Maybe Someday(107)

spent kissing was the one minute out of my entire

life that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

At moments like these, I’m thankful he can’t

hear me, or there would have been so many

things spoken that I would regret.

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Instead, there are so many things left unsaid

that I wish I had the courage to say .

Ridge’s weight shifts on the couch, and my

eyes naturally open out of curiosity. He’s leaning

across the arm of the couch, reaching for

something. When he turns back around, he’s

holding a pen in his hand. He smiles softly, then

picks up my arm. He turns his body toward mine

and presses the pen to my open palm.

I swallow hard and slowly look up at his face,

but he’s looking down at my hand as he writes. I

could swear I almost see a faint smile flash

across his lips. When he’s finished, he brings my

palm to his mouth and blows softly to dry the

ink. His lips are moist and puckered into a pout,

and holy hell, it just got really warm in this apart-

ment. He lowers my hand, and I look down at it.

Just wanted to touch your hand.

I laugh softly. Mostly because his words are so

innocent and sweet compared to the things he’s

written on me in the past. I’ve been sitting here

on this couch with him for ten minutes, wishing

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he would touch me, and then he goes and admits

he was thinking the exact same thing. It’s so ju-

venile, as if we’re teenagers. I’m almost embar-

rassed that it pleases me this much that he’s

touching me, but I can’t recall a time I’ve ever

wanted anything more.

He hasn’t released my hand yet, and I’m still

looking down at his writing, smiling. I brush my

thumb across the back of his hand, and he gasps

quietly. The permission I just gave him with that

tiny movement seems to have broken some invis-

ible barrier, because he immediately slides his

hand over mine and presses our palms together,

then intertwines our fingers. The warmth of his

hand doesn’t come close to the warmth that just

shot through my entire body.

God, if just holding hands with him feels this

intense, I can’t imagine what everything else with

him would feel like.

We’re both watching our hands now, feeling

every bit of the connection pulsating through our

palms. He brushes over my thumb and flips our

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hands over, then takes the pen and presses it to

my wrist. He moves the pen slowly up my wrist,

drawing in a straight line all the way up my fore-

arm. I don’t stop him. I simply watch him. When

he reaches the crease in my elbow, he begins to

write again. I read each word as he writes it.

Just an excuse to touch you here, too.

Without releasing my hand, he lifts my arm

and keeps his eyes focused on mine as he bends

forward and blows softly up and down my arm.

He presses his lips lightly against his words and

kisses them without once breaking eye contact.

When his lips meet my arm, I feel a soft flick of

his tongue tease my arm for a split second before

his mouth closes over my skin.

That might have just made me whimper.

Yep. Pretty sure I just whimpered.

God, I’m so glad he couldn’t hear that.

He pulls his lips away from my arm and con-

tinues to watch me, gauging my reaction. His

eyes are dark and piercing, and they’re focused

all over me. On my lips, on my eyes, on my neck,

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on my hair, on my chest. He can’t seem to take

me in fast enough.

He presses the pen against my skin again,

starting where he left off. He rolls the pen slowly

up my arm, watching it intently the whole time.

When he reaches the sleeve of my T-shirt, he

pushes it up carefully until my shoulder is ex-

posed. He makes a small mark with the pen, then

slowly leans over me. My head falls back against

the couch when I feel his lips meet my skin. His

breath is close and warm against my shoulder.

I’m not even thinking about the fact that he’s

drawing all over me. That can be washed off

later. Right now, I just want his pen to keep go-

ing and going until it’s completely out of ink.

He pulls away and releases my hand, switching

the pen to his other hand. He pulls my sleeve

back down over my shoulder, then slips his fin-

gers inside the collar of my T-shirt, tugging it to

expose more of my collarbone. He puts the tip of

the pen on my shoulder and glances up at me

while he proceeds with caution, making his way

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to my neck. His expression is heated, and I can

tell he’s proceeding with caution despite the fact

that I know exactly what he wishes were happen-

ing right now and where he plans to go with this