Page 50 of The Assist
He runs a hand through his thick hair in frustration. “I really fucking like you, Blair.”
“I like you, too, but why does that require . . .” I wave my hand in front of him. There’s no way I can bring myself to say it again.
“I panicked. Joel got in my head. I wanted tonight to be perfect. So, yeah, I listened to my douchebag roommate, but don’t think for a second that my restraint has anything to do with not wanting you. I fucking want you so much I listened toJoel.”
“That’s oddly sweet, but I think I’d prefer come in your pants to this jerked off version that has me ready to hump your pillow. I want the perfect, can’t-keep-his-hands-off-me, afraid-of-embarrassing-himself-because-he-might-explode-at-any-moment guy I’m falling for. Just you.”
“Fuuuuck.” He drawls out the word and closes his eyes.
I slide my hands up his chest and link my arms around his neck. “Okay by you?”
He nods and just as I’m feeling fully in control, he has me on the bed and is braced above me. His muscular arms press into the mattress, caging me in as he stares down at me like I’m everything.
He stands and pulls his T-shirt over his head before lying back beside me. Hooking a finger into the V of my shirt, Wes tugs just enough to show a bit more skin. “I really want to see what’s underneath, but damn, you look good wearing my jersey.”
“The whole point of putting it on was for you to take it off.”
He grins and slides his hands to the hem and slowly inches it up as if he wants to delay the surprise underneath. “So beautiful.”
As he stares down at me and his navy eyes darken, I fall a little deeper under his spell. He’s everything I never knew I wanted or thought to fantasize about. Smart, fun, loyal, and smoking hot. His muscular body moves with elegance and confidence that is as hot as it is commanding.
I’m not nearly as patient as I scramble to get naked and then free him of his jeans and boxer briefs. Maybe I should have aspired to the Joel Moreno life motto, because the sight of Wes’s naked body is nearly orgasmic on its own. His penis is the kind of perfection that romance novels are written about.
“Need to study this gorgeous body,” he murmurs against my lips. The heat of his gaze rakes over me. True to his words, he looks at me as if he wants to memorize every detail as he trails kisses down my body. He places one at my belly button that sends a tremble down my spine.
“Can you study later . . . or maybe during?”
His smile is slow and cocky. “So impatient.”
One long finger trails up my inner thigh and slips inside me, causing my hips to rock into his palm. He fucks me with one finger and then two, circling my clit with his thumb. I open my eyes to find his gaze still hard and studying.
His hands are magic. As my moans fill the silence of his bedroom, his lips find the pulse in my neck, and he sucks hard. My orgasm tears through me at rocket speed, and I call out his name as I shatter.
“Perfection.” He dusts kisses down my body, places a kiss on my hip, and then trails back up. “I want to hear you say my name like that again.”
He reaches to the nightstand and pulls out a condom, and I watch on greedily as he slips it on. I’ll happily say his name any way he wants, as many times as he wants, if he makes me feel like that again.
I stare hard at his beautiful penis as he fists it and guides it to my entrance. I’m mesmerized as our bodies join. He stretches me gloriously, and I let out a sigh of complete contentment.
“You good?”
Good? No. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Super,” I say as I reach up and rub both breasts.
His size and strength and endurance make me realize what I’ve been missing out on, and I suddenly comprehend the devotion of the jersey chasers.
His eyes stay on me as he pumps in and out at a delicious pace that promises another bone-melting orgasm. I struggle to keep my eyes open, but the way he looks at me, as if somehow this is a big deal even though we’ve said from the start that this is casual, is as hot as the rest of him. He has promised me nothing but has given me everything.
I push away all thought, letting the sensations overwhelm and pull me under.
“Wes,” I say as my lids close with the pressure of my second orgasm.
He slams into me harder grunting out my name as he shudders through his release.
* * *
The next morning, I wake to an empty bed. I miss the heat of him immediately. I open my eyes and stretch my limbs, feeling the soreness of last night and bask in it. Wes is gone, which I knew he would be, and the house is quiet. I sit up in his bed and spy my name written on a note on his desk. Pulling the blanket around me, I stand and walk over to it. I pick it up and turn it over, but the note says nothing else. I frown until I spot what’s resting behind it—a paper rose folded intricately and perfectly. I lift it and clutch it carefully to my chest. Damn, he really is good with his hands.
