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What did I give him?
“Noted,” he replied coolly. “Now let me go.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at his cutting tone.
He wouldn’t be back.
And something started to come over me, like a curtain falling—or lifting—and for once in my life, I refused to stop myself. I was so cold.
And he was so warm. It was like an invisible rope pulling me to the edge that it was beyond me to control.
“You wanted your tie back,” I whispered.
His back moved with each breath. “Keep it,” he told me. “Or throw it away.”
He reached for the door handle.
“You want something of mine instead?” I blurted out.
He stopped, gripping the handle but not turning it.
My heartbeat raged, and I knew I was going too far again. I’d regret this. I’d hate him later. He’d hate me. My brother could drop by on his rounds to check on me…
But…I didn’t give a shit.
I wanted to be here now.
Pushing my cardigan over my shoulders, I pulled it off my arms and held it out in front of him.
“This, perhaps?” I asked softly. But then I let it slide off my hand to the floor. “No, it won’t fit you, I guess.”
He stared down at my discarded sweater, and I could barely breathe, but he wasn’t leaving, and I kept going.
Taking the hem of my tank top, I pulled it over my head, the air hitting my bare breasts, every inch of my body alive with awareness. “Or this?” I murmured, holding my white top in front of him.
His chest rose and fell harder, and it was like he was frozen, unable to move.
I leaned in, pressing myself into his back, and dropped the shirt, whispering up into his ear, “That’s too small, too. I told you, Will Grayson. We…don’t…fit.”
He exhaled hard, looking over his shoulder. “There’s a part of you that’s my size, I’ll bet,” he teased.
I bit my bottom lip to keep my excitement in check. I slipped my hands inside his shirt and circled his waist, running my fingers over his stomach and up his abs.
Heat pooled between my legs, and I nearly groaned, feeling his soft, tight skin, the muscles and curves of his body and things I wanted my mouth on now, not my hands.
There was nothing about Will Grayson that wasn’t perfect. God…
“I want to take off your shirt,” I told him.
He planted his hand on the door to steady himself, and I could see the sweat on his temple.
He looked exhausted. I almost smiled.
After a moment, he straightened, and I took that as my cue. Lifting up his T-shirt, I pulled it over his head, dropped it to the floor, and came in, circling my arms around his waist and pressing my skin to his as I took a chunk of his back between my teeth.
He gasped, slamming his hand into the door again, and I grinned.
I dragged my teeth across his back and then licked his skin before kissing him. He moaned, and I held him, closing my eyes and feeling his body quiver. His smell—warm and heady—seeped into my brain.
