His dark eyes narrow. “Don’t make me force you.”
“You’re going to force me to drink this glass of water?” I tap the glass with my pointer finger. “How?”
“You want to see?”
Kinda, yeah.
He stares into my eyes, dead serious. “Skye.” His voice drops to something demanding and paternal. The tone he uses with his siblings. The tone that screams I will take care of you no matter what you do.
“Forest.” I try to copy his whole I am alpha protector grr thing but I don’t pull it off.
A chuckle breaks up his don’t fuck with me stare. “You’re not tough.”
“I am too.”
“Oh yeah? Want to guard me in pick-up basketball?”
My nose scrunches reflexively. “Do I want balls to fly at my face?”
“Do you?”
Oh. My cheeks flush. “No, uh… flying would be a bit much. How do you guard someone anyway?”
“I’ll show you.” He nods to the water. “If you drink.”
“You think an offer to teach me sports is going to encourage me to bend to your will?”
“You’re gonna drink it.” His eyes flit to my mouth. “You always lick your lips when you’re thirsty.”
“I do not.”
“Every time you get a matcha—”
“That’s different.”
“It’s past midnight. I’m not making you a matcha.” He pushes the water toward my chest. “Drink.”
“It’s not like I have stuff to do.”
“Drink. Now.”
I study his expression. It’s a solid poker face, but there’s the slightest curve to his lips.
God, his dark eyes are pretty. As interesting as his lips. Or his shoulders. Or his tattooed arms.
Or his cock.
Not that I’ve seen it.
I mean, I want to see it. In context. I don’t salivate over random dicks. But a hot guy with his hand wrapped around his hard cock?
Forest with his hand wrapped around his hard cock?
Mmm.
My tongue slides over my lips.
Dammit.
“Where are you going, Skye?” He moves a little closer.
“Nowhere.”
“All right.” He smiles, victorious. “If you don’t drink the water, I’m leaving.”
Goddammit.
“Five.” He shifts off the bed. “Four.” He takes a step toward the door. “Three.” He reaches for the handle. “Two.” He raises a brow this is your last chance.
For a second, I hold his stare. Return it. I’m a badass and you will bend to my will.
Then he says, “one.”
I swallow a sip of water.
He chuckles. “Why do you argue with me?”
“Why do you argue with me?”
His chuckle gets louder. “You start it.”
“Maybe I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” He moves to the dresser. Pulls out a band t-shirt he got a million years ago. (He’d never go see his once favorite band now. He calls their new stuff “terrible pop shit.” Every time it plays on the radio, he complains they sold out).
“I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl.”
His cheeks flush as he tosses me the t-shirt.
It was black once. Now it’s a faded grey. The screen print—a truly hideous Rubik’s Cube bearing the band’s name—is peeling.
He’s had this shirt for the last decade. And he’s offering it to me.
Okay, it’s a shirt, not a declaration of love. It doesn’t mean anything. Except that he’s a gentleman.
“Help me with this?” I motion to the zipper on the back of my dress.
He nods sure, crosses to the bed, sits next to me.
His fingers brush my shoulder blades. The backline. The zipper. “Where’d you get this one?”
“It’s a new designer.”
“You buy it?”
“No.”
“No?” he asks.
“Her dresses are like three hundred dollars each.”
“She just gave it to you?”
“Of course.”
“Of course?” He pulls the zipper down my back. Lower and lower and lower. There.
“Yeah, I, uh… I bought all my clothes when I started blogging. But now designers send me stuff all the time. In the hopes I feature it.”
“That’s a sweet deal.”
“Yeah.”
“The lingerie too?”
My cheeks flush. “That too.”
“You have guys message you?”
“What guys?”
“Any.” His fingertips skim my skin for a second, then he pulls his hand away. “I bet a lot of guys want to fuck you.”
Do you? “Maybe.”
“You’ve been single a long time.”
“And?”
“Is that what you want?”
Well… uh…
“You must miss it.”
“Sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“But you… you could. You have opportunities.”
He shrugs I guess. “I see someone and I think of Mack. Of walking in on them. Hearing her groan his name.”
“It bothers you.”
“Does it bother me that my ex was cheating?”
“Well, yeah.” It’s more than that. “It’s just… you’re so focused on the sex.”
“Is that a question?”
“Well… Why?”
“Have you ever had good sex?”
“Uh…”
“Steve. Was he a good fuck?”
My cheeks flush. Fuck, the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. It’s hot in here.
The air-conditioning is on high. I’m halfway out of my dress. But it’s so goddamn hot in here.
“Did he make you come?” Forest asks.
My blush spreads to my chest. “Mostly.”
“Did he make you see stars?”
No. But I… I clear my throat.
“Do you miss it? Miss the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips, the weight of his body over yours?”
I turn back to him. Try to find meaning in his expression. But his dark eyes fail to illuminate matters.