“It’s the lip balm,” she said. “I still use it.”
Their eyes met, and dear God he was hard.
“Do you want to taste? See if it’s like it was in your fantasy?” She bit her lower lip. “I’ve never been anyone’s fantasy before.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” He didn’t mention her potential stalker. He should—it would kill the mood, and this was a mood that really should be killed. But damn him all to hell, he didn’t say a single thing.
“Whiskey and strawberries,” she said, then leaned forward, her hands on his thighs. She glanced down, and he heard her sharp intake of breath, then saw the heat in her eyes when she looked back up. “You do want,” she said as she slid her hand higher until her fingertips barely brushed his cock under the thin cotton of those damned pajama bottoms.
“Abby, what are you doing?”
“Are you honestly telling me you haven’t figured that out yet?”
He had to laugh. “I have a clue, believe me. Oh, shit—” He swallowed hard as her hand closed over his cock. “Abby…”
He saw a flash of either hurt or frustration as she started to pull away. He acted without thinking, closing his hand over hers, keeping her hand on his cock as he met her eyes. “What happened to you don’t do casual sex?”
“I—Don’t you want to know what we missed out on? Aren’t you curious?”
Hell yes he was.
“I’m not—Abby, I’m so glad we found each other again, and believe me, I am not saying no.”
Her mouth quirked, and she cupped her hand more firmly around him. “No, you’re definitely not.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship. And you don’t do casual sex. So what exactly are you looking for here?”
“Just tonight,” she said. “Because I missed you, and I trust you.”
Trust. What woman he’d ever been with had used that as a come-on? But damned if those simple words hadn’t pushed him over the edge.
She was right—they both deserved this. To know what they might have had if he’d stayed. If he hadn’t acted like an ass and dated every other girl except the one who’d stolen his heart back when he was in diapers.
“All right,” he said, pushing her hand off his cock. “But we’re going to take this slow.”
Chapter Six
“Slow,” I repeat. “Yeah, I think I like that.”
“And we do this my way.” His hand closes over mine, and he moves me gently but firmly off his cock.
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I say.
“I like being in charge,” he says, easing me back until I’m once again leaning against the arm of the sofa. My feet are tucked under me, and he tells me to straighten them. “On my legs again,” he says. “Just as we were.”
“What—”
“Abby. Just do it.”
I swallow a protest, mostly because I’m curious, and slip my bare feet back onto his thighs.
“Do you want to know what I was thinking earlier? My fantasy of how the evening could go? What I wanted to do, but didn’t have the fucking balls? Not like you did, starting this whole thing up. Is that what you want, Abby? Do you want to know what I was thinking earlier? Is that really where you want me to take you?”
There’s heat and harshness in his voice, and I nod. Right then, I want nothing more than to see into his fantasies. To know if his were as wild and wicked as mine have been. How he wanted me. What he would do to me. Because every kiss or stroke or touch just goes that much further to validate the intense passion building inside me, not to mention my own boldness.
“Yes,” I say. “But you have to remember something when you do.”
He turns to meet my eyes.
“Just remember that I’m the one who had the balls to start this.”
His mouth twitches. “And for that, I think we’re both very, very grateful.”
His hand strokes my foot as he speaks. “We were talking like this earlier,” he says softly. “And it wasn’t even that long ago, but I have to struggle to remember what we were saying. Because that wasn’t the only conversation in my head. There was another one. My voice telling me to let go. To touch you the way I wanted to.”
“How did you want to?” My words are a whisper, and my whole body tingles.
“Gently,” he says, running his fingertip along the side of my foot. “An exploration,” he continues, slowly stroking my ankle, then my calf, then cupping me behind my knee. “A game to see when you would tell me to stop.”
“I wouldn’t have,” I say, then draw in air as he shifts on the couch, too, coming closer to me and forcing me to bend one knee up so that the ball of my foot is pressed against his cock, hard beneath my sole. He bends at the waist, one hand on that foot increasing the pressure as he meets my eyes, and the other hand stroking north on my other leg.
He’s reached the hem, and his fingertip slips under the loose cotton of the maxi dress, brushing my thigh just above my knee.
I whimper, and I see a gleam that looks like victory spark in his eye. “What will I find if I keep going north?” he asks. “Cotton panties? Silk? Or are you completely bare under that dress? I know you’re not wearing a bra. I’ve been mesmerized by your breasts all night.”
“Renly…”
My voice sounds breathy and unfamiliar.
“I’m betting nothing,” he says, and I close my eyes, not willing to acknowledge out loud that he’s right. Even more, not willing to admit—even to myself—that it was the fantasy of a moment like this that had me forgoing panties in the first place. “Should I keep going? Should I tease your pussy? See if you’re wet? Slide my fingers inside you and watch your face as you try not to grind against me?”
I make a low noise in my throat, a noise of longing. Of desperation.
“Or should I stop here and kiss your mouth? Tasting and taking? Fucking your mouth with my tongue until you’re weak and limp and begging for more?”
My head is spinning. I’ve gotten myself off to so many fantasies of Renly’s touch, of his kisses. But never have I imagined him saying these things, raw and wild and so very appealing. I want it all, and while part of me hates that he’s seeing me so needy and desperate, a bigger part of me is turned on by the fact that it’s him who’s made me this way—and that, of course, he knows it.
“Tell me,” he says, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of me. He spreads my legs, and though the dress is still draped to my knees, I feel exposed. And, so help me, it feels wonderful.
His hands ease up my thighs beneath the dress. I whimper, lost in the sensations that are ricocheting through me now. Slowly, his fingers rise, higher and higher as he gently parts my legs. My breath trembles, and I’m burning with the anticipation of his touch. His thumbs are right there, brushing that soft, sensitive skin.
“Tell me,” he repeats. “Should I touch you or kiss you?”
I suck in a breath, my whole body trembling. “Couldn’t you please do both?”
He laughs. “God, I love you.”