Riding With Brighton(37)
“No,” I say defensively.
“Don’t lie to me. It’s cute—big studly Jay doesn’t like scary movies.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, but I’m laughing.
“You want me to change it? I mean, this is one of my favorite movies, and I haven’t seen it in years, but I’ll turn it, you know, for you.”
“I’ll survive. As long as I’m asleep.”
“Okay,” he says, standing, “Let’s get you settled, then.” He walks to his bedroom and comes back out with his comforter and a pillow. “Stand up,” he tells me, and I do. He lays the pillow down and looks at me. “Take your sweatshirt off, get comfortable.”
“You take this napping shit seriously, huh?”
“Well, yeah. Might as well do it right. Plus, you might need the blanket to cower into.” He sets the comforter at the end of the couch and takes his own sweatshirt off. I stare at him, at the physique I can see clearly now. He’s not as built as me, but his muscles are lean and defined and I want to touch him. He lies down on the couch and looks at me expectantly.
“Are we snuggling?”
“You got a problem with snuggling?”
I hear the movie come back on and just the sound of Anthony Hopkin’s voice has my body ready to react in a way that will force me to take up Brighton’s earlier offer to borrow his underwear. “Nope,” I tell him, laying my ass down on the couch. I consider facing him so I can bury my face in his shirt like a baby, but I do the brave thing and back my body up to his.
I was so distracted by the movie that I didn’t even think about the fact that Brighton is letting me press my body up against his. But as soon as I feel it—the warmth of him conforming to my back—a surge of energy rips through me, and I can, pretty easily, ignore what’s happening on the TV.
I snuggle in, or more precisely, push every inch of my body that I can into his. He pulls the blanket over us and snakes his arm under it so he can wrap it around my waist. I glance up at him, wanting to turn this into more than a nap. He’s propped up on his elbow, totally engrossed by the TV, and for a split second I’m disappointed, but then I relax into his body and close my eyes and think, This has the potential to be better than a make-out session. Because I just get to feel him, and smell him, and take him in while he’s engaged with Hannibal Lector. Which is fine because it means I can do all this like a creepy ninja.
Brighton smells good. He doesn’t smell like other guys—soaked in the cologne that’s masking their sweat and adrenaline. He smells clean, but it’s more than that. Not something I can identify exactly.
His thumb starts moving methodically over the dip in my side between my ribs and hip bone. I can tell he’s unaware that he’s doing it. He’s just touching me—naturally. Which is kind of how everything seems with him—natural.
I don’t really know what being with someone is supposed to feel like. Relationships for me have always been like a really long, stressful job interview. I have to actually think about it—what to say, when to call, when to touch, how to touch… it’s a series of laid out steps. But this, being with Brighton, is nothing like that. It all just feels easy and right. Which I’ve never felt with anyone. Not even my friends.
I can feel my breaths becoming deeper and deeper as I slip into a state of comfortable exhaustion. For some reason, as I enter la-la land, I’m lying on the grass that’s damp from rain that’s no longer falling. There’s a strange eagle lying on his side next to me, staring at me with his creepy yellow eyes. The warm scent of fabric softener is seeping out of the side of the house we must be lying next to where laundry is being done. It mixes with the ozone and earthy smell from the rain. That’s what Brighton smells like, I tell the strange eagle just before I fall over the edge into unconsciousness.
Chapter Eight
Brighton
JAY SNORES. Not snores exactly, I guess it’s more like a really cute mewl. He also flinches in his sleep. And his eyelashes are way longer than I realized. And the patch of skin that exists over the sexy dip above his hips is the softest thing I’ve ever felt.
Him, sleeping, was enticing enough to tear me away from Silence of the Lambs. Which means he’s pretty damn enticing. And now I’m just lying here with him, trying really hard not to take advantage of his sleeping body and telling my hand it’s not okay to roam around him any way it wants to. I bury my nose in the nape of his neck and smell him. And, yeah, maybe my hips push into him a little too hard. Sue me—the kid is hot, and I’ve been exercising superior self-control all day.
I close my eyes and wrap an arm all the way around his waist, pulling his body tight against mine, and I can’t stop myself from kissing the back of his neck and then running my tongue against the short hairs there before tasting the salty skin below them.
I’m totally a mouth man. As in, I like to use my mouth. I love sucking, and not just on the obvious thing but really on anything as long as it’s on a man’s body. Right now, I really want to suck that spot above Jay’s hip. And licking, God, love that even more. The tongue is an amazing thing; it can taste and feel, and sometimes I swear I can smell with it. And the feeling of running my thick, wet tongue over flesh always turns me on. Which is why I shouldn’t be doing this. But I was already turned on way before this, so who the hell cares? I mean, I’m guessing Jay wouldn’t care. And sinking my teeth into skin, which I’m doing right now to that delicate space where his neck turns into his shoulder, also feels damn good.