The Feel Good Factor(43)

I simply hit replay on his last words.

Come find out.

I listen to those three words over and over, letting them ripple through my body, linger on my skin, and turn me on and on.

It’s like he’s flipped open the lid of a jeweled chest of desires, and he’s luring me with his invitation to explore the treasures inside. I want to know everything it holds. I want to head upstairs, turn the corner, and find him in bed.

I want to discover him, and to find us, because I’m dying for him.

But there’s more than mere lust at stake—that, I can manage on my own, thanks to fingers and wands and twelve-speed friends in my nightstand drawer.

This is different.

This is a longing deep in my bones. It shows no sign of leaving. Because I care for him so damn much.

I like him for more than the body, the face, and the jawline. I like what’s inside. I like what he says. I like who he is.

Maybe that makes the trek upstairs a dangerous idea. In fact, it probably is. But I don’t want to play games anymore either. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I leave the kitchen, cross the back hallway, and open the door to the stairwell.

I stop at the bottom stair, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I know these steps. I’ve walked up them. But tonight, they seem to lead to a whole new world. An after-hours den where passion is the offering, where pleasure is the currency, where coming together is the one and only goal.

In my black heels, I take the first step.

Then the next.

With each click of my shoes, I shed my worries. I dismiss the hurdles—he’s my roommate, I need to focus on work, I’m not interested in relationships.

I kick over those roadblocks as I go.

We’re mature adults, and we’re choosing this tonight—we’re choosing the feel-good factor—and all its risks. I’m choosing what I’ve wanted from the start. I wanted all of him in the waffle truck.

I reach the top step, and it’s silent. So quiet and still. I listen for his breath, for a word, a groan.

All I hear is my own hammering heart. I keep going, turning the corner into his room—a wide-open space with a big bed and moonlight streaming through the windows.

He’s lying on top of the covers, eyes closed, hands parked behind his head.

I half expected to find him with his hand wrapped around his cock, shuttling his fist.

But he’s waiting.

Like he promised.

Waiting for me. Wearing his jeans and T-shirt.

It’s my turn. It’s my move.

I make it.

“I found you,” I say into the dark. It feels like I’m speaking for the first time in my life. Like words have eluded me till this moment.

His eyes float open, landing on me. Even from across the room, they’re blazing with lust. “So you did.”

Kicking off my heels, I glance around. He’s barely moved in. “I like what you’ve done with the space,” I say, joking.

He pats the bed. “This is the best part.”

I stare at him for a minute, taking in his long legs, his strong thighs, his flat stomach, and the scruff covering his jaw.

He gazes back, his lips a straight line. It’s still my turn. He’s shown his hand. The rest of the night belongs to me, and I have to decide what cards to play next.

I go all in, pushing every chip to the middle of the table as I slide off a strap of my dress. Trembling, I ask, “Will you take off your shirt?”

He’s up in an instant, tugging his T-shirt over his head in that sexy way men do, tossing it on the floor and stalking over to me.

Roughly, like I want it, he grabs my head, curls his fingers around my skull, and tugs me close. “Get all your clothes off, kitten. I need you naked, and I need it now.”

In a flurry, we’re pulling, tugging, unzipping. There is no slow dance, no striptease. I push down the other strap of my dress and take it off, while he unsnaps the button on his jeans then shoves them down, kicking them off.

My eyes eat him up, savoring the visual feast of his body. His strong arms covered in art, his firm pecs, his insanely defined abs. And then there. The birds on the V that leads to what I want. His hard-on strains against the fabric of his black boxer briefs, showing off the most delicious bulge I’ve ever seen.

My mouth waters, and I ache between my legs. My hand darts out, cupping him.

He growls. “You like that, kitten?”

“Love it,” I murmur as I stroke his hard length. But as much as I savor touching him like this, I want him in the flesh. I push down the waistband, and he shucks off the briefs the rest of the way. His cock is beautiful. Long, thick, hard. Pointing at me.

He gazes at my breasts, barely hidden in lavender lingerie. “Look at you. Just fucking look at you.” He stares at the demi-cup lace bra and tiny matching panties, fire flickering in his brown irises. “I knew you wore panties like this. I almost don’t want to remove them, but I have to get you naked.”

“Please. Just rip them off, Derek.”

He grins, like I’ve given him the keys to the kingdom. “No way am I ruining these beauties. They’re too pretty.”

But he’s fast anyway. Or really, we are together. I flick off my bra and he tugs down my panties, ogling me like a hunter staring at his prey. “You’re so fucking stunning. I want my mouth all over you. I want my cock inside you. I want my hands everywhere.”