Page 57 of Boyfriend
I really hope not.
Then I glance around her apartment and notice something. “You did some redecorating?”
She gives a shrug. “A little. It was cluttered before.”
“But now it’s pristine.” The desk is tidy. The bookshelf is straightened. The kitchen is spotless. And the bed is made up crisply, with the pillows perfectly aligned side by side. “Do you clean a lot? Does it help you clear your head?”
“Sometimes,” she mumbles, her gaze on her shoes.
“Or, and maybe I’m out of line, here…” I stalk across the room and cup her chin until she looks up at me with guilty eyes. “You cleaned because you thought I might come over tonight?”
“There might be some truth to that.” She bites her lip.
“Were you hoping so?” I ask in a low voice.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you shy now?” I whisper, my thumb tracing a slow arc across her smooth cheek. “Because I don’t feel shy at all right now. I feel like peeling you out of these clothes and reminding you how much fun we had the other night.”
She puts a hand in the center of my chest, “Because you’re so…”
“So…?” I wait.
Abbi blushes. “So fun. So extra. And I usually fall asleep on my textbooks, smelling like chicken wings.”
“Well, I do love chicken wings,” I tease, moving in closer. “We should be fine.”
She gives me a wan smile. “Maybe I just forgot how this works.”
“Just kiss me already,” I whisper. “And I’ll remind you. I promise.”
Her gray eyes blink up at me, and that blush grows deeper.
“I’m waiting, Abbi. Make it a good one. Set the tone. You’d be surprised what a good kiss can—”
She shuts me up with soft lips that firm up against mine.
Fuck yes. I catch her in both arms and pull her against my hungry body. She makes a soft little whimper, and that sound slices through me like lightning across a summer sky.
This is just what I’ve been craving. More of Abbi’s kisses. More of her silken hair between my fingers. More more more.
I slide my hands down over her sweet ass and then lift her onto that counter. There. Now I can own her mouth without bending down. Now I can sink into her kiss with abandon. And never stop.
Twenty
Maybe I Don’t Need to Know
Abbi
“Wow.” It’s the first coherent thing I’ve said in an hour.
I lay panting on my bed, Weston’s body—naked and spent—sprawled out diagonally across mine. He’s trying to catch his breath.
My mind is blown. So this is what it means to have fantastic sex. It means Weston and me making out on the kitchen counter until I thought I would burst from desire. It means letting him strip off my clothes and spread me out on the bed.
It means yanking down his briefs and taking him into my mouth, while he curses and praises me, sometimes in the same breath. It means watching him suit up in a condom before prowling back to me on hands and knees, a determined look in his eye, while his shoulder muscles pop and flex.
And—this is the part that’s so confusing to me—it means undulating beneath him while he stares into my eyes as he kisses me more deeply with every stroke.
