Spence's eyes widen, dark and startled, and I immediately realize he feels put on the spot.
I laugh and hold up my hands. “Don't panic, Perfect. In no way does any of this mean you have to move up your kissy-kiss timeline.” I let my gaze drop to his mouth—that gorgeous, unfair mouth, and my voice drops lower. “Do I want to taste those disgustingly full lips? With every bone in my fucking body.” I drag my eyes back up to his. “But I'm not going to pressure you.”
Spence doesn’t acknowledge it—he just kisses my chest. He’s been kissing my body more since the hospital. I think it’s his way of giving me the affection I crave without completely falling off the cliff of his inhibitions. A way to keep me interested until he feels confident that we’re it for him. I already know he’s my end-game. I just need him to catch-up.In fact…
“Are we going to talk about it?” I ask.
“What do you mean? I thought we were—”
“You called me baby,” I interrupt.
“Ryan—”
“Nope. You claimed my ass, too” I say, teasingly.
“Because it’s mine,” he says firmly. “But the other part. It was heat of the moment, Ry. Can we just forget it?”
“Nuh-uh,” I shake my head. “You broke the seal. Now I’m gonna use the fuck out it,baby,” I tease, then smack his ass.
Spence groans and looks up at the ceiling, feigning exasperation, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face.
“Fine,” he finally says. Then he looks down at me and says, “What do you need? What can I do for you?”
I break into a devilish grin. “Hold me and tell me I'm pretty.”
Spence smiles softly at me, sweeps my hair back, and says, “So very pretty.”
“Thanks…baby.”
He doesn’t respond, but a moment passes where we're staring into each other's eyes, and I swear Spence wants to lean down and kiss me.
Forget everything I just said, because I'm now begging him in my head:Just do it, Spence. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. I won't cross the line because I know it needs to be you, but I'm begging you. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Another moment passes, and I see Spence's nostrils flare. Then he blows out a breath, rolls off me, jumps off the bed, and says, “Let's make some lunch,” walking out of the bedroom, naked ass flexing as he goes.
“You are a frustrating man, Spencer Stark,” I say softly enough that he won't hear. Then I cover my face with the pillow and scream into it.
Thirty-Eight
Creep
Spencer
Everything I touch turns to shit. In my personal life, at least. At work I'm a polished badass who gets shit done; I make the other side of the negotiation quake in their custom loafers. Outside these offices, I'm a fucking disaster. I spin my chair, exhale like I can push the shame out with the air.
Anyone I dare let myself care about—either they hurt me, or I ruin them, or they don’t choose me. Would Mom have lived a long, healthy life if she hadn't been forced to make impossible choices because of me? I'll never know. If I hadn't left my damn browser history up like an idiot. If I'd just closed the fucking tabs—would she still be breathing? That thought slices me open every single time.
I shove up from the desk and pace.
And now it's happening again: a hapless online slip, a cat's paw on a keyboard, and lives are teetering. If I hadn't let Ryan crash through every line I drew, none of this would be hanging over him. I couldn't keep my hands off him and now the backlash is storming straight for his heart. This is why solitude is safer. Jen's the only friend who stays, probably because she can’t be deterred.
A rap on my window spins me around.
Speak of the devil.
Fuck. She's here to give me shit about the whole incident. This will be fun.
The door flings open and Jen breezes in with a bright smile. “Mornin' Spence! Ready to go over the budget allocations from new athlete contracts earmarked for THRIVE?”
