Page 37 of Flock
“What’s wrong?” His gaze clears and he shakes his head, his shoulders going lax.
“Nothing,” he strokes my skin, cupping my breasts, “nothing at all,” he repeats, before claiming my mouth possessively. In his claiming kiss, I get lost.
Chapter Fourteen
Laundry.
For the past fifteen minutes, that’s what Sean and I have been sorting. And not just Sean’s laundry, but Tyler and Dominic’s as well.
“Is there a reason we’re washing your roommates’ clothes too?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s their laundry, that’s why.”
“You do shit for your friends, right?”
“Yeah, like picking up the dinner check once in a while, or painting their nails. I don’t spray and wash their thongs.”
“This is better.”
“How so?”
“Because who likes doing laundry?”
I do. I like doing laundry, because of Sean. He makes menial tasks a hell of a lot more fun, especially when he runs his crotch along mine where I sit perched atop a washer, leaving me wanton, wondering if it was purposeful, before his lips lift into a smirk.
Bastard.
He plays mind games with me all the time, which keeps me on my toes. A lot of the time it’s wordplay, most of the time sexual suggestions I would miss if I wasn’t paying attention. But I don’t miss them, because Sean edges me, constantly, sometimes to the point of tears, until I’m begging.
He’s a bit of a sadist, and I love it.
Every part of the last week has felt like the honeymoon phase of our relationship, or whatever this is. I haven’t spent much time thinking about it because he’s given me no reason to worry. Though he’s shit at phone conversations—rarely ever keeping his phone on him, leaving my texts unanswered for hours—we spend most of our now time together.
He loads coins into the slots as I glance around the rundown room full of battered machines. “You do have a laundry room at home, right?”
“Your point?”
“Just saying, you guys probably would save money, in the long run, buying used machines off the web or something.”
He locks his strong arms around me and leans in, running his nose along mine. His sunglasses rest on the crown of his head and a heather grey T-shirt stretches along his muscular chest as he crowds me. Fingering the waistband of his jeans, I inhale his sunshine scent deeply, lost in the feel of him and almost forgetting about our conversation. Indecent as it may be, I lock my legs around him, my shorts riding high up my thighs.
He looks down between us, running his knuckles along the flesh of my inner thigh. “I love your long legs, and this place right ...” he grips my hair and gently tugs, exposing my neck before placing a soft kiss at the hollow of my throat, “here.”
“Hmmm, what else?”
“I’ll give you the CliffsNotes.”
He kisses the skin just below my ear and then lifts my hand, pulling my wrist to his lips. He runs a finger along the top of my tank, just above my cleavage and traces it slowly before cupping my face, running his thumb along my cheek.
“This face of yours,” he murmurs, planting soft kisses on my forehead, my eyelids, tracing the faint freckles on my nose before settling on my lips. His gentle kiss draws me in before he deepens it, capturing my moan as I melt into his hold. He doesn’t give a damn about the perception of others. He’s constantly touching me in public and private—no holds barred, no shits given. He claims me daily, and holds little back now as he possesses my mouth fully, while I sink into him. I’ve never known affection like this, not ever.
He’s made every man preceding him a liar, and shamed them within just weeks of having his attention, his affection.
This is why I love doing laundry—or anything—with Sean.
With him, I’m in a constant state of arousal and intrigue. The man is oddly fascinating, and I’m never sure what’s going to come out of his mouth next.
