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“You sound jealous.”
His jaw ticks, and our eyes meet again. “I am.”
I shouldn’t like that he feels possessive over me, but I find myself sliding off the bed and walking to the closet. My stomach is full of butterflies as I tug the jersey off the hanger and pull it over my head.
“Better?” I ask, turning to him, holding my arms out.
The way his gaze flares sends a thrill through me. His throat works as his eyes slowly trace down my form and back up.
“Come here,” he says.
The air cracks with tension. Walking over to the bed is going to be a mistake.
I do it anyway.
“I guess that’s a yes—” I let out a squeak as he lifts me so I’m straddling him.
He pulls his hat off and sets it on my bedside table, and I don’t know why that’s so fucking hot. His hair is messy, and I let myself reach up and run my fingers through it. Soft, too.
Rory has a thousand smiles, I’m realizing. One for every emotion, every possible situation in life, and the one he’s wearing right now is a mix of comfort and arousal. His hands settle on my thighs, stroking up and down, pressing firm into my muscles.
“Hi,” I whisper, because it feels like we’ve climbed a level in whatever this is between us, and I’m not sure what else to say.
“Hi, Hazel.” He gives me hisHazel is cutesmile. His hand strokes a little higher, thumbs brushing the seam between my hip and thigh, and my breathing turns ragged. He notices because his gaze flares.
He pulls me down to kiss me, claiming my mouth with urgency and hot desperation. An ache grows behind my clit as his tongue delves between my lips, stroking me.
“I’m thinking about what you taste like,” he says between kisses. One hand comes to my breast, kneading and finding my stiff nipple through the fabric of my jersey and shirt.
His eyes flare with heat, and something inside me jumps in anticipation. He’s going to see that I’m wearing the pale blue bra and panties he sent.
“And what it sounds like when you come,” he goes on, voice low as he nips my bottom lip. “I’ve been thinking about it for years.”
Heat builds between my legs, where I’m spread open across Rory’s hips. I’m getting the panties he bought me all wet.
Maybe this will all be easier once Rory gets what he’s been chasing.
My heart’s beating out of my chest. “Before we do this, um.”
I shift to ease the pressure, but his thick ridge rubs against me, sending a streak of need through me, making me lose my train of thought.
He pulls my jersey and shirt over my head, going still. My heart pounds as he stares at the pale blue bra, blinking once, twice before his dark gaze lifts to mine.
“Hartley,” he says, with his mouth curving up. “Is that—”
“Yes,” I rush out.
The way he’s teasing me with his eyes is starting to make me feel embarrassed, like maybe I overstepped. Maybe this looks pathetic, that I’m wearing something he bought me when it was clearly a joke.
“Why?” He holds my gaze, hands sliding up my thighs.
“Because…” I scramble for a coherent thought that isn’t related to how wet I am or how fucking horny I’m getting. “Because it was pretty, and I wanted to feel hot.”
“And did it work?”
His gaze sears me, and I nod.
It’s true—wearing something so beautiful and delicate makes me feel sexy.
