Page 41 of Snow Balled

I froze at his touch, but not in alarm. “Only the pants are yours.” A thought hit, a naughty one that came from the same part of my brain that had come up with the moves and words for the cougar role before. “Want them back?”

“You can keep them as long as you—” He stopped dead, and his hand stilled on my leg. “Or did you mean… now?”

Feeling suddenly shy, I nodded. I couldn’t tell what had gotten into me, but I suspected it was a combination of the giddy feeling I’d described to Drew before, plus the arousal that’d filled me when he’d had his hands on me. Or maybe it was the very evident proof ofhisarousal.

“God, yes,” he breathed.

He inhaled sharply, and I knew he was going to provide a disclaimer. That I didn’t have to. Or perhaps that he didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable. The fact that I knew, without a doubt, the sentiment behind what he’d say decided it for me.

Lifting my hips, I tugged the bulky sweatpants off, leaning forward to slip them off of my feet. Then I folded them rather nervously and handed them to Drew. “I, um, probably should’ve washed them before returning them.”

“That’s the last thing on my mind right now,” Drew said in a low voice. To prove his point, he flung the sweatpants away. They sailed over the coffee table and landed just a foot short of the fireplace. “Oops.”

I giggled. “If we burn the place down, it’s going to be a bit awkward explaining how it happened to Tristan and Carter.”

“True.” Drew’s voice sounded strained. “It’s hard to think—for some reason, all the blood has drained away from my brain.”

“Are your jeans too tight again?”

“They never stopped,” he said. “But now, I’m half afraid that the button’s going to pop right off and fly across the room like the sweatpants.”

“Then we can be pantsless together.”

He groaned. “There’s a tempting thought.”

It was in my opinion, too. “That way I wouldn’t be the only one.” I shifted my leg against his. I half wanted to reach over and touch him, but I didn’t want to risk hurting him again.

“Sierra, you’ve had a few drinks, and—”

“I’m not drunk,” I said, confident it was true. But he’d had more than me. “Are you?”

“No. I think you’ve invented a surefire way to sober a man up.”

“Then why not?” Since I wasn’t brave enough to touch his cock, I ran my hand up his arm and sank my fingers into his hair. The way it stuck up and kind of did its own thing had fascinated me for days. “I don’t know why, but I’m feeling kind of… playful.”

He groaned again. “A beautiful woman saying she’s feeling playful is pretty much guaranteed to make a man explode.”

I tugged at the wavy hair at the back of his neck. “I’d kind of like to see that,” I whispered. Both my straightforward words and the fact that it was true surprised me.

“Shit,” he moaned. “If you want to stop at any time, all you have to do is—”

“I know that,” I interrupted. “That’s why I want this.” I wasn’t entirely sure what I meant by that, but I trusted Drew, and that was a very rare thing. What’s more, I liked him. Having both those things be true gave me confidence. “Need help?”

He nodded and I turned the rest of the way toward him, folding my knee under myself. I slid my hand across the waist of his jeans until I felt that hard bulge again. It was different, touching him purposefully rather than by accident. With my fingertip, I traced the outline of his hard cock.

Drew groaned from deep in his throat and put his arm around me. I froze in place, waiting for him to pull me on top of him or to push my head down toward his cock, but he did neither. Instead, he rubbed my back through the thick material of the hoodie.

Gradually, I moved my finger again, and excitement filled me. Touching a man’s body while he wasn’t groping or pawing at me was a new experience. I flattened my hand, rubbing my whole palm against his hard length. God, it felt big. And if it felt that hot through the denim, I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like without it.

Drew’s hips pushed up against my hand. I froze, waiting for him to go too far, but that’s all he did. I slid my fingers up to his waistband and found the button to his fly, seemingly pushed to its limits. “May I?”

“God, yes.”

His voice was thick and guttural, stirring something inside me. I worked the button open, but then I hesitated. He was so damn hard—would it hurt him if I undid the zipper?

“Go ahead,” he whispered, seeming to sense the reason for my hesitation.

With the utmost care, I eased the zipper over his bulk. He let out a deep, shuddery breath when it was all the way open. Now I felt hard steel under the soft fabric. He was wearing boxer briefs similar to the ones I’d spied on him last night.

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