Page 47 of Boyfriend
“Abbi,” he whispers against my mouth. “Did you feel it? On Christmas Eve? I was so hard for you I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to roll over and pull you underneath me.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. But that sounds wonderful. Threading my hands into his hair, I kiss him again to show that I agree.
“I need to know,” he growls. “Was it just me that night?”
“No,” I whisper, licking into his mouth again. I can’t believe I’m making out against my door with Weston. Finally.
“Did you get hot for me?” His deep voice rumbles in my ear. “Did you get wet?”
“Yes,” I admit, as the same thing happens again.
He groans. “Yesterday morning I woke up thinking about you. Had to fuck my hand in the shower just to calm down.”
Whew. Is it hot in here? “W-why did we wait so long?”
“Because our lives are complicated. But Abbi—now I’m taking you to bed. So if that’s not what you want, you gotta speak up right now.”
“Yes. Fine. Good.”
I sound like a dingus, but Weston doesn’t care. He lets out a horny groan and then lifts me off the wall to do exactly what he’d said he would do—he carries me across my small apartment and deposits me on the bed. “I’m going to need you naked.”
“Yessir.”
Peeling off his jacket, he grunts. “Feel free to say that often. Did you happen to notice that your apartment is cold?”
“Is it?” I toss my jacket aside and kick off my shoes. I don’t want to talk about my stupid apartment. I want to get back to the part where he’s murmuring dirty words in my ear.
He unbuttons his shirt. And holy Toledo, I get my first full view of the vines tattooed across his chest. They’re beautiful. He’s beautiful. No wonder there’s a line of women around table seventeen every time the hockey team racks up a win.
“You’re staring,” he says with a chuckle.
“Sorry.” I avert my eyes.
“No—look all you want. But can you take off your clothes while you’re doing it?” He steps closer to me, grips my Biscuit uniform shirt and lifts it over my head. “Now we’re talking.”
Could he be any sexier? From his rippling abs to his chatty, no-nonsense approach to sex, Weston is making me crazy. I find myself staring up at his bare chest again, at those abs that are now prickled with goose bumps. “You’re cold,” I say softly.
“Abbi, it’s like the Polar Vortex in here. Get under the covers with me. I’ll keep us both warm.”
Now that’s an excellent plan. I hop off the bed and turn down the covers, including the down comforter I had to buy when I realized that the landlady was never going to turn up the heat.
Weston doesn’t waste any more time, either. I hear the sound of a zipper’s metal teeth as he sheds his jeans. I turn away to undo the hook on my skirt, so I miss the view of Weston’s naked body sliding into my bed. By the time I step out of my skirt, he’s already covered himself.
Still—here’s a sight I never thought I’d see—Weston Griggs in my bed, his hands folded behind his head, biceps flexing on my pillow.
Pinch me.
His eyes are smiling up at me. “Get in here before you freeze. Right here, baby.” He lifts one side of the covers. Still wearing my bra and panties, I slip into the bed beside him.
Weston turns and rolls until he’s spread out above me, his warm body pressing me against the mattress. And—hello—there’s a very hefty erection pressed against my thigh.
Holy heck. This just got real.
“Now this is where I wanted you on Christmas Eve, Abbi. And on Thanksgiving, and New Year’s. And every night in between.” He strokes a thumb across my cheekbone. “We are going to have all the sex.”
I giggle nervously. It’s been a while for me. My life is too chaotic for fun and hookups.
And Weston is a player. Even though I haven’t seen him pick up anyone in the bar in a while, I know how much he likes women. I hope he isn’t expecting me to be a sex goddess or something. I hope I don’t smell like chicken wings and beer. And—wait—did I shave my legs today? At least these sheets are clean.
