Page 97 of Faking All the Way
I saw the desire in his eyes before he pulled away. I know he wants me. The heat was there, unmistakable and fierce, before his protective instincts kicked in and overrode everything else.
God, I want him too. All through the movie, I wasn’t really watching, barely able to focus on whatever was happening on screen. I kept thinking about the way he dropped everything to come help me when I called. How he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask questions, just said he’d be there. How he stayed calm when I was panicking about all the blood. How he kept me fromfreaking out in the ER as I was getting stitches, his voice steady and reassuring even though I could see the worry etched into every line of his face.
How fucking glad I was that he was there, that he was the first person I thought to call when I was scared.
I know I can’t have him forever. That knowledge sits like a stone in my chest, heavy and uncomfortable. I know this will end when the holidays end, when he goes to Denver to start his new life with his new team and I go back to Philadelphia. We’ll go back to being strangers who shared a few weeks during Christmas.
But he’s here right now. Sitting on this couch, close enough to touch.
And I want to make whatever time we have together count. Want to soak up every moment, store up memories for when this is over and I’m alone again.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, shifting on the couch to face him more fully. My bandaged hand rests in my lap, but the pain is just a dull throb now. “The pain meds are working great, and my hand is all bandaged up. Protected. Nothing we do will hurt it.”
He shakes his head, still resisting. Too protective of me to want to risk it. “I really fucking want to, bright eyes. Believe me, I do. But I can’t.”
I gaze at him for a few seconds, turning that answer over in my mind. Then I shrug, giving him a heated smile as I lift one shoulder. “Okay. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”
His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. But before he can protest or come up with any arguments for why this might be a bad idea, I slide off the couch and drop to my knees in front of him.
The movement puts me between his spread legs, and I watch his whole body go rigid, every muscle locking up. He stares down at me, his jaw tight as he holds himself still.
I look up at him from my position on the floor, holding his gaze as I run my uninjured hand slowly over his thigh. It’s muscled and tense under my palm, hard as rock.
“I love your thighs,” I murmur, letting my hand explore, feeling the strength there, the power. “So thick and strong. I love that you’re so tall and built, and that when you say you can handle me, you actually mean it. It’s not just words. When you pick me up, you make it seem easy.”
His breathing has gotten heavier, his chest rising and falling faster. I can see the way his pulse is hammering in his throat.
“It is easy,” he rasps, his gaze locked on me, heat burning in his blue-gray eyes.
The words make me feel sexy and powerful in a way I never did with Daniel. Like my body is something to appreciate and enjoy rather than something to tolerate or overlook. Like the curves and softness that used to make me self-conscious are actually things he wants, things that turn him on.
I go up on my knees to get better access, bringing myself closer to him as heat radiates from his body into mine. I tug his shirt up and off, needing to see more of him, needing to put my good hand on his bare skin. My fingers trail down his chest appreciatively, tracing the lines of muscle that shift under his skin.
“I love your pecs. Your abs.” I trace that little trail of dark hair that starts below his navel and disappears into his waistband. “I love this right here.”
He tenses under my touch, his stomach muscles contracting as his breathing grows even more ragged. I kiss his chest, then work my way down to his abs, feeling them flex under my lips.He groans above me, and the sound is so rough and full of need that it sends a thrill through my entire body.
“You know what I really love?” I ask, looking up at him through my lashes as I work my way down, getting closer to where he’s already hard and straining against his jeans.
He groans my name, the sound tortured. “Kat…”
I smile up at him, deliberately positioning my mouth right over the bulge of his growing erection. I let my breath tease him through the denim, warm and deliberate. “I love your cock.”
He makes another noise, deeper this time, almost a growl, as one hand comes up to tangle in my hair. Not pulling or pushing, just holding. Like he needs the contact, needs to touch me. He stares down at me with an unwavering look that makes my pulse race and my thighs clench together.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs hoarsely.
I smile, keeping my eyes locked on his. “I know. I want to.”
When I reach for his zipper, he helps me get his jeans off, lifting his hips so I can pull them down along with his boxers. Once they’re gone and kicked aside somewhere behind me, I move between his legs properly, settling into the space there like I belong.
I start by kissing his thighs, taking my time with it. Making him wait, building the anticipation. I can feel the tension vibrating in his muscles, the way he’s trying so hard to stay still and let me set the pace.
His head falls back against the couch, his hips flexing slightly despite his efforts. Seeking out my touch even though he’s trying to stay still for me. He groans again, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Fuck.”
I keep teasing him, not putting my mouth on his cock yet even though I can see how hard he is, how much he wants it. Just kissing and licking his inner thighs, dragging my lips over his skin, getting closer but never quite there. His muscles are tenseunder my mouth, trembling slightly with the effort of holding back.
Finally, he looks down at me. His eyes are dark, his face flushed, and his voice is almost wrecked when he speaks. “Kat. Suck my cock. Please.”
