Page 82 of Hot Mess Express
“My body hair? Who has time for that?”
“I trim.” He kisses me again. “Down there. Regularly. No one’s seen it in a long time, but I like to keep it neat for my own sanity.” His fingers climb high under my shirt, reaching my chest. I choke on air as his fingertips graze over my nipples. “You’re sensitive.”
“Huh?” I grunt, swimming in the dream of his hands.
He chuckles breathily in my ear. “Me, too. Nipples are a weak spot for me.” After another brush of his soft fingertips over them, which causes me to sigh, he runs his fingers even higher until my shirt slips off over my head. With care, he folds my shirt in half and sets it on the bed before his lips are on my neck again. Now his fingers slowly glide down my back. “You just tell me to stop if I go too far or you need—”
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”
He’s slow and careful with me. Or maybe it’s something about his anal personality that makes him focus on and enjoy every inch of my body. Either way, it’s turning me on way too fucking much.
His fingers stop at the waistline of my jeans. “Want me to take these off for you?”
“Uh-huh.”
His arms wrap around me at the waist, and I feel him working the button open, then the zipper down. I’m already throbbing in my underwear, rock-hard, desperate to be freed. He’s sure taking his sweet time, which makes me insane with both impatience and excitement. I want him to hurry up. I want him to slow down even more. I want him to throw me onto this bed like an animal, and I want him to treat me like I’m glass.
His hands slip inside my underwear at the hips, and down the both of them go together, briefs and jeans, until they’re not even a thought, forgotten somewhere on the floor with my shoes. Bridger is caressing my naked body now, running his fingers everywhere. I’m leaning back against him, barely able to stand on my own feet anymore, the way he’s melting me.
His mouth comes to my ear again. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume this is your first time with a guy.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble again.
“How are you feeling about it?”
“Fine,” I blurt, throwing out the first word I can find.
“Just fine?”
“F-Fuckin’ fine.”
A little breath in my neck tells me he just laughed. “Can I ask another question?”
“You already are.”
“Have you been thinking about me?”
My eyes open to the ceiling. I guess I’m resting my head back on his shoulder or something. He’s practically holding me as I lean against him, but with his strength, it’s like leaning against a brick wall, how he doesn’t even move, bearing my weight with ease.
“Well?” he prompts me. “Can I take your silence for a yes?”
“Thinkin’ in … in what way?”
“Dreaming about me? Imagining me doing things to do?” His lips touch my ear, kissing it. “What am I doing to you, Anthony?”
I can’t even answer. I’m feeling too many things. He’s doing too many things to me.
“You wanted me to pick up where we left off, right?”
“Uh-huh, please.”
He chuckles again. “Please?” His hands run up my chest to my nipples again. “You’re so polite all of a sudden. Like your manners snapped back into you from out of nowhere. Maybe I should’ve done this to you sooner to get you to treat me better.” He turns me around to face him. “You smell good, by the way.”
I fight back an instinct to make fun of him, call him a weirdo for sniffing me, whatever—then remember how I buried my face in his denim jacket just a few days ago. “Well, yeah, obviously I do. I always smell good.” After a second, I add, “You smell good, too.”
He steps back and kicks off his shoes, then sets them neatly by the bed. When he takes off his shirt, it’s like watching a show, the way his every movement is calculated and controlled.I instantly picture the meticulous way he must do his workouts at the gym, with perfect form, patience, and immense care to ensure he never injures himself or misuses equipment. Then his shirt’s off, and he’s folding it the same way he folded mine. What’s with this guy?
“You can just throw the clothes on the floor, y’know.”
