He presses me into the door, grinding his ever-present erection against the seam of my jean shorts once again, and my eyes roll back into my head before it thumps against the wood. It gives him access to my throat, where he licks and nibbles, sucking gently enough not to leave a mark, even though the death grip he has on my hips tells me he’s restraining himself, holding back from doing everything as roughly as he truly wants.
“Upstairs, first room on the left,” I tell him, and then I’m levitating. I’m lifted, spun, and hauled so swiftly to my room I don’t have time to think about how he carries me as if I weigh no more than the fluffy beignets we consumed earlier tonight. He’s not even breathing hard after the three flights of stairs, which is fucking impressive, seeing as there are sixty steps in total.
I’m flat on my back in the middle of my king-sized bed before I even have my shoes off, but he must read my mind, because I instantly feel him unlacing my Converse, hearing them thunk to the floor as my black no-show socks are whipped off my feet. And then his big, strong hands are sliding over my ankles, over my calves, between my inner thighs, and then over my jean shorts until he reaches the button there, which he pops open with ease.
My zipper is pulled down, and just as he’s working the tight denim over my hips, my eyes pop open with sudden realization. And I’m so mortified by what he’s about to see that I can’t even move or speak to stop it from happening before it’s too late. Up until this moment, since the second we entered the house, all our humor and easy nature with each other went out the window. It’s been passion and ferocity, heated desire and desperation. That was… until my jean shorts are slid down and off and I open my eyes to take in what I hoped had miraculously disappeared at some point during the night. But alas, there they are, in all their stretchy, white, unflattering, as-far-from-sexy-black-lace-lingerie-as-you-can-get glory. My motherfucking surgery panties.
I hesitantly glance up at Curtis, who is frozen, my shorts gripped in both hands, paused midair over his left shoulder as if he was about to toss them behind him before he caught sight of the disaster wrapped around my hips. His face is almost comedic in its utter confusion, his brow furrowed, and he cocks his head to the side, obviously trying to figure out what the fuck I’m wearing.
I groan, covering my face, turning my upper half to the side and trying to pull my body into full-on fetal position in mortification, but he’s got my legs trapped. “Fucking kill me now,” I utter. “Whyyy me?”
He clears his throat. “Um… so, not exactly what I was expecting when I finally got in your pants, sugar.”
“Fuuuck my life,” I murmur.
“But… it could totally be worse,” he soothes, pulling at my elbow to make me face him and uncover my eyes.
My fists slam into the mattress on either side of my body as I pout up at him furiously. “How? How could it possibly be worse than finding those inside my pants? I got caught wearing my freaking surgery panties while getting it on for the first time with the world’s sexiest chef!”
He pinches my pooched-out bottom lip gently before hovering himself over me, one hand bracing him on either side of my head. “I mean… you could have a dick.” He shrugs, and I’m so shocked by this answer that I let out a loud gush of laughter, the force behind it sending my hand into his chest, punching him there with my ineffectual fist. He continues, a mocking smile on his face as he teases me, “And while I totally believe in falling in love with the wine, not the label, as David Rose so eloquently explained, I don’t really consider myself pansexual. I’m strictly non-dickly.”
I groan once more before squeezing my eyes closed and letting out a pained laugh. “Couldn’t have caught me in my cute lacy undies I wore at work all day, could ya? Nooo, had to be after I changed into my comfy stuff. And to think I go to that store because I never see anyone I know and can walk around in hermit mode without being embarrassed. Thank you for ruining that for me.” I shake my head.
Without another word, I feel him crawling down my body, making his way to the offending item of clothing, kissing a shiver-inducing path. I open my eyes to watch him, suddenly entranced by the way his eyelashes fan out above his cheekbones, the way his brow lifts when he finds a particularly soft spot of skin next to my belly button, his deep inhale as his gets ever-closer to my center, sending goose bumps down my legs.