I don’t think he’s been with a ton of girls. That’s my guess. He’s only eighteen. I heard him mention a girl. Sophie? Did she break his heart? He’s never mentioned her to me, and maybe it hurts too much to talk about her.
I hate that. I don’t want him to have some girl in his past who wrecked him. Not in that way. I want to wreck him, but in the best way possible.
His hands slip beneath the hem of my tank, touching bare skin. I suck in a breath, shivering when he slides those hands up, up, up. Until he’s touching my bra. Just beneath my breasts. His fingers are featherlight, like a tease. Like magic. They’re there, and then they’re gone.
And now they’re back.
I thrust my chest into his hands, wanting more. Curl my hand around his nape to deepen our kiss, indicating that I never want him to stop his exploration. He returns his hands to my breasts, his fingers streaking across the front of my bra, tracing the lace. Circling around my hard nipples.
“Feels so good,” I murmur against his mouth, encouraging him.
He shifts his hands to my back, working the hooks on my bra. It springs free and within seconds, his fingers are beneath the bra, touching bare skin. His thumbs skim across my nipples, lightly pinching them. Driving me out of my mind.
The tank, the bra, it all feels like it’s choking me. I pull my mouth from his and lift my arms above my head. He opens his eyes, staring at me, and I’m sure I look a mess.
“Take it off,” I whisper and he reaches for the hem of my tank, this time pulling it up and over my breasts, along my arms, over my head, until I’m completely free of it.
He drops the tank and I rid myself of my bra, until I’m completely topless.
“I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this,” he murmurs, reaching out to reverently touch me, his gaze locked on my chest. He runs the back of his hand against one breast, then the other. “After that night out on the jungle gym.”
“I wanted to flash you so bad,” I admit with a faint smile.
“You pretty much did,” he says.
“Not all the way,” I remind him.
“Just enough to fuel my imagination.” His gaze returns to mine. “And trust me. Reality is better than my imagination.”
A whispery sigh leaves me when he pinches my right nipple. He could do it harder. I wouldn’t mind. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
He cups my breasts, as if weighing them in his palms. His expression is indecisive, and I wonder what he’s waiting for.
It suddenly feels like he’s stalling.
“Everything okay?” I ask him after what feels like an eternity of silence.
He lifts his gaze to mine, and I see uncertainty there. It triggers something inside of me. Concern? Worry? Is he going to back out? Tell me he’s not interested in this, in me?
Oh God. I try my best to be a strong, secure woman when it comes to my sexuality. Not much shames me or makes me embarrassed anymore, but I feel super vulnerable right now. Topless and exposed.
“Can I admit something to you?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I nod, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. “You can tell me anything.”
“I—haven’t done this much.” He removes his hands from my chest and rests them on my shoulders briefly before he draws them down my arms.
“What exactly are you talking about?” Everywhere he touches me, sparks fly. My entire body is achingly aware of his. It’s as if my every nerve and cell is chanting, more, more, more.
“Sex. I’ve messed around some. We messed around a few days ago. But—” He looks away and drops his hands, though his lower body still pins mine to the wall.
God, he’s strong. And cute. Sexy.
Wait a minute.
Is he trying to tell me he hasn’t had a lot of experience?
“You’re doing fine,” I whisper. “Better than fine. I’m encouraging you to keep going. If it’s anything like last Saturday, we’re on the right track.”