Page 10 of Wrapped Up In You
“Is that what your father said?”
“My father doesn’t know about the music thing, but essentially, yes. He thinks I need to get a real job that actually uses my degree rather than waste my time as a server.” I sipped again. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I might, perhaps, possibly be a little tipsy.” He waved his hand haphazardly in front of him in what I thought was supposed to be a dismissive gesture but instead looked like he was swatting at a fly. “That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that… Wait a minute. You have a degree?”
“For fuck’s sake, Lucy. How many ways can you insult me today?” I set the glass heavily on the coffee table and got up to pace the room. I was agitated. It stung, and frankly, it was really starting to piss me off. People had doubted me my whole life, but fuck if it didn’t hurt to hear him say shit like that.
“Goddammit. I’m sorry. Again. I don’t know why I keep saying shit like that. You’re just…not what I expected.”
“Well, fuck you very much. Maybe if you spent a little less time passing judgment and making assumptions about who I am, you’d stop eating your own goddamn foot.”
He stood, approaching me carefully, and I stopped my pacing and faced him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you said that.” I crossed my arms. I knew I was being belligerent and maybe a little childish, but I was hurt, dammit.
He took a step closer. “I mean it. I’ve always been an ass. I get it from my father.”
“No shit.” He looked nothing like his father, but in terms of personality, he was a fucking carbon copy of the man.
“I deserve that,” he said as he took a step closer and placed his hand on my arm. The heat of it burned all the way through the fabric of my crewneck, and I hated the subtle way I leaned into it. My body was a traitor. “Tell me who you are.”
“What?”
“You said I was making assumptions about who you are, and you’re right. So, tell me. Who are you, Hayden?”
The sincerity of the question completely disarmed me. But when the hand on my arm moved to cup my cheek, my mind went completely blank. We were standing in the middle of the living room, and I didn’t remember when I’d uncrossed my arms, but his chest was practically touching mine and his lips were just inches away.
I couldn’t figure out how we’d gotten to this point. The last twenty-four hours had been a rollercoaster of highs and lows between the two of us. We’d both made assumptions about each other, and we’d both been wrong. But if the way he was looking at me right now was any indication, with his thumb rubbing gently back and forth over my cheek, I didn’t think I was the only one feeling the attraction between us.
Maybe it was the vodka, or maybe it was the remnants of a childhood crush I’d thought I’d suppressed. Or maybe it was the sweet way he’d asked me who I was like he actually wanted to know the answer. Whatever the reason, I leaned forward and brushed his lips with mine. Once. Twice. And then I pulled back, licking my own lips to capture the whiskey-flavored taste of him.
I waited to see what his reaction would be. His expression was unreadable, but then the hand resting on my cheek slid around to the nape of my neck and he pulled me back in, pressing his lips to mine once more. He kissed me leisurely but with all the authority of a man who knew what he was doing. Lips slanted against mine, he applied more pressure, then stroked my mouth with his tongue.
I let him in. Of course, I let him in, swallowing his taste. A moan escaped me as I stepped into him, my leg sliding between his so we were aligned from chest to groin. I hissed as his erection brushed against mine, electricity rocketing through my body. Desperate for more, I threaded one hand around the nape of his neck, mirroring the hold he had on me, and squeezed his waist with the other. There wasn’t a bit of fat to be found on his lean runner’s body, and I kneaded the muscle there in time with the strokes of our tongues.
He growled as he bit my lip, then dove into the kiss again, this time with more intensity. I gripped the back of his head, wishing his neatly trimmed hair was just a little longer so I could yank it. Instead, I opted to trail my other hand from his waist, slipping it under the waistband of his joggers and down to his ass, grabbing a handful and holding him to me.
I had been right. Hewasfree-balling. That knowledge stoked the flames of the fire raging inside me, and without breaking the kiss, I yanked his pants down to his thighs and wrapped my hand around his erection. He hissed in response and pulled away from the kiss to look at me.
“Are you sure?”
I stroked him in slow but firm strokes, watching as a battle waged in his eyes. “Are you?”
He rested his forehead against mine, taking a moment to catch his breath. I continued stroking. If he asked me to stop, I would, but I hoped he wouldn’t.
He must have come to some sort of decision because before I knew what was happening, he tugged my joggers and briefs down in one fluid motion and his left hand wrapped around my cock, attempting to pace me stroke for stroke.
My knees nearly gave out, and I whimpered at the feel of his smooth hand sliding up and down my length, but he was awkward with his non-dominant hand. I swatted it away, taking both of us in my fist, and as the need to release coursed through me, I picked up the pace, dropping my head to his chest so I could watch.
The sight and feel of the two of us rubbing against each other as I stroked us in a feverish rhythm was my undoing. My orgasm barreled through me without warning, cum erupting from my tip and dripping down my hand like an ice cream cone melting in the heat of July. He squeezed my hips tightly as his orgasm followed, both of us grunting through our pleasure until I’d milked us dry.
“So that happened,” I said, my sweaty forehead still resting on his chest as we both struggled to catch our breath.
He relaxed his grip on my waist, though he didn’t release me right away. His softening dick slipped from my grip, and at last, he pulled away. I was scared to look at him, afraid I’d see regret lining his features, and I didn’t think I could take that.
My clothes were a mess and so was the floor. I stepped all the way out of my pants and briefs, using my joggers to wipe my hands and then the floor. I stood, still avoiding his gaze, trying to decide the quickest way to make my exit, when Jonathan stopped me, once again, with a hand gently caressing my jaw.
