Page 89 of Wicked Sins

Joah’s body is warm and hard against mine. I hold myself stiffly, not sure what he wants from me. What he wants todoto me. He drapes an arm over my shoulder and draws me a little closer, then gently pushes my head to his chest.

To provide comfort?

My body grows heavy. Every inch of me is supported—either by Joah or by the couch. I’ve never felt this…safe before.

He turns the sound back up, and I watch the images stream over the screen without paying them much attention. I can’t; I’m too busy focusing on the way his chest lifts and falls under my head with every breath he takes.

My eyes fall closed, blocking out the screen, but its glow still plays over my eyelids.

Joah breathes deep, and then lets everything out in a warm rush that tickles the hair on the side of my face.

Is he looking down at me? Watching me?

I slide one arm around his waist, tucking the other between our bodies.

His only response is another big breath, another warm exhale over my cheeks.

So I hug him, pressing myself even harder against him. The arm slung around my shoulders tightens like a boa constrictor.

My head moves up a little, until I’m nestled under his chin, and then he rests his head on mine.

Tighter.

My arm shakes. My body tenses.

His hand slides down my arm, then slips around my waist. He draws me closer still, until my body’s flush against his.

Now my head is on his shoulder.

I’m still staring straight ahead.

My heart goesthump, thump, thumpso hard, I’m sure he can feel it. I lay my palm on his chest, and my hand moves as he breathes.

His bare skin is so warm and smooth. I trace the outline of his muscles, barely touching him now.

He shifts in his seat, and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. A sound that brings me to the here and now in a rush.

I freeze, my heart thundering now.

What are you doing?

He offers you comfort, and you start feeling him up?

I push away. Relief floods me when an inch of space appears between us. But then he makes that sound again, shifts, and drags me back.

This time, the movement tugs at the blanket around his waist.

There’s a bulge humping up under that blanket.

Oh, my God. He’s hard.

Hard forme.

His breathing picks up, no longer smooth and deep. He grabs my wrist and peels my fingers off him, as if he doesn’t want me to touch him anymore.

I can’t stop staring into his lap.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I drifted off to sleep, and now I’m having one of those dreams where I wake up tingling and wet after.

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