Page 36 of Blind Side
"That," I said against his skin. "Tell me what else."
"Jamie." He breathed my name, rough and stripped of every defense. "Everything. All of it."
I found the places he hadn't known were sensitive—the inside of his wrist, the dip at the base of his spine, the line of muscle along his neck that tensed when I traced it with my tongue. Each discovery made him less composed, less the careful observer and more the man underneath, responsive and vocal in a way I hadn't expected.
I couldn't get enough. He was beautiful like this, undone. His body answered mine with an honesty he'd spent years withholding.
"You're shaking," he said, his mouth against my neck.
"I'm not."
"You are." His hand covered mine, steadying it. "Jamie."
"I'm just—" I didn't have words for it. The overwhelm wasn't physical, it was the weight of years of wanting him. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Being seen." I put my hand on his face and looked at him in the low light of his bedroom, this quiet man who had been watching me for years and who was, right now, showing me exactly how much he'd seen. "Like someone knowing every part of you and wanting all of it."
Something softened in his expression. It wasn't weakness, but the deepest form of strength—the willingness to be fully known.
"All of it," he said. "Every part."
What followed was not gentle. It was reverent and desperate and slow and fast and everything at once—the physical expression of years of yearning, of two men who had been orbiting each other, finally coming together.
He knew where to touch me because he'd been paying attention. I knew what he needed because I'd been reading him the way I read rooms, with the full force of an attention I'd mistaken for friendship.
We finally stilled. I was on my back with his head on my chest, his breathing starting to even out. The room was quiet.
"Abbott accepted the trade," I said to the ceiling.
He lifted his head. "Abbott is reconsidering."
"Is he?"
"He accepted the trade because the man he loved didn't ask him not to." He settled back against my chest. His hand rested over my heart, which was still beating too fast. "He finally asked."
"What happens now?"
"I'll call my agent in the morning and tell him I'm withdrawing my acceptance."
"Can you do that?"
"I don't know. I'm going to find out."
I pressed my lips to the top of his head. His hair was soft. His body was warm against mine.
"I should have asked you sooner," I said.
"I should have told you what I was deciding."
"We're both idiots."
"We're both idiots who are very good at reading other people and terrible at reading each other." He lifted his head again and looked at me. In the dark, his eyes were clear. I understood, for the first time, what it felt like to be the object of Clay Abbott's attention when he wasn't hiding anything. "Jamie."
"Yeah?"
"I'm staying. Whether Denver lets me out of the acceptance or not, I'll figure it out. I'm staying."
