Page 6 of Entirely Yours
“Thea,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I really want to do it myself.” AnotherOhmoment. This is new and I’m glad it’s only one night—I can’t afford to get used to this.
He runs his hand under my top, slowly guiding it up over my shoulders, pulling it all the way off. I am suddenly very grateful for the Thea of yesterday who was too tired to do her laundry which forced the Thea of today to wear the slightly uncomfortable, but very hot, lacy bra that lives at the back of my underwear drawer.
I think Jules is also grateful, judging by the look he’s giving me. He could get me pregnant off of that look alone.
And while that obviously won’t happen tonight, I’m officially ready to start practicing. I get up on my knees to face him, feeling slightly lightheaded—probably a result of the pure lust pumping through my veins.
“Sit up against the headboard?” I ask.
He pulls me in for a searing kiss, thumbs grazing just below the wiring of my bra, but ultimately complies with my request. Once he’s settled back against the pillows, I straddle him, seating myself on his lap, grinding down in an attempt to get a little bit of friction where I desperately need it.
In a flurry of movement, Jules rips his shirt off too, pressing our chests together. I get a brief look at the tattoos that continue across his chest and the single gold chain that hangs loosely around his neck.
Kissing along the top of my breast, he toys with the clasp behind my back. “May I?” he whispers before biting gently through the cup.
“Please.” I bite my lip, a move Jules tracks, eyes hooded, before unhooking my bra and pulling the straps off my shoulders. His movements are quick and sure, telling me he’s just as eager as I am.
As soon as it’s been completely removed, he leans in and gets to work.
And, holy hell, does this man know how to work me. He nips and kisses and licks every inch of skin he can reach while simultaneously reaching down and undoing the button on my jeans. He toys with the waistband but leaves them on and continues tracing his fingers down to my fire-engine-red boots.
“And these fucking boots,” he mutters. “I want these on my shoulders later.” I moan and grind down onto his erection, the seam of my denim rubbing perfectly over my clit. There’s something so erotic about the fact that we are dry humping, only naked from the waist up, my nipples rubbing against his chest in a way that shoots heat straight to my core.
I wish there was a better mirror in here because I bet we paint quite the picture.
Jules’ tongue meets mine, all at once soft and coaxing, and then strong and demanding. I’m lost in him. So lost that I’m hardly aware that the lightheadedness hasn’t gone away.
Then I think back to the last time I ate, which, I realize, was the granola bar I shoved into my mouth during my fifteen minute dinner break. Fuck.
“Fuck,” I say, out loud this time before unceremoniously flopping off of Jules’ lap and onto the pillow next to him, black spots swarming my vision.
“Thea!”
At first I thought she was repositioning us, but now that I get a good look at her, she’s pale and has a bead of sweat dripping down her temple.Fuck.
“Thea! Can you hear me?”
I think she’s passed out,that thought hits me like a freight train, and now I’m freaking the fuck out. From my mandatory school trainings, I remember something about turning someone on their side if they are having a seizure. Is this even a seizure? I used to consider myself calm under pressure—put a beautiful, half-naked woman in front of me and that has apparently flown out the window.
Frantically, I start to roll Thea onto her side when she seems to come to. “Wha are youdoinn?” she mumbles.
“Oh my God, Thea. Are you awake? You are scaring the shit out of me.” I lean my face down close to hers, and I can feel her breathing steadily whichis a good sign.
“Wow, embarrassing,” she says, making me laugh despite the bone crushing fear still coursing through my body. One wrong move and I might shatter right alongside her. “Crackers. Coat pocket,” she continues, attempting to lift her hand and point in the general direction of her jacket on the floor.
Immediately I hop off the bed and find a package of peanut butter crackers in her coat pocket. I rip the bag open with my teeth—chuckling when I hear her mutter, “That was hot”—and hand her one, before grabbing one of the five-dollar hotel water bottles and twisting the cap. By the time I bring it to her, she’s already munching on one of the crackers, and the color looks like it’s coming back to her face.
I wait as she eats a few more crackers and takes a sip of water before I ask, “Thea… what just happened? Are you diabetic?”
She shakes her head, groaning as she pushes herself back into a seated position. She’s still topless, which I am trying—and failing—not to let distract me.
“No, I’m not diabetic,” she says and then pulls her knees up to her chest, dropping her head down on top of them. She looks so young in this moment which makes me realize I have no idea how old she is. At least old enough to bartend, but that’s not very comforting. “I have low blood sugar and a bad habit of forgetting to eat,” Thea confides.
“I thought you were joking about that earlier.”
She stays silent so I scoot closer to her on the bed, running my hand through her silky waves. Selfishly, I kind of like that I’m getting to see another side of her. I have the overwhelming urge to get to know every part she’ll let me see. “Hey,” I whisper. “What kind of pizza do you like?”
She finally looks up at me, her brow furrowed and green eyes coated with unfallen tears. “Meat lover’s. Why?”
