Her breathing is staggered as I glance down at her and see her eyes shining with need, along with a glimpse of her cleavage playing peek-a-boo beneath her jean jacket and sexy black dress. It’s as if I’ve cast a spell on her, and she can’t figure out how to snap out of it.
Tough shit, Charlie. You’ve cast a spell on me too.
Her fingers dig into my bicep, though I don’t think she even knows she’s got me in a death grip as my words roll over her like warm honey.
After a few beats of silence, she sits a little taller in her seat and brushes her lips against my ear before whispering, “I think you should take me home now, Levi. In fact, I think you should give me a demonstration of what you just described.”
“There are two more innings,” I mention in an attempt to give her an excuse to stay. It’s not that I don’t want to take her home and do exactly what I just revealed. Rather, it’s that I don’t want her to feel any obligation to take this to the next level before she’s ready.
With a deliberate shake of her head, she stands. “I don’t care about the game anymore right now. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charlie
The subway ride back to my place isn’t half as laid back as the ride to Yankee Stadium. It’s laced with promise and the same electric current building between us. When we reach my apartment, he grabs my hand and stops me at the entrance.
Impatiently, I look up at him.
“I could kiss you goodnight right here, Charlie. We could end this date at first base, and I’d still be the luckiest guy in the world. I’m not asking you to—”
“Shut up and kiss me, Levi.” Gripping the cotton material covering his pecs, I tug him into a kiss and release all the pent-up emotions I’ve felt for years. The frustration from seeing him with other girls. The anticipation of what’s to come. The overwhelming need that’s crippled me on more than one occasion. I release all of it, and he takes it all in stride with his hands on my hips and his tongue dueling with mine for control. Once I’m breathless, I rock back on my heels.
“Did I make myself clear?” I ask with a pointed stare.
He grins, mimicking what I’d said at the beginning of our date that feels like a lifetime ago. “Crystal.”
When we reach my apartment, I open the door then motion him inside. “Aaaand, here we are.”
His deep laugh is like music to my ears before he grabs my hand and twirls me around. Losing my footing, I fall into his arms before he drops a quick kiss to my forehead.
“Come on, Charlie. Let’s take it easy and watch Netflix for a bit.”
“But I thought—”
“Yeah. I know what you thought. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s just chill.”
A snort escapes me before I cover my face in embarrassment.
“What’s so funny?”
“Netflix…chill….” I laugh even harder while attempting to explain myself.
Finally, he gets it and joins in. “Come on, horn dog. Let’s go.”
Tugging me to the couch, he plops down onto the worn cushions then reaches for the remote. The television purrs quietly from characters talking, and the sound almost instantly calms my nerves enough for me to relax next to Levi. After a few minutes, my best friend grabs my legs and pulls them into his lap. We’ve been in this situation more times than I can count, but this time’s different. There’s a promise in his touch that’s never been present before. Unable to move, I silently watch him slip off my red Chucks before digging his thumb into the arch of my foot.
“Mmm,” I moan, practically melting under his expert touch. “That feels amazing.”
“Thought you might like that,” he murmurs with a teasing smile.
He keeps massaging my feet before traveling up to my calves, squeezing the muscles then rubbing the tension away. After a few minutes, his hands graze my bare skin an inch above my knee before traveling back down to my calves. The innocent touch steals my attention from Ross and Rachel on Friends. But when I sneak a glance at Levi, he seems completely invested in whether or not the couple was on a break during one of the previous seasons in the show. My ramrod straight spine eases back into the cushions once I’ve deemed him oblivious, and I keep watching the television.
About thirty seconds later, it happens again. Only this time, his hand is a few inches higher than before. Again, I look at Levi, but he’s still focused on the argument playing out on the screen. My lips form a thin line as my suspicion rises. But I ignore it.
Minutes later, I’m almost a puddle of contentment under his ministrations when his hand grazes the hem of my dress, making me squirm. For the third time in five minutes, I glance at Levi, who’s still staring at the damn TV. Then his mouth quirks up in the corner.
Game on, Levi.
With my foot in his lap, I shift it closer to his stomach, gently brushing against the crotch of his jeans. His hands stall for a split second, and it takes everything inside of me to hide my smile. I keep my eyes glued to the television, but I can feel him staring a hole through the side of my head as he continues to rub my tired muscles. Once his attention goes back to the show, I shift again, brushing my foot against his erection a second time. In response, his hand grazes my upper thigh, toying with the hem of my dress. This time, he doesn’t retreat and keeps digging his expert fingers into my upper thigh. And it feels freaking amazing.
Clearing my throat, I rub my foot against his jeans again. He’s hard as a rock. The realization that I’m doing this to him makes me clench my legs together. This is Levi freaking McCoy we’re talking about. And he’s turned on. By me. Seconds later, his knuckles brush against the elastic of my boyshorts. The touch seems to spark that elusive yet overwhelming electric current between us.
“Want to know another secret?” he murmurs, continuing his massage and simultaneously turning me into a pile of goo.
“And what’s that?” I breathe.
“I lied when I said it was an NRB the last time you felt me like this. I went home and jerked off afterward, pretending I could finish what I wanted to start.”
“And what did you want to start?” I know I’m playing with fire, but I feel like I’m about to combust regardless, so I’m not sure it really matters anymore.
His hand grazes the apex of my thighs, making me gasp. I’m desperate for more friction. More pressure. More everything.
“This,” he murmurs. His hand disappears from beneath my dress, and he shifts both of us until I’m laying with my back pressed to the cushions. I look over at the television and notice his arms are caging me in on each side of my head. Leaning closer and demanding my full attention, he kisses me until I’m a squirming mess beneath him, licking, biting, and tasting me like I’m the most delicious meal he’s ever had. And here I am, laid out before him like a damn buffet. My palms glide up his back beneath his shirt, his muscles bunching as I dig my nails into his bare skin.
I clench my legs together in search of relief before the feel of his hand squeezing my upper thigh pries them open. My legs cradle his hips as he slowly rolls into me, scratching the itch that I so desperately need to be scratched.