I don’t move a muscle. My feet stay glued to the floor and my back stays turned. The urge is there to look, but I never would, not without her permission.
“Okay, you can turn around.”
Slowly, I spin my body, and I’m stunned with how beautiful she looks. Finley’s hair is damp, and she’s wearing one of the t-shirts that I let her borrow. The extra material is tied in a knot, resting above her hip, and she’s wearing the leggings I bought her yesterday, as well. I bought her a lot of things actually. An entire new wardrobe that she picked out. I tossed her my credit card when I was done buying for Dillon and told her to spend to her heart’s desire.
She wasn’t anything like Dillon, cutting corners or counting pennies. She saw it? She got it.
And it makes me feel good that I get to take care of her.
“You want me to help you? Really?” She saunters up to me and rocks on her heels with her hands behind her back.
Ever since that kiss two days ago, we have been tiptoeing around each other, not knowing what to do or how to act.
My eyes fall to her lips and my heart starts to thump against my sternum. I grin, “Yeah, I do. It’s the middle of the night, Dillon is sleeping, and I want to surprise him.”
It’s her eyes that fall to my lips next. “That’s very nice of you.” There’s a husk in her throat that I’ve only heard from a woman after they take a shot of whiskey, but she hasn’t drank a drop.
I take a step forward and she steps to the side, trying to ease her way between me and the wall, but I turn my body enough that she can’t get away from me. She presses her back against the wall, her breasts pressing against my chest as I lean forward and brace my hands on either side of her head.
“I’m a nice guy,” I say and push a piece of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Next, I trace the delicate edge of her jaw. She’s soft, fragile, and fucking beautiful. Her chest rises and falls quicker and quicker the closer my mouth gets to hers.
“Very nice.” Her words puff against my lips, and her minty breath slips down my throat.
I have to keep myself under control. I want her, but her inexperience has me treading lightly. I don’t want to push her into something she isn’t ready for, and this feeling between us is enough for me to live off forever. The sensation I’m feeling right now is electrifying, burning, searing a path in my veins that’s making it difficult to fucking think.
I can feel her nipples brushing against my chest, and her ribs press against mine with every desperate inhale she takes. My cock is dire need for attention. I haven’t been this hard in years. I imagine she is wet for me, her clit throbbing, waiting for me to spread her legs wide and feast until she’s coming down my throat and crying out my name.
She leans forward to seal her lips over beneath mine and I inch back, unsure if we should cross this line again. Maybe it’s best if we keep our relationship strictly friendship based, but when she leans away, I want her to come back.
Finley had to have been sent to me as a cruel fucking joke because for me to resist someone so goddamn strong, fearless, and beautiful is impossible.
My eyes rake over her bruised face, the busted lips, and she holds her breath. The warm puffs stop, and I miss tasting them. My hands rake up the silk sheet of her arm, tracing each finger-bruised shape, connecting the dots, the-too-many-dots on her perfect milky skin. I bring her arm to my lips and press a kiss to the first one I see, I then kiss the one near her inner arm, right there in the crease.
She breathes at last and the minty exhale breezes over my face again. “Grayson.”
The way she says my name has me closing my eyes and pausing my kisses as I groan. I want to kiss her all over her body, own her, claim her, and show her what it’s like to be with a man who gives a damn about her. I want to show her what it’s like to be with a man who will treat her the way she deserves.
She’s a rarity, and a man who comes across something so unique is supposed to treasure it. That’s what I want to do.
But I do the one thing I don’t want to do. I take a step back and give her some breathing room. Her eyes are closed, and her cheeks are blood red. When she finally realizes I’m gone, she opens her eyes and licks her dry lips.
“We should go paint the room.” I reach my hand down on instinct to adjust my cock, giving it a slight squeeze to give me some relief.
Her eyes follow my hand and widen when they see what I’m doing. I don’t bother hiding it. Why would I? Fuck that. If she and I are going to be together, she needs to see what she’s signing up for.
“The room,” she echoes. “We should go. Paint.”
“That’s what I just said.” I lift my hand to my mouth to cover the hungry smile I have on my face for her. If we don’t leave right now, there’s a chance I’m going to ravish her in ways she isn’t fucking ready for. “I’ll be in the bedroom. His bedroom. Not mine,” I clarify. “He is in there, sleeping. We are painting and putting furniture together.”
“Right.” She grins and runs her hand down her hair to put herself together. She looks like we’ve had sex, and we barely even touched.
“Oh, fuck the room,” I growl in one breath and rush to her, cupping the back of her head with one hand and her jaw with the other. I plummet her mouth with my tongue, stealing her lips with mine the way I want. The way I’ve been fucking dreaming of for the last two nights.
The damn paint can wait.
“Yes,” she hisses against my lips and wraps her arms around my neck, then she jumps to circle her legs around my waist.
“Fuck, if you aren’t the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” I slur down her throat through the tangles of our tongues.
She whimpers against my mouth, and it’s my undoing; the tiny mousey noise is all I want to hear again. I want to slam her against the wall, but her bruises are still at the forefront of my mind. With a gentle push, I keep the back of her skull padded with my hand and press her against the wall.
Rocking my hips gently, I rut my cock between her legs and groans. Her fingers claw against my shoulders and our tongues duel, but not once does she ask for dominance. Why would she? She’s been fighting her entire life, and it’s about time someone takes control in a way that doesn’t hurt her.
No, dominant men have always used their power over her, and I won’t ever be that kind of man. My palms cup her ass and carry her over to the bed and lay her down. I’m prepared to go as slow as she wants, but her hands rip at my shirt and yank it over my head in one swift move.
“I love how you look without a shirt. Like a god, all abs and pecs.” For added affect, she squeezes my chest muscles, and the action takes me by surprise.
I have to admit it makes me feel pretty fucking great about myself. I bend down and take her lips in another messy kiss, then pull away, wanting to see her body when I lift her shirt.
Only she stops me, and my eyes lift to hers from the smooth patch of skin above the waistband of her leggings. Her slender fingers wrap around mine, and the primal lust that took over her body just moments ago is gone.
My hands don’t move an inch, but I’m gasping for air as if I’ve run a mile. “What’s wrong? Do you want to stop? We can. It isn’t an issue.” I remove my fingers from her shirt and curl over her, mapping her face with my eyes and smile. “It’s okay. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I can wait for as long as you want.”