Page 53 of Twisted Hearts

“Please,” I responded, showing him I meant it by arching into him. The move lifted the hem of my shirt where his thumb was so he had skin-to-skin contact.

“Just touching,” he murmured, right against that pulse point in my throat, and even though he wasn’t kissing me, this felt like so much more than that. “That’s all, I promise.”

If he needed reassurance from me or explicit consent, he had it. Still, my heart warmed, and the beat of it kicked up a notch as I realized what he was doing…why he was doing it.

I had a second to get over the embarrassment, the shame I could have felt, and then I kicked it to the curb.

When Daniel had forced me to have sex with him, I’d given in because I didn’t care about him but knew if I didn’t, he’d hurt me worse. I had acquiesced because I wanted him to leave me alone for the night, but I didn’t exactlycare. I didn’t know if that made me screwed up somewhere mentally, but it wasn’t like I carried around the aftershocks of it or felt like a victim. It’d been a logical choice I had made.

In some small part of my brain, I had hoped I’d enjoy it. I hadn’t, but that was because Daniel was a selfish, sucky lover who only cared about getting off and not connecting. That I’d had absolutely no feelings for him before that time certainly hadn’t helped.

I thought of all of this while Shawn’s hand languidly explored my stomach and arm before he pushed himself back on the couch and tugged me so I fell to my back.

He moved an arm, propped his head up on one hand, and looked down at me while his other hand rested on my lower stomach.

His hair looked lighter in the morning light, if that was possible, and his blue eyes were bright and clear, a southern, cloudless sky that screamed a good day was on the way.

“Good morning.”

I chuckled, unable to hide my grin. “Mornin’.”

How he’d wiped away the thoughts of Daniel with a smile spoke of his superhero abilities.

“You with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips over mine. I had a single second to consider morning breath before he pressed his tongue to my lips, sliding along the seam, sweetly asking for entrance before I gave in.

He kissed me firmly, passionately, all while his hand continued its slow exploration of my body, sliding down my outer thigh, curling over the top to my inner thigh and back up where I arched into his hand, helpless to not seek out the relief I knew those strong fingers could give.

Yes.I whimpered into his mouth as his thumb brushed over the center seam of my jeans and continued moving up, back to my stomach, my ribs, where he pushed up my t-shirt and trailed his fingertips over the swells of my aching breasts.

“Shawn.” I gasped into his mouth, pressed my body into him. Every time I moved, he changed directions, driving me crazy until I thought I’d combust from the heat he created.

“Just touching,” he reminded me, pulling away from the kiss and sliding down until he could lave my throat with similar kisses, teasing nips that were followed by the brush of his tongue.

“I have places you can touch.” I grunted and tangled my hands in his hair.

Like the day before, it was soft like silk, possibly the only soft part of his entire body.

He chuckled against my collarbone. I figured he’d keep it to this PG-13 make-out sensation, but he rolled into me, groaning as I rubbed my thigh against his hard length and surprising the hell out of me when he asked with a rough whisper, “You sure?”

God yes I was sure. I was more certain I wanted his hands on every part of me than I was sure of my name.

“Please.”

He looked up at me, blue eyes now cloudy, jaw tight with need, and his hand went to the button of my jeans. He popped it open, keeping an eye on me the whole time. The zipper being tugged down was as loud as a rocket blast, the only sound in my apartment other than our ragged breaths.

I didn’t flinch. I let him see how badly I wanted this, and when he slid his fingers beneath my underwear, I closed my eyes and let out a sigh.

At the exact same time, his phone began vibrating and dancing across the wooden coffee table.

“Fuck,” he groaned, stilling his hand. He pressed his mouth to my throat, where his rapid breaths matched my own. “I gotta take that. It’s Jaxon’s ringtone.”

I clung to his hand and held him to me, trying to settle myself, but the pulsing need he’d lit wouldn’t be easily eased.

“I figured.”

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