Page 92 of Tell Me Again

His lips trail down my neck as he gently turns us and pushes me up against the wall. The pressure of his hips rocking against mine, his hand still stroking me, his tongue hot and wet on my neck—it’s all maddeningly arousing, and I moan and let my hands thread up into his hair. He grunts a laugh or something but then starts sucking at that spot at the base of my neck. And god, it’s good. So, so good.

After a second, he groans and lifts his head a bit, still pressing his hips against mine. But he moves his hand away and reaches out to adjust the thermostat, which is just to my right along the wall. Something clicks on, and there’s a clunk and a low hum. He grimaces.

“It’s finicky, but it usually kicks on, um, eventually,” he says, and I just nod and go to kiss him again. But he resists, shifting both of his hands to my hips. “I need a shower before, um, bed. It’s been a really long day, and... uh, yeah.”

I groan, but only because he lets his fingers tease at the waistband of my jeans. My dick’s still hard and throbbing, and I needed that pressure.

“Um, yeah, of—of course.”

I take several breaths, but my heart is still racing wildly in my chest, and when I finally open my eyes a moment later, he’s watching me, his expression dark and needy.

“Fuck, I just want you right now. But...”

I grin and bring my hands up to rest on either side of his neck. “I need a shower too. It’s too bad”—I let one hand drift down his chest and then lower until I’m cupping him through his jeans—“your shower is so small.”

He leans into me and groans, and his head falls to my shoulder. “I’ll—I’ll be quick. I mean—ahhh, fuck.”

His tone makes me pause, and I pull my hand away and let my arms wrap around his waist. He’s shaking slightly, and his breaths are ragged and unsteady. He quietly returns the embrace, his head still resting on my shoulder, and he breathes out a long sigh.

I hold him a little tighter and brush my lips against his temple. “You know, um...” There’s something I should say, but that part of me that wants to take him straight to bed right now has been resisting because it means a longer conversation. It’s a conversation we need to have, though. “How about you shower, and I’ll get my luggage out of my car, then heat us up some leftovers for dinner? You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“Ah, no, I guess I didn’t.” He straightens, looking as torn up about it as I feel.

I lean in and give him a light kiss, which he immediately deepens, pressing me back against the wall again. And when I feel his rock-hard shaft hot against my thigh, I groan and move one hand to his hip to try to put some distance between us. I pull my lips away from his, groaning again, and his mouth shifts to my neck, trailing hot, wet kisses downward.

“God, Coop, don’t make this harder than it already is,” I say as I tilt my head back to give him more room. Yeah, I’m totally contradicting my words, but I can’t help it. And he’s... laughing.

“I thought that was the goal—to make it harder,” he whispers, and he’s there—his hand rubbing lightly up my thigh until he finds me.

I groan as I rock my hips. “Ahh, you—you know what I meant. You know what I meant. God, that’s so good. But, I...” Need to talk. We need to talk. About us and this week and next week and the future and... Shit, his fingers are unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, and he’s— “Ahh, god, yessssss...”

My train of thought crashes as he takes my dick in his hand and starts stroking me. Pleasure and heat shoot through me, and I’m hooking my fingers into the belt loops of his jeans now to pull him closer. But he groans and shakes his head as he tears his lips away from my neck.

“What were you going to say?” His voice is a low whisper, and it’s damn sexy, especially as he continues pumping my shaft slowly.

I moan and try to pull him toward me again. “Want you now, but...” Ah, shit.

“But?”

He’s teasing me, and I love it. I love him. But we really need to talk.

I lean forward into him and kiss him—hard. Then I pull back and gently remove his hand from my dick, even as I suppress a whimper in protest. He’s grinning when I look up at him, and he lets both hands settle on my hips. Then he kisses me again, lightly this time.

“You feel so good, you know. I just want to watch and feel as you come.” God, yeah, his voice is sexy. His words are sexy. “Later?”

I nod, because I can’t speak, and he laughs quietly and actually steps backward. It’s a combination of relief and disappointment as I lose the heat from his closeness, but I manage to zip and button my pants again, and then his hands return to my hips.

“You . . . want to talk?”

“Y-yeah. We should.” I look up at him, and his expression is soft. “I don’t want another, um, misunderstanding because I’ve failed to communicate how much—” My words catch in my throat, and I feel all my uncertainty from earlier returning full force. But I shake my head and try one more time. “I screwed up again this morning because apparently I’m terrible at communicating with you just how much all this—you—just how much you mean to me. And I don’t want that to happen again. And so, I think—”

“—we should sit down and talk while we’re both calm and in control?”

I nod again. “Yeah. Can we do that?”

He pulls me up against him and kisses my forehead. “Yeah, of course.”

He’s warm, and everything feels so comfortable here, in his arms. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him too, and I hope he feels all my love, as I’m feeling his.

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