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“Did you like them?” I ask, looking at the TV screen to avoid Jace’s eyes, feeling too exposed.
He cocks his head, trying to look into my eyes. “Yes.”
I refuse to look at him, focusing on the TV.
“I wrote them thinking about you,” I confess.
My heart does a flip. My breath hitches in my throat. Now I know how he felt when I learned his secrets.
“I’m not like that in real life,” I say quieter as if apologizing. “I’m really not. I just write that stuff, and I kinda like it. Then you moved in, and I… I got carried away. You are always so close, and I really like you, and I…” I’m a coward, afraid to speak my mind. “No, I don’t like you. You make me crazy.” I keep staring at the TV, afraid to meet his eyes. “I paint you, you know. I write about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Jace.”
My blood is simmering while my heart is pounding. Feelings overwhelm me, but Jace doesn’t say anything.
Pushkin saves me as he comes up and nuzzles my hand.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, stroking him behind his ear, then remove his eye patch and toss it on the table, all the while afraid to look at Jace.
Jace’s hand takes mine and pulls it away from Pushkin. Then his fingers come under my chin, tipping it up for me to look at him.
I drown in the warmth of his eyes. There’s a soft smile on his face, the one that always makes me weak.
“I was hoping youwerethinking about me when you wrote those chapters,” he says, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “I know you did.” His smile grows bigger. “You gave yourself away, Lu baby, and wrote my name once.”
I kick and scream inwardly—he’s been reading all the chapters as they were coming out!
“But I don’t have that much experience.” There’s not an ounce of shyness in his gaze. “You already know that by now,” he says with confidence like he says he’s never tried Herring Under Fur and would like to.
“I’m not exactly a pro either. Just on paper,” I confess.
“Can we work on that?”
Abso-freaking-lutely!
We both chuckle as he leans over but pauses to brush his thumb against my bottom lip, looking at me like he’s not sure I’m real.
“Can we start tonight?” I whisper in anticipation.
“We can start right now. We need more touching,” he whispers back and kisses me. “Definitely more touching,” he adds and cups my butt, pressing me hard against him.
Jace is a fantastic kisser. Right now, he doesn’t hold back.
His kiss deepens, becomes greedy, open-mouthed, his tongue insistently stroking mine. We kiss like we need to breathe through each other’s mouths. I wanted him for too long, craved this so much that my body yields to his touch and burns for more, for him being inside me.
I sneak my hand under his shirt, and all I’m focused on is his warm taut stomach under my palm. I want to feel him, touch him, other places, harder and hotter. I want to wrap around him and climb him.
He stops abruptly and gazes at me for some time.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
There’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “I don’t want this to end.”
“We didn’t even start yet.” I stroke his skin, teasing.
“I’m talking about us, Lu. I don’t want this to be a short fling. If it ends, Lu, it will hurt so bad.”
“We won’t let it end,” I promise.
I don’t need a contract to make sure I keep my word. I’m about to say just that when he speaks again.
