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“Language.”
Gripping my chin between his fingers, he moved my head so he could look in my eyes. “Who was the last?” he demanded.
My breathing deepened as I pressed myself more firmly against him. “Johnny Gallo,” I responded automatically.
“That first time?”
I nodded and moved against him again, a whimper on the tip of my tongue, but Eli’s hand flexed against my hip to the point where it got my attention.
“Who was the last guy to touch you?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I sat there staring at him for long seconds. I only responded when his fingers left my chin and brushed against my cheek.
“Paisley,” he crooned. “Tell me.”
“No one.”
His eyebrows slammed down. “Not even Johnny?” When I shook my head, he muttered something too low for me to hear. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Starting tomorrow, everything is going to be about you.”
“What?”
Bringing his mouth to mine, he spoke against it. “For one week, I’m going to show you what it feels like to be touched . . . everywhere. The week after I am going to explore every inch of you with my tongue,” he vowed, and a bone-deep shiver moved through my body. “And when that week is up, I’m going to spend an entire day buried deep inside you.”
And I’d thought it was my turn to be the torturer. My breaths were so ragged my voice was nearly inaudible. “That’s not necessary.”
“I disagree.” Capturing my mouth with his, he stopped any other protests I may have had as he kissed me thoroughly. “Now go to sleep before I try to think of reasons why right now isn’t a bad idea.”
I sagged against his chest, and a deep laugh filled the room. All he’d done was told me everything, and I was already aching for him and exhausted from what he’d promised. I was sure I wouldn’t sleep after that with how wild my mind was running, but his deep, rhythmic breaths soon had my eyes shutting and I slowly fell asleep on his lap.
Chapter Eight
September 22, 2013
Paisley
“PAISLEY.”
My eyes cracked open to Eli’s dark room hours later, and I rolled my head back to see him looking down at me. “Hi,” I said hoarsely.
“Hey.” He smiled. “Guess what.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s Sunday.”
I was still asleep enough that I had no idea what he was talking about until his lips were pressed against mine and his hands were moving down my back.
It was Sunday. Holy crap, it was Sunday.
Running his hands down the curve of my back and over my butt, he curled his fingers around the hem of his shirt on my body to pull it higher. There was no time for worry about where this was going—there was no reason to think of anything other than the way his hands felt on my bare skin . . . I’d wanted this for as long as I could remember.
Sitting up straighter, I threaded my fingers in his hair as I deepened the kiss, muting my moan when his long fingers pulled aside my underwear and trailed over me. A shiver coursed through my body when his thumb circled against my clit, and I had to break away from our kiss when it became too difficult to remember how to breathe.
I pressed my forehead against his and kept my fingers locked in his hair as I moved my hips against his hand, my movements stopping when he slowly slid one finger inside me.
“You okay?”
I lowered myself slightly, and bit my lip against the feel of him. “More,” I whimpered, and before I could be embarrassed about my plea, he was adding a second finger and I was trying to stifle a gasp.
