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“You do make similar sounds in the bedroom,” I joke, and he kicks my shin. “I’m kind of offended the cheesecake gets more enthusiasm than me.”
“Until you cover yourself in raspberries and chocolate, you’re always going to be second best, Lace. Sorry, this is a competition you cannot win.”
“Well, don’t tempt me with a good time. I have chocolate syrup in the fridge.”
Shawn laughs, and I like that sound.
I like him in the quiet moments, too, like when he was in my arms the other night after we left the game early, but there’s something about knowingI’mthe one who gets him to smile that spears me right through my chest.
“I should go,” he says. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“No.” I reach out and grab his arm faster than I can blink. “Stay,” I say, and I stick out my bottom lip. Heat flares behind his eyes, a burning gaze I feel deep in my belly. “Please. I like you being here more than I like being alone.”
“Okay.” He hitches his thumb and fingers around my chin and tilts my head back. “I’ll stay.”
“Want to go into the living room? It’s more comfortable out there.”
“I do love your couch.” He scoops the glass of wine off the counter and gestures out of the kitchen. “Lead the way.”
“Are you going to look at my ass again? You’re becoming predictable, Holmes.”
“And you’re still just as hot as you were the last time I wanted to look at your ass, Daniels,” Shawn answers, and I grin.
I walk toward the living room, but a tug on my arm stops me halfway there. There’s a flurry of movement and limbs, and suddenly I’m pressed against the wall. I look up, and Shawn is staring down at me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask through an exhale. My chest rises and falls as he takes over my space, and you’d think I’ve been sprinting for miles. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, and one of his palms rests next to my ear. “Are you okay?”
“You’re wearing the shirt you took from my house,” he says, and it sounds strangled. Strained. Like it takes all of his effort to speak. “You wear my shirt around your house?”
My cheeks flame bright red, and I dip my chin to hide the blush crawling up my neck. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Lacey. Do you wear my shirt around your house?” he asks again, and this time, there’s a fierceness in his tone.
I swallow and close my eyes. I let out a breath before giving him a single nod. “Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
“Fuck,” he croaks. He pulls me into the living room and sets his wine glass down. He runs his hands over the front of the cotton, cupping my breasts and squeezing my nipples. “That’s so hot.”
“I sleep in it, too,” I say, my tongue loose and my inhibitions lowered. “It’s my favorite thing to wear.”
“We’re still friends who fuck, right?” he asks in my ear, and it sounds like sin. His teeth nip at my skin, and I tilt my head to the side to give him better access to my neck. I want to feel him everywhere. “Can I have you?”
“Yes,” I manage to get out. I hitch my knee up to his hip, and he runs his hand up my leg. His fingers dance across my stomach, dipping lower and lower until his knuckles brush against the inside of my thigh and my eyes roll to the back of my head. “Yes, we are, and yes, you can.”
“I want to see how much you love wearing my things when you touch yourself. I want to see how much you want me,” Shawn says, and his palm falls away from my body.
I let out a frustrated moan, a ravaged sound that has my hands grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward me. He kisses me rough and hard, scorching presses of his lips against mine.
“Shawn,” I say. “I want you.”
“You can’t stay away. I can’t stay away either. Go bend over the couch.”
My foot falls to the floor, and I’m shaky as I walk across the room. I hear Shawn behind me, the stomp of his boots and his ragged breathing. He’s just as affected as I am.
“How do you want me?”
“Over the arm,” he says, and I barely recognize his voice. “Get your ass in the air.”
The leather is cool against my skin and my shirt bunches above my ribs. I glance over my shoulder, and Shawn is watching me with molten eyes and his hand down the front of his jeans. He strokes himself, a twist of his wrist, and red splashes up his neck.
