.
You’d think I hadn’t been touched in years by my reaction. And I guess, thinking about it, I haven’t. I’ve been through the motions, but I’ve never felt this before—like I might actually, physically die if TK stops touching me. Luckily for me, I don’t think he has plans to stop anytime soon.
I pry my eyes open and watch as his mouth leaves my breasts and drops a trail of kisses down my stomach.
“And definitely here,” he whispers, but the word echoes in my mind. He lifts his head and traces a faded stretch mark below my belly button with his finger. His touch is so light it causes goose bumps to rise all over my body. He stares at the line for a moment before a small smile pulls at his mouth. He pops open the button on my jeans with ease and pulls down the zipper just as fast. “Let’s get these off of you.” I lift my hips, eager to assist in this mission, while he yanks them—and my underwear—clean off in one magician-worthy motion.
“Knew it.” He sidles up between my legs, looking up at me from beneath his lashes. “Every bit of you is perfect.”
Heat rises in my cheeks again, but this time it’s from lust, not embarrassment. “TK.” I try to close my legs, needing something to relieve the pulsing desire lighting up my body like a Christmas tree.
“Tell me you believe me, Poppy,” TK says. His hoarse voice is the only indication he’s suffering through this wait as much as I am.
“Please,” I whine. He has reduced my verbal skills to one-word responses.
“I want to.” He grabs my thighs and kisses the insides, making it impossible to find any relief. “Tell me you believe me.”