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“Yeah, you’re not, okay.” He fell to his side, concern on his perfect Chris Pine lips. “What’s up? You’re not into this?”
So I was definitely into this.
But how did one tell this perfect fusion of, simply put, the best Chrises that she’d only been touched like once and that was by him?
“Er, um,” I started, and when his eyebrow raised, I sighed. “I’m just inexperienced.”
“Right.” Another grin before he pressed his mouth to mine, that big Hemsworth body all over me. “You’re funny.”
I wished I was. I wished it didn’t still hurt because he was fucking sexy and I wanted him inside me right now like I wanted ice cream sundaes. Like I wanted lava cake and snickerdoodles. Like I loved caramel corn.
Jesus, he makes me insatiable.
“This tight, little body isn’t inexperienced,” he said, moving a hand over my breast. He pinched a nipple, and I moaned. He breathed heat over it. “It’s sexy as fuck.”
Again, foreign to me, which was why I’d been so forthright at the club last night. I was tired of being the soft, inexperienced virgin. I wanted to have some fun and finally get out of my head. I let life hold me back a lot, and Kit amping me up last night only helped me out. She’d been having sex since high school, and my college roommate couldn’t believe I hadn’t had the same experiences yet. She’d called me sexy too before, I guess, but that was so not me in my shorts past my knees and calf-length skirts. I was mission trips and Netflix, not sexy woman of the world. That’d just never been me.
But Brett had made me feel that way last night, adventurous. He’d made me laugh, so hard I thought I’d barf a lung. His experience in the bedroom only added to the perfection he was. He’d made me feel so deeply, knew pleasure. Just like now.
Tweaking my nipple, he positioned a knee between my legs. He rubbed my sex, just a brush, but it tickled, and I squeaked.
I actually squeaked.
A slow eyebrow lift in my direction, and I literally did palm my face.
You suck, Cleo Erikson-Fairchild. You totally suck!
My fingers peeled away. “Okay, I have a confession.”
“All right.” A smirk before he played with my fingers, and I was glad he found this funny because I sure didn’t.
I bit my lip, completely embarrassed. “Uh, last night was my first time.”
“First time for what?”
I gave him a look, an obvious one, and his eyebrows jumped so far up his face I thought they’d shoot into his Chris Pine hairline.
Our fingers stopped the dance when he removed one. He twirled it in front of me. “So what we did last night…”
“My first time.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Reality moved over his face then, and when he lay back, looking completely freaking stunned, I knew I lost him.
Brett’s thick fingers shoved into his hair in silence, his sight dancing on my star-coated ceiling. I’d put up those corny, glow-in-the-dark stars when I’d been like twelve, but had been too lazy to take them down. We’d had to come to my childhood home last night since I was on break from school, but I didn’t expect my parents back until later today since they were out of town on business. My adoptive father—well, technically, my stepdad—was a congressman and my mom worked for him. I thought them being out of town gave me an opportunity.
But now, I was only embarrassed.
My heart beat like a jackrabbit during Brett’s silence, and I thought he’d literally run from my bed like I had a contagious disease.
Say something please.
Too many moments passed, too many of him staring at the ceiling. Wide-eyed, he looked like one of those memes were the guy is trying to calculate the most intricate problem. His throat jumped. “All right.”
“All right?” I asked, hopeful. I hoped it would be all right.
