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Everything. Every single frigging thing.
“You’re blushing,” he says, his voice going quiet and... interested. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” I duck my head and turn. “I have to go.”
“You’re thinking of my dick. I knew it. Betcha it’s the biggest you’ve ever seen. Or had.”
Well, okay, now I’m blushing for entirely different reasons. “Stop it.”
“No way. You like it when I’m a bit of an asshole, don’t ya? It gets under your skin. It gets you aroused.”
“In your dreams.”
“You’re in my dreams. The good ones, at least.” He’s stalking me with that rolling, swaggering step that brings a wild animal to mind, eyes going dark and hooded, his grin going sharp and wicked. “Let me take care of you. It will be my pleasure.”
He stops a few steps from me and I realize I’ve pressed my back to the wall, excited and nervous at the same time.
Reaching down, he grabs his crotch, and I realize he’s hard. He really is a sex-machine, I think inanely and fight a snicker. God, it’s so tempting to let him kiss me, touch me, maybe fuck me. It’s embarrassing how much I want him all the time. Can get downright uncomfortable when serving tables or watching TV with your dad and brother.
“I’m sorry,” I say and I really am—for him, and for me. “I really have to get going.”
“Well, then...” He releases the tent in his jeans, stretches his arms over his head, giving me a glimpse of a lickworthy six-pack, and yawns. “Just do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Stay away from Jenner the weirdo.” Ross grins. “Say yes and it’s a done deal. I’ll let you go.”
I’m so
tempted to say no and have him keep me here. Allow him to cage me, imprison me in his room, his bed.
“Deal,” I whisper and can’t hold back a moan when he steps closer, takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
Then keeps kissing me, like he can’t stop himself, either, can’t drag his lips away from mine, like he’s memorizing the taste, the form of my lips. He’s inhaling me, breathing me in.
Unexpectedly, he gathers me against his chest with a soft moan, his arms in a bruising circle around me, buries his face in my neck. “Luna...”
God...
“I wish I could stay,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him. “I wish you’d hold me all day. I like it here, I like... being with you.”
His grip only gets tighter, squeezing me until I can’t breathe, and right about when I start panicking that I’ll pass out from lack of air, he releases me—putting just enough space between us so he can look down into my eyes.
“Then come back to me soon,” he says, and this time the bright emotion in his eyes is plain to see, easy to read.
It’s hope.
***
Ross walks with me most of the way home, holding my hand, only letting go when home comes into sight. I keep stealing glances at him on the way there, because... hope. Hope is not something I expected to see in his eyes, and it haunts me.
Hope implies wishing, longing for something, and how can I ever dare believe it’s for me? Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe that’s not what it was.
I take a deep breath right before I use my key to unlock the door and enter, glancing over my shoulder to catch a last glimpse of Ross’s tall, broad-shouldered form as he turns to go, vanishing among the trees.
My mind’s all tangled up with confusing thoughts, sadness, worry, and the ever-present lust.
It explains why I didn’t notice Josh at the window until after I enter the house and he turns to face me with a dark scowl on his face.
