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I glance down. Huh. I am wearing his shirt. “I’m keeping it. I’m sorry I ruined your playdate with Jax.”
“Oh, no, I’m not missing taco and porn night for anything. We should do this once a week.” Timothy sits back with a wolfish grin.
The tacos smell good, but Timothy looks better.
“Why do you live in the porno house and why didn’t you tell me? How much semen is on this sofa?” I run my hand along the smooth leather back of it until I bump into Timothy. I touch him next. His neck. His arm. I melt again when he opens the guac, loads some onto a chip, and stuffs it in my mouth.
“Everything was professionally cleaned, I never told you because I forgot, and I got the house cheap because one of the producers had to liquidate some assets before her divorce. We had a mutual friend who knew I was looking for a place.”
“Have you been in a porno?”
“Almost, when Nic and I first came to LA. He talked me out of it because the contract was shit. Plus, I’d rather jump onto moving trains.”
I’m not even a little surprised. We eat tacos and critique orgasms and honestly, this is the best. Timothy is the best, and I can’t stop looking at him. He’s so golden, despite the fading dark hair dye. He’s already my whole world and all I have to do is reach out and he’s mine.
He smiles at me, amused and curious. There’s warmth and love in his eyes and when he looks back at the TV, the world feels colder. I want his eyes on me. His everything on me.
The edge of his tattoo peeking out from his shirt sleeve catches my attention. I push his sleeve up and get close enough that my nose bumps his bicep. I’ve looked at this tattoo so many damn times. It’s a Kraken on a background of stylized waves, tentacles curling around his arm.
Timothy’s a Kraken, I’m a jellyfish. There’s some meaning to be found in this somewhere, but I’m not high enough anymore to be distracted by it. Not when I want to feel every inch of his amazing body up against mine.
“We should have sex,” I blurt out.
Timothy chokes on a chip.
I straddle him once the coughing subsides, my hands skirting the collar of his shirt, toying with the cotton.
“Mina.”
It’s a warning, the way he’s saying my name, so I kiss him to stop it. His lips taste salty from the chips. He takes one kiss before turning his head away. “Not tonight. You’re stoned.”
“I’m not.” I curl into him and kiss his neck. His groan makes my lips buzz.
“You were making some insane claims about Krakens and jellyfish a minute ago,” he says. He’s not touching me, so I grab his hands and place them on my waist. They stay when I let go, but his touch is light.
“Is he eating her pussy on TV right now?” I whisper into his ear.
He audibly swallows. “Yup.”
“I want you to do that to me. Right here on the couch. Just like that.”
There’s a moment of silence where I can feel him weigh what he’s about to say.
“Not just like that,” Timothy concedes, his voice growly. “I’d do it for a hell of a lot longer than eight minutes. I’d eat you until you begged me to stop.”
I clench, aching. “Yes, let’s do it.” I tip off his lap, sprawling on the sofa.
“Not tonight,” Timothy says with a tight laugh, grabbing my shorts with one hand and holding them in place when I start to tug them over my hips. The tips of his fingers brush the top of my curls and I know it’s an accident, but I shiver anyway.
“I’m not that stoned,” I protest, shimmying a bit to see if his hand will move closer to where I need it. It doesn’t. “Make me feel amazing, Timothy.”
His eyes are so dark right now. “When you’re sober, I’ll make you feel on top of the world.”
Chapter eighteen
Timothy
Iwakewithasmile on my face and an erection that could poke out a giant’s eye. Mina is half on top of me, half sandwiched between me and the back of the couch. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of my shoulder like I knew it would. Nic must have put a light blanket over us when he left. Late morning light fills my silent house, closer to lunch than breakfast.
