My Better Life - Page 75
He nods. “Figures. Then what?”
“You smiled like I was a delight and I saw your dimples.”
“And then you fell for me?” He shows me said dimples.
“No. Then you said, ‘Let me take you to dinner.’ And I said no, and I grabbed my bucket full of cleaning supplies and went to leave.”
“This is our first time having sex?”
I nod. “Yes. Patience, young grasshopper.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never had patience.”
True. That’s another fault, I suppose. But really. I like his impatience.
“Well, as I passed you, I brushed against you. And when we touched for the first time, I felt it.”
Gavin nods. “Like you’ve finally found the light to balance the dark. It feels like starlight.”
My chest squeezes tight. He’s felt it too. He’s felt the same thing I have. “When we first touched, I stopped, I couldn’t keep walking away. You said, 'Don’t tell me you didn’t feel that.’ And I couldn’t.”
“Then what?”
I bite my lip, the studio is quiet, as if it’s holding its breath waiting for my response.
“Then I took your hand in mine and I placed it over my breast, so you could feel how hard my heart was pounding.”
His eyes darken. “Show me.”
Slowly, I lift my hand to my breast and stroke my hand over my nipple. Gavin watches my nipple bead in response.
“When you stroked me, my breasts felt heavy, and achy, and my bra felt tight and constricting. So I arched my back and you drew my t-shirt up over my head.”
Gavin nods, his eyes demanding. “Do it.”
I grasp the hem of my t-shirt in my hand and carefully tug it over my head. The fabric scratches over my sensitized skin and my hair fans out as it falls away, sending out the scent of my orange blossom shampoo. My skin prickles against the wash of cold air and I shiver as Gavin’s eyes light over my body. This is his first time seeing me without a shirt on. His hands clench and his jaw hardens, as if he’s holding himself back.
“Then what?”
I lift my hands behind me and unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor. My breasts release and the weight of them falling free is a blessed relief.
“You took my breasts in your hands and you kissed them.”
He stares at them, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I would’ve been a fool not to.”
The look in his eyes makes my nipples harden, and I move my fingers across my breasts, pretending that my touch is his mouth feasting on me.
“Go on.” His voice is strained and harsh. A vibrant pulse ricochets down from my breasts and coats the rests of me in warmth and need. I stare at him, still clothed, so I say, “Then, I took your shirt and pulled it off.”
He smiles, then keeps his eyes on me as he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. His chest is defined and ruggedly muscled. His abs flex as he takes in a harsh breath at the look on my face.
“Then I kissed down your chest, unbuttoned your pants.”
He lets out a shuddering breath. “Dang.”
“But then, you captured my hand, set it aside, and licked down my stomach, ran your hands over my hips, and teased me, until I was on fire. Then you unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs.”
He stares at my pants, his eyes hot and fevered. “Did I kiss you?”
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