He releases a raspy chuckle. “Isn’t that obvious?”
I bite my bottom lip. “So who were you dreaming about, then?”
He lifts his hand to my face, tracing the line of my jaw. I wish I could see his eyes, his expression, anything that might hint at his thoughts. “I thought that might be obvious too,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. You fell asleep, and I didn’t want to leave, but I never meant to—”
“It’s fine,” I blurt. Please don’t stop. Please don’t tell me you don’t want this.
His hand stills on my jaw. “It’s not. Touching you while you’re sleeping. That’s . . . It’s not cool.”
“I . . . liked it.”
He’s silent for a long beat. Is he sorry I stole his easy out, or is he reconsidering his decision to throw the brakes on what we started in our sleep? “Yeah?”
“Do you want to . . .” I swallow hard. I want his hands on me again. I would trade all my pride for the relief of his touch. “Do you want to keep going?” As soon as the question is out, I wish I could snatch it back. Too needy, too desperate.
His fingers slip from my jaw and run down my neck—so slowly that the speed of the touch itself is a seduction. Rough fingertips graze my collarbone, and I bite back a moan. I never would’ve imagined my collarbone could be an erogenous zone. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
My breath catches. Maybe I can have this. Here in the dark. Just once, before he returns to his new life and forgets about me. “I’m not asleep now.”
“Neither am I.” His voice is as rough as the fingers slipping over my sleep shirt and between my breasts. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Please. I’m shaking. I barely trust myself to speak, so I nod and hope he can make out my consent in the darkness.
His mouth finds mine, and my whole body clenches at the electricity in the contact. It starts with a brush of lips, then a hand in my hair and his tongue touching mine. I swallow a moan and inch closer, parting my lips farther.
His kiss is nothing like I imagined it. It’s better. Every stroke of his tongue stokes the fire inside me, tightens that sweet ache between my thighs.
When he breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing hard and my lips feel swollen. “I wanted to do that last spring. I wanted to be your first kiss.”
“You were,” I admit. “That was, I mean.”
His breath leaves him in a rush. “I’m not sure I trust myself with you.”
I wish I’d lied—that I told him I was more experienced than I am just so he wouldn’t be scared away. But this is Easton, and between us, honesty has always been the only choice. “I trust you. Completely.”
He groans, and the sound is temptation and agony and pleasure all wrapped in one. “That’s why I should keep my hands to myself.” He cups my breast, his thumb grazing across my nipple. I swear his breath catches in tandem with mine. “Tell me what you want. I’m not trusting my judgment here. I need you to tell me this is okay.” Even as he says it, he rolls me to my back and crawls over me, bracing himself on one elbow and using his free hand to toy with my breast. He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, explores with his tongue and nipping teeth before kissing his way up my neck and whispering into my ear. “You’re in the driver’s seat.”
“I want everything.”
“Shay.” My name is the most erotic sound when he’s breathless. “I should stop.”
I whimper. “Please don’t.” Maybe I should be embarrassed by the desperate plea. Maybe I will be later. But right now, all I care about is getting more of him. “Easton, I need you.”
He shifts over me, pressing the heat and weight of his powerful thigh between my legs. “Can I make you come?”
I arch into that pressure, and my cheeks heat when I realize how easy it would be to rub against him—how much I want to. “Please.”
“You might be the death of me.”
I rub myself against his thigh again, and he hisses.
“Tell me you want me to touch you, Shay. Tell me I can put my hand between your legs and you’ll still talk to me tomorrow.” He shifts his thigh, putting pressure just where I need it. “Christ, I can feel how wet you are through your shorts.”
“Sorry.” But God, I’m not really. Any embarrassment I feel about my reaction to him is overridden by my need for friction. My only chance of keeping my hips still is if I glue them to the bed.
He chokes out a low laugh. “Don’t ever apologize for that. It’s so hot.” He sucks my earlobe between his teeth. “Feeling you grind against me is hot as fuck too. Don’t fight it.”