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His eyes widen on my blue face, then he’s grinning. I forgot how beautiful he is when he lets loose a big, wide, dimpled grin: his clean, white teeth, his luscious lips, the way his sharp eyes squint and his cheeks curve.
He lifts a hand to touch my mask-caked cheek, and chuckles softly. “Who are you, and where’s my Gwenna?”
I blink, then cover my shock—his Gwenna!—with an awkward little laugh. “She’ll be back in oh…about three minutes.” I remember belatedly that my hair is in a towel on my head, so I guess I look doubly weird.
I step back into my living room and motion Barrett through the door.
“If you dare…” I waggle my eyebrows.
With one long stride, he steps inside and closes the distance between us, wrapping me against his big body and pressing his face against the towel on my hair. The motion is quick and casual—like he’s been hugging me forever. By the time my stomach nosedives like a roller coaster, he’s already drawn away and is standing there in front of my door, giving me a charmed smile.
“I like the Smurf look.”
I flip him off. “Fuck you,” I giggle.
His eyes glaze over, pupils dilating slightly, as if he’s thinking of that in literal terms. I watch him swallow, throat working as his eyes stay locked on mine. His hands are hooked around the straps of his pack and he’s standing still, but I can feel what I would see if I let my gaze wander south. I can’t help myself: my eyes are drawn like magnets down his long, lean body, lapping hungrily, until they come to the big, delicious bulge between his legs.
My heart pounds. Warmth throbs through me.
“I’ve got groceries. Kitchen?” he asks. His voice is an octave lower than usual, causing hairs to stand up on my arms.
I nod once and watch his back as he disappears around the half-wall. Move, Gwen. Go wash your face!
I can’t, though. Move—that is. I feel hot and breathless. I try to get a handle on my raging hormones as I listen to him open my refrigerator. I hear his bag unzip, hear the sounds of him unloading items onto shelves. The rubbery shhhnik of the refrigerator door closing. A heartbeat later, Barrett reappears in the doorway between den and kitchen. He rests his shoulder on the partial wall and watches me with the stillness of a predator.
“You should wash your face.” His gaze laps me up and down. With his eyes on me like this, his intentions screaming in the silence, I’m too nervous to glance between his legs again. Abstaining makes my cheeks feel even hotter.
I nod, reaching up to push a strand of hair out of my face. “Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I wash my face, brush my hair, and change into some charcoal leggings, an olive-colored CareBears t-shirt, and a pair of thick, wool socks—as if thick socks will keep me insulated from the lust between us.
I find Barrett in the den, his massive shoulders hunched as he leans down to look at the photos on my bookshelf.
I come to stand beside him, tapping my socked foot against the back of his knee. Barrett has me on the floor in half a second. He’s straddling me, wrapping his big hands around my head as if he’s going to assault me at the Dokko pressure points.
Instead, his fingers drag along my scalp. His lips come down on mine, kissing me slow and deep and hard—until I’m breathless. His hands thread into my hair, pulling slightly. The weight of his big body between my legs makes me lift my hips and groan.
I wrap my leg around the back of his and grip the sensitive spot on the inside of his elbow. I’m trying to distract myself by feinting an attack move, because right now I’m throbbing so hard, I’m worried I might come with just him lying on me, kissing me.
His hand peels mine from the vulnerable spot. “Traitor,” he whispers teasingly against my jaw. His eyes are hot on mine. “What am I going to do with you?”
He strokes my hair at my temple. I bring my knee up, trying to make contact with his bulge. He holds himself out of my reach, but then I see his blue eyes haze, and he shifts his hips so my knee is pressed against him.
God.
His eyes shut. “Mm.”
I tug at his curls. His hooded eyes lift open. “Oh, so it’s like that,” he rasps.
I smile deviously, rubbing him with my knee. “Just like that.”
He scoops me up so fast I’m dizzy, sits me on the couch, and kneels in front of me. He pulls my thick socks off, then slowly peels my leggings down my thighs. My heart pounds as the cold air touches my warm skin.
I look down, waiting for him to pull my leggings the rest of the way off, but he just works them to my knees, then sinks a finger into me. With his finger thick inside me, he lifts me up and carries me carefully to the partial wall between the den and kitchen. He backs me up against it, balancing me there as I moan softly from his ministrations and he works to take his jeans down with his free hand.
I groan as he drags his finger out of me. With one knee propped under my ass, he wraps both hands around my waist and lifts me up. My back is pressed against the wall. My legs, needing something to grasp onto so I don’t teeter off his knee, lock around his hips—and here we are: like in a sexy movie.
I hold onto his waist with my legs, press my back against the wall, and Barrett shifts his hips until I feel his smooth head prod my folds. I let out a moan, and his head drags between my pussy and my ass.
