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“I’m not talking about lifelong commitment here,” I said. “We can fool around. But I can’t guess what you want, and I can’t experiment. Not with you. You’re going to have to tell me.”
“I know,” she said again. “I’ve been thinking about it. About what I want.” Just those words made my mind spin—she’d been thinking about it?—and then she slid her hands beneath my shirt, up the bare skin of my back, and I was lost. Anything she wanted, I’d do. Literally anything.
She rose up on her toes again, her hands moving over my skin, and kissed my jaw. I could do nothing but close my eyes, silently begging her to tell me she wanted something, anything.
“You told me once,” she said in my ear, “that you’d touch me any way I wanted. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to take you up on it. That’s what I want you to do. Will you?”
She asked it as a question. A fucking question.
My heart racing, I took out my room key and reached behind me to open the door.
“Yes,” I said.
TWENTY-ONE
Brit
In minutes, I was naked in Axel’s room, lying on his bed with him over me. He had taken off his shoes, and I’d nearly ripped his shirt when I yanked it off of him, but he kept his jeans on. Because I’d asked for something specific, and deep down, Axel was a gentleman.
I had his skin against mine, his bare chest warm and taut against my breasts as my hands wandered his shoulders and his arms. His hips pressed mine into the bed.
We spent a long time kissing at first—long, drawn-out kisses that were deep and drugging. I was starved for this, and so was he. I’d thought about kissing Axel a hundred times, a thousand, and now that we were doing it, I didn’t want to stop.
Everything about this was better than I’d imagined. And Ihadimagined it. My body had cracked through its layer of ice and woken up, and when I fantasized, it was always about Axel. He smelled good. He tasted good. He was an incredible kisser. How many times had my gaze traced the line of his beautiful mouth? And now it was all mine.
I couldn’t have said why I chose that moment to do what I did in the hallway. All I knew was that it had felt impossiblenotto do it. It had felt impossible to go into my room alone, impossible not to touch him, impossible not to kiss him.
He broke the kiss, and his blue eyes met mine. We had a conversation without words. He was telling me that he was going to keep going, and that if I wanted him to stop, I had to say so.
I told him not to stop.
He dropped kisses along my neck, my shoulder, setting my skin on fire. His hands moved over me, cupping my breasts, stroking them. He made a soft moan in the back of his throat and kissed lower, his mouth moving hungrily over my breasts as his hands moved down, over my belly.
I remembered, then, what my body looked like. My tummy, my hips, my thighs. I had been so caught up that I’d actually forgotten. But I was reminded when Axel’s hands moved over my skin. There was a lot of skin.
I tensed, and Axel paused. His thumbs pressed into my hips, and his teeth nipped the flesh on the side of my ribcage, where he’d been kissing a second ago. “Shut up,” he said, though I hadn’t spoken.
I blinked hard, staring at the ceiling. I’d expected this to feel good, but I hadn’t expected the rush I felt when he said that, warm heat flooding from the top of my head all the way down. Apparently, it was the feeling you get when someone doesn’t just tolerate what you look like, but actuallylikesit. It felt a lot like falling.
Axel kissed the spot he’d nipped, and then he moved back up my body to kiss my mouth again. I moved my hands over his shoulders and his back, memorizing the muscles. I couldn’t seem to stop touching him. We kissed a little more, and then he pressed a hand between my legs, cupping me, the gesture so hot and possessive that both of us froze, our breaths mingling.
Our gazes locked again, electric, because he was right there, in that place where I so badly wanted him. Nothing was going to be the same after this.
“I want to make you feel good,” he said.
“You already do,” I whispered back, the truest words I’d ever said.
Axel leaned down and brushed his lips over mine, a feather-light touch as his fingers unfurled and stroked me. “Better than good,” he clarified.
I couldn’t think anymore. I made a sound and pressed my hips up against him, but he was in control now. He kissed me slowly, gently, taking his time, and his hand moved, and if he could make me feel like this with just his fingers, what else was he capable of? I wasn’t ready to know, not yet. I couldn’t handle it. I could only handle this, and only if he went slowly. Which he already seemed to know.
He stroked me, and he moved his kisses from my mouth to my neck, and piece by piece, I fell apart. My skin was hypersensitized and my breath wouldn’t catch. My fingers dug into his shoulders. I had made myself come—a recent development, after a long, frozen period—but a man hadn’t made me come, without faking, without hating myself, inyears.And it was this man, this amazing gorgeous man, and I was going to—
I came in a rush, saying his name, and he murmured in my ear that I was fucking amazing, that I felt so good. He kissed me softly as I came down, and I dragged my hands down his chest and his stomach, reaching for the buttons of his jeans.
That seemed to surprise him, and he blinked. “Brit, you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” I opened the buttons and shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down his beautiful hips. Then I wrapped my hand around him.
