I guess both of us were silently acknowledging the fact that nothing could happen between us, that he was still recovering. So we covered up. We tried to avoid temptation.
Hell, aside from a sweet peck here and there, we hadn't even been kissing. Which, well, I was thankful for. Because I knew that kissing was going to make my body beg for more. As it was, just being next to him in bed, his hands soothing me to sleep, was creating an ache that refused to go away.
I tried to be clinical as he came to a stop, surprised by my presence. I let my eyes drift over his face then his side where the bruises were already fading from the deep, awful purples and blues, now smattered with the healing colors of green and yellow. He wasn't even half-bent to that side anymore, favoring it like he had been.
I tried to be clinical.
But my eyes just had other ideas in mind.
They followed the deep V I had spied many times before, lines that made my sex clench hard, knowing where they led. Which was someplace I had never seen before.
Until now.
I had felt him hard against me once, back in my kitchen. It felt like ages ago, like a lifetime had passed since then.
I had felt him.
But he had been contained by his jeans.
Now, yeah, he was big. And hard. And perfect.
My sex clenched at the idea of the perfect stretching invasion that would finally make me his own.
I swear I only looked for a second. But it was long enough for my body to feel flushed, overheated, for my breasts to swell with need, for my pulse to quicken, and my breathing to shallow out.
"Rey," Reeve's voice called, low, so quiet that I barely even heard it, making my gaze lift as I leaned back on the door to the hall, letting out a small, pained sound. "I know, babe," he said softly, making my gaze lift to his. "I know," he repeated, and suddenly, he wasn't across the room from me. He was right in front of me, towel dropped along his way, his hand raising to cup my jaw, his thumb stroking up and down then across my lips.
Then his head lowered, and his lips sealed over mine.
It was sweet at first, soft, explorative.
But as soon as my arms lifted, folding across the back of his neck, angling my body forward so that my breasts pressed into his chest, a low whimper in my throat, his lips got harder, hungrier, demanding and taking more. My lips sighed open; his tongue moved inside, claiming mine, the sensation somehow shooting from the point of contact to down between my thighs, making a shiver course through me.
A low growl moved through him as his other hand went behind my back, crushing me to him, making his cock press hard against me.
"Your ribs," I objected against his mouth, not wanting to make them worse.
"Fuck my ribs," he said, lips ripping from mine, moving to trail down my neck, his hand pulling almost violently at the collar of my shirt to expose my shoulder, running his tongue across my clavicle as his hand released the fabric, shifted slightly downward, closed around the swell of my breast.
It wasn't a whimper this time; it was a full-on moan as his thumb and forefinger found my nipple, rolling it between them, sending a hot spark of need through my system until I felt almost weak from it.
As if sensing this, or maybe feeling something akin himself, his hand went behind me, holding me to him as his feet slid backward across the floor, until the bed stopped him, and he moved to sit down off the side but didn't pull me with him.
Instead, he pulled me between his knees, hands sliding up the sides of my thighs, not stopping until they toyed with the edge of my - his - tee.
"Take this off," he demanded softly, knowing he wouldn't be able to lift his arms above his head.
With a delicious wobble in my belly, my hands slid down to snag the hem, dragging it up and off, my nipples prickling tighter at the cooler air.
A low, primal rumble moved through Reeve's chest as his eyes roamed over me, making the skin feel warm from the heat in his gaze.
His fingers tightened on my hips, dragging me inward, then leaning up slightly, closing his lips around one of my hardened peaks, making an airy whimper break free from between my lips. His other hand slid up, the rough, wide palm closing around my other breast, squeezing just to the point of pain before rolling the nipple, making it somehow - because it seemed impossible - even more tight.
My hands slid up his arms, over his strong shoulders, then up his neck to sink into his hair, holding him to me as he moved across my chest, tortured my other nipple with his lips and tongue before sliding his head in between, kissing a line downward as far as the position would allow, just under my navel.