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Not that she was checking out his bulge. Okay, she so was. But who could blame her?
As if he wasn’t aware she was visually gobbling him down like a hot fudge sundae, he grabbed the remote from between two cushions and gave her one of his patented sidelong glances. “You clean up good, Lo.”
“You’re not so bad yourself. And ha, yeah right. Ignore the smeared makeup.”
“I don’t see any.”
Slowly, he leaned in, filling up her field of vision so that his heavily fringed eyes and quirked lips became her world. Then they were on hers, gently opening her up to the seductive slide of his tongue. He didn’t rush, didn’t press. Just kissed her as if he had a lifetime to do nothing but that, one hand slipping around to cup the back of her head while the other spanned her cheek.
She curled against him, wrapping her hands around his corded shoulders. Touching him through the cotton wasn’t enough so she brushed her fingers along the side of his neck and he groaned, the sound pouring into her mouth.
“Your hands on me feel incredible.” He eased back enough to glance down between them. Her breasts pressed against his chest, full and straining through his shirt. “All of you against me feels incredible.”
“Yes.” It was all she could say, and when she chanced another glance at his lap, there was no mistaking the rigid column now tenting his pants.
Whoa. Yeah, this was no boy.
Wetting her lips, she shifted and pressed her thighs together. He noticed the move and rubbed his thumb over her damp lower lip. “I bet you’re getting my boxers wet.”
Silently, she nodded, unsure if she should be embarrassed or pleased. His pupils widened and he tipped back his head, blowing out a long breath that expanded his chest. “Find something on TV.”
She took the remote he held out and sat back, more disappointed than she could have explained. She was supposed to be researching fan behavior and the secret life of rockstars tonight, not trying to get some action. That wasn’t her. In fact, she’d resigned herself years ago to probably ending up as the last living virgin on the planet. She was too fussy, and the usual guy she went out with a time or two left her cold when they went in for the grab-and-grope.
But not West. He just looked at her and she burned. Even now, as she channel-surfed without really seeing anything on the screen, her lips tingled from his. She couldn’t stop from touching her tongue to the roof of her mouth just to taste a little more of his toothpaste, minty and fresh. Her nipples were so tight they hurt, and between her legs, she was soaked and achy.
She’d never been this wound up even the few times she’d tried to bring herself to orgasm with her own fingers. Tried and failed.
“Don’t do that,” he murmured, making her glance sharply at him. “Don’t sit there looking wounded when it’s fucking killing me not to drag you on my lap to see exactly how wet you are for me.”
“Why? I’m not stopping you.” God, she hated that pout in her voice.
“No, I’m stopping me. Because you deserve more than this, and I know it even you don’t.”
She wanted to argue. To tell him he didn’t know her mind better than she did, even if she appreciated his efforts to be a gentleman. Yesterday, she might have wanted that. Sex still made her wary, mostly because she’d never felt that chemical reaction that all the books and Tumblr clips had indicated was normal and natu
ral.
Until tonight. Was it any wonder she was having trouble remembering why she’d stalked his band in the first place? It was hard to think of anything else but him and feeling…more. More of what she’d experienced that night. Not just desire. The yearning to be closer to someone. To touch them, to make them smile.
She wasn’t used to any of those things with a man who wasn’t Ethan, and even then, her feelings for her best friend were miles different than what she felt for West. So much different than what she’d felt for anyone, and she’d known West just for a few hours.
Scary.
Intoxicating.
So overwhelming.
“Let me go heat up that pizza,” he said after a moment. “I could go for a snack. How about you?”
He took off before she could reply.
Sighing heavily, she braced her foot on the coffee table and changed channels, stopping on Friends. She could go for some Ross and Rachel. Maybe then she’d laugh at the show and not her own predicament.
In spite of herself, the rerun quickly sucked her in. She found herself laughing along just as she always did, though she’d seen this episode with Ross’s leather pants a million times. Didn’t matter. She grinned up at West as he brought back two paper plates with steaming pizza, and he stopped and stared at her as if she’d morphed into a unicorn right in front of his eyes.
“What?” she asked, instantly on guard.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and sat down beside her, sliding the other paper plate on her lap. “Friends, huh? One of my favorites. Damn, son, never wear leather pants on a first date. Or any date. No one likes roasted nuts.”
