Page 50 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“A chance to be someone who matters to you.”
I should say something. I don’t. I just let my fingers curl into his.
Chapter 16
Mybreathstuttersasmy palm meets the hard plane of Teddy’s chest. Under my fingers, his heart kicks. There’s an answering gallop in my own.
“Can I undress you?” I breathe, thumbs brushing the hem of his T-shirt. His pupils flood dark, jaw twitches. “I want to see you.”
He gives one silent nod. I lift the cotton. Copper curls appear first, then the sculpted slope of pectorals, nipples alert in the cool air. A pale silver scar slants between two ribs.
“How?” I trace it lightly.
“Age eleven,” he murmurs. “Decided a tree branch could be a diving board. Branch disagreed.”
“Yeah, I knew you were the sort of kid to give your mother grey hair,” I tease.
A grin flirts at his mouth, but his exhale is ragged. I press a kiss to the rippled skin, then follow the faint line of hair south until my thumb sinks into the hollow beside his hip. The shiver that travelsthrough him detonates inside me. My lips follow its path back to his chest.
Ink catches the lamplight—Elodie, ringed by thread-fine wildflowers, resting over his heart.
“When the doctors told us she might not make it.” His voice thins. “Rowan and Tim got one too. We wanted her here—” he taps his chest “—no matter what.”
Emotion pulses between us; I answer with my lips, a soft brush over the name before peeling the shirt over his head. He tosses it aside, muscles flexing. His broad forearms are strong, dependable, like he’d effortlessly carry any burden placed in them.
“Can I?” he whispers, the request careful, without presumption or demand.
I place his hand on my chest. Buttons slide free beneath his calloused fingers. He eases my shirt off like he’s handling something precious. I unclasp my bra; the straps sigh to the floor, and cool air ghosts across my skin until his gaze heats every inch.
“So fucking beautiful.” It’s half curse, half prayer.
He bows and takes one nipple into his mouth. Heat spears through me; my head tips back, a moan spilling before I can catch it. His thumb teases the twin peak, rolling, testing, coaxing pleasure higher.
I dig my fingers into his hair, tug just enough to feel the resistance. “Teddy…” I plead.
He answers with a gentle bite that melts into a kiss, then stills. His hands cradle my waist, thumbs stroking circles as if to soothe, but they only stoke the fire.
“Rachel.” His breath hitches against my sternum. “If we start…I won’t want tostop. Tell me to, and I will.”
I tip his chin up. “I want this. If I need you to stop, I’ll say.”
Conflict flickers behind stormy eyes. He exhales through his nose, presses his forehead between my breasts as though drawing strength, then sets the smallest distance between us—one you could measure in heartbeats, not inches.
“Your pace, Teddy. I’m not going anywhere.”
I catch a faint sigh, and then patience gives way to urgency.
He stands, pulls me to my feet. His fingers find the button of my jeans; I cover his hands and pop it myself, shoving denim past my hips while he drags it to my ankles. A scarlet scrap of lace follows with one slow tug, puddling on the floor beside us.
“All of you,” I murmur, my hand palming the hard length of him straining at the seam of his zipper. He groans at the pressure.
“No.” His voice is thick. “This is about you,” he rasps, then settles against the headboard, knees splayed.
“Come here.” He invites me back with a slow pat to the quilt.
I settle between his legs, lean back against his chest. He nuzzles my hair, one strong arm wraps me in, the fingers tracing leisurely loops over my breast. I melt into the crook of his arm. Soft nonsense spills against my ear—beautiful,stunning,incredible. He tips my chin and kisses promises into me:Igotyou.I see you.You’resafewithme.
He sees me, and the armour I wear for everyone else slides quietly off my shoulders.
