Page 11 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
“Cup them again,” he said. “Like you did last night.”
I held them, relishing in the weight on my palms, the piquant offering they made.
He suddenly froze, his mouth falling open on a harsh exhalation. I tensed, waiting for the impact of his climax on my skin. Instead he shoved his hand in front of his cock, catching the ejaculate and blocking my view. He rocked into his hand in short, urgent bursts as his orgasm gripped his body.
He slumped back in the chair with a satisfied sigh. It filled me with a pride I couldn’t disguise even as I complained with a small smile.
“I thought you were going to do that on me.”
A wry look transformed sated features. “The first part of me that touches you is not going to be my semen.”
I felt a blush spread over my chest, painting the tops of my breasts with a rosy hue and heating my cheeks. A small grin curved his lips as he watched me.
“You’re beautiful when you’re shy.”
My heart squeezed at his baldly sweet words. “I thought you liked me aggressive.”
“I like you every way. When you’re aggressive, I want to obey you. When you’re shy, I want to shock you.”
I hadn’t guessed he could be this way—so honest, so expressive—but maybe that was the benefit of a man who made rhetoric his trade. I paused, licking my lips. His eyes tracked the movement. Be brave. “What does it make you when I’m horny?”
He leaned forward and murmured, “Desperate.”
Then he headed into the adjoining bathroom, and I heard the sound of running water. I was flushed all over from that one word, flattened by need and the total lack of time to fulfill it. My brother was waiting downstairs for Drew, and besides, the illusory debt had been fulfilled.
Gingerly, I pushed myself into the chair, which was still warm from his body. Unbidden, I had performed for him, and he’d returned the favor. There was nothing more I could offer, nothing more to demand. If I wanted more of him, I would have to ask.
He unlocked the door but waited.
“Will you call me?”
He smiled, a full and brilliant thing that sucked all the air from the room. There, it said, that’s what I was waiting for. An invitation, a request. A tug of the line toward me when I hadn’t even realized I’d hooked him—but I had.
That much was clear from his easy acquiescence to my every request, to the heart-clenching words of compliment and kindness. He was interested in me for more than sex, and only as the knowledge clicked in my head did I realize how surprised I was. How little I expected that from anyone, least of all a sane and stable person like him.
Only then did I see the netted cage of my past surrounding me. A high school relationship. How could it still bother me? A dad who talked with his fists. Well, whose hadn’t? Easy to dismiss in theory, harder in practice.
I pretended to be healed, but the truth was, I had been paralyzed, struck with the teeth of teenage cruelty and poisoned by memories. But the recognition of that taint only spurred me on. The fear could only contain me if I let it.
The hurt could only catch me if I stood still.
He handed me his phone, and I keyed in my number. Both of us could have gotten each other’s number through slightly sneaky means, but it was sweeter this way, like passing notes in class. Do you like me? This was the grown-up version, a contact listed in his mobile phone—check yes or no.
He took it back. “We’ll probably be working all night. Tomorrow.”
I couldn’t hide the smile that lifted my lips, a reflection of his. “Tomorrow.”
Footsteps from the hallway alerted us to a new arrival, and I jumped back, smoothing my palms over my stomach.
Philip peeked in. “Are you okay?”
“What? Of course.” Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
Damn it.
He frowned. “Drew was taking so long. I worried you were more hurt than you let on.”
“My knee is feeling great,” I said honestly. “Barely feel a thing.”
