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Approaching him from behind, I dip my chin to his shoulder, and follow his gaze.
“Let’s go with the plain one,” I say. “That way, we can add seasonings and taste-test as it cooks.”
Nodding, he hands it to me and reaches up to set the other back in the cabinet.
His shirt—myshirt—rides up, exposing his black boxer briefs that fit to him like a second skin. Groaning, I cup his firm, yet plush cheeks, fanning my thumbs over the top where his back dips.
He sucks in a quiet breath.
I bite his shoulder, curling my fingers in the fabric, shoving it up around him so they’re more like the tiny little briefs he wears sometimes. He squirms, and turns in the tight space between my chest and the counter. My hands grip his waist and his arms loop around my neck, and he arches into me. His half-hard cock trapped between us, rubbing against my own growing need hidden behind thin gray lounge pants and nothing else.
“Hi,” he says, lifting up to kiss me.
I grin against his mouth, my chest expanding, warmth filling my veins.
He’s been doing this a lot more recently—initiating kisses. Touches—particularly, since I confessed I loved him last week.
No, he hasn’t said it back, but he doesn’t need to. It’s written in every fleck of glittering brown in his eyes, every little curl to his lips, every sigh against my chest when he presses his cheek there.
“It’s soothing. The whooshing sound,”he’d told me one night, completely of his own volition.“It’s why I dove into the water that time. I needed the heavy kind of silence.”
I asked him if he had noise-cancelling headphones—I’ve read they could help—and he said he used to, but they were old and eventually gave out, and he couldn’t afford to buy new ones—not the kind that actually work at least.
He has a new pair coming early next week. Would’ve been here sooner, if not for all the holiday insanity going on right now.
His lips sort of just sit against mine, lingering, then a curious tongue pokes out. I meet him with mine immediately, groaning into his sweet, shy mouth as I cup the back of his head, and take over, unable to help myself.
Skyler grabs my shoulders, biting his nails into my skin. Chills race down my arms, my chest, pebbling my nipples.
I never realized until he started getting more comfortable making the first move, how one-sided it sort of was, as far as kissing goes at least. And I don’t mean that in a bad way—I really don’t mind taking the lead.
The way he gasps, almost as if he’s still surprised, just like that first time I kissed him…
The way he melts, like he’s helpless to do anything but sink into my touch…
Fuck, if it all doesn’t just make me want to pound on my chest, and throw him over my shoulder, and mess him up until my scent is as entwined in him as his own.
He makes an animal of me, and he knows it.
Distantly, I’m aware of my phone ringing, and I realize I left it in the living room.
We slow the kiss, our chests rising and falling unevenly plastered against each other. Pulling back, he wets his lips, and flutters those lashes up at me.
“You gonna get that?”
I shrug, raking my fingers through his hair, brushing it off his face. “It’s probably just spam.”
He’s hard as a rock against me—as am I—but for the moment we ignore it, separating, and going about what we originally set out to do.
Not even a minute later, my phone starts ringing again.
I frown.
“Maybe it’s Mel,” Skyler whispers.
Nodding, I give him a little kiss on the cheek and a smack on his ass, and quickly make my way to the living room before whoever it is hangs up.
No one ever calls me, not unless it’s the middle of a weekday when I’m technically on the clock. Even Mel and Hudson usually stick to just texting. My in-laws are probably the only exception, but that’s only when they’re watching Abby and can’t get in touch with Mel if they have a question or whatever.
