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Like how I shouldn't have been crawling up on his lap and clinging to him like I belonged there.
Like how I damn sure shouldn't have been filling up his fancy deep soaking tub and stripping out of my clothes while he cooked me food.
Like you'd do for a guest.
Or a girlfriend.
Neither of which I was.
I had no business invading his life, barging into his home, and making him feel like he had to take care of me.
To what end?
Nothing good could come from it.
Nothing good had up to that point.
I'd already lost everything.
I didn't want him to suffer the same fate.
I very much doubted his club would be happy about us hooking up either.
I needed to get my clothes back on and leave.
Yet, I found myself sinking into the slightly too hot water, letting it ease the aches in my body, maybe even some of the ones in my heart, in my soul.
I pulled myself out of the water what felt like ages later—and yet, somehow, still not long enough—toweling off with the blanket-sized towels that must have been a gift from his mom or one of his aunts or cousins. From my experience with men—which was extensive by most standards—none of them would look for super soft bath blankets instead of the cheap towels you could find on any big box store shelf.
Making my way back into the bedroom, I went to his dresser to find the tee he'd offered me. I'd just dropped the towel when the door opened.
And there was Fallon with a long, low, moving box where I imagined he stashed the food.
"Fuck," he hissed, leaning back against the door after he kicked it closed, eyes roaming over my bare body, making it warm up under his hungry inspection.
"Okay," I said, closing the dresser, turning slowly to fully face him.
"Danny..."
"Mmhnmm?" I asked, running a hand down between my breasts, over my belly.
"The food."
"Is hot as hell," I supplied, remembering how many times I'd burned my mouth on that microwave mac & cheese as a teen.
"That's true," he agreed, pushing off the door, moving forward, and placing the box on the dresser.
His arm shot out, his hand grabbing me at the back of the neck, yanking me forward by it as his lips crashed down on mine.
The kiss started hard and hungry, but gradually softened bit by bit until it was slow and deep.
Passionate.
That was the right word.
I'd lived my entire goddamn life without knowing what a passionate kiss felt like.
It had always been hard and hungry, maybe even a little possessive. But never passionate. Never, well, intimate.
But there was no denying that was what this was as Fallon's lips slanted over mine time and again until every inch of me started to feel almost oxygen-starved and tingly.
My hands rose, sliding up his strong arms, then encircling the back of his neck, pressing our bodies more closely together.
His free hand moved up the side of my thigh, over my butt, my hip, then gently teasing up my spine. The feather-light touch made a shiver rack my system as my lips fell open on a whimper.
Taking advantage, his tongue moved inside to claim mine as he turned us, started walking me backward toward the bed.
When the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress, his arm anchored around my hips, dragging me up, then lowering me onto the mattress, his weight pressing me down into it as his lips slid from mine, trailing down my jaw, the side of my neck, between my breasts.
Goosebumps spread across my skin as a strange, fluttering sensation moved through my chest and belly. Foreign, yet intoxicating. Scary, yet comforting.
His head shifted, and I could feel the slight scruff on his face brushing against my soft, sensitive skin as his tongue traced around the hardened peak of my nipple for a long moment before his lips closed around it, sucking, making me arch up into his mouth as a fresh wave of need coursed through my body.
At the sound of my soft cry, a humming noise moved through Fallon as he released me, then moved across my chest to continue the torment until I was writhing, until my fingers were clawing at his shirt.
Only then did he release me, his head moving between my breasts, his tongue tracing a path down my belly, the crease of my thigh, then, as my legs slid wide for him, up my slick cleft, and circling my throbbing clit.
He worked me achingly slowly, getting me close, then denying me the orgasm at the very last second.
"Please," I cried, my hands grabbing his head as my hips circled against his mouth.
"No, I want to feel you come," he said, voice soft as he pressed kisses over my inner thigh, up my stomach, my chest, my neck, then, finally, my lips.
