Page 39 of Never Been Shipped

She tried to smile, but she felt like it was shaky. “You gonna make me grab these, too, and say it?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Shewantedto tempt him. She wanted him to touch her so badly she almost couldn’t stay still, had to writhe a little on the sheets to relieve some of the tension in her body. From the way he watched her, he knew exactly what she was doing, knew the effect this was having on her.

He blew gently on one of her nipples, making it pucker more and sending a shock wave of shivers through her body. She gasped, arching her back. “Fuck.Do that again.”

He could’ve pointed out that he was calling the shots here, but she didn’t know that was entirely true. It felt like a push-and-pull, a dynamic they’d always had, where she was the one who wanted to jump and he was the one who gave her the bravery to actually do it. He blew another stream of air on her nipple, and she whimpered.

“You’re really not quiet,” he said. “What sound would you make if I put my tongue on you right now, took your tits in my mouth?”

If she could’ve arched her back enough to put them there, she would’ve. “Do it,” she said, her voice breathless. “And find out.”

She never would’ve guessed John was a dirty talker, or that he would be so good at it. She wouldn’t have guessed much about John at all, when she thought about it—he’d always beenalmost maddeningly opaque about anything to do with sex or relationships, even when the subject had come up. There’d beenonetime, when Steve had made some comment about third base—she couldn’t even remember what—and John had given a bashful smile before catching her eye and looking away. There’d been something in the tail end of that smile, something knowing and wicked, that she’d found herself thinking about for a while after.

“Touch yourself,” he said now. “Show me how you like it.”

She reached up to roll her nipples between her fingers, watching him watching her until it became too much and she had to close her eyes. She pressed her thumbs into her nipples, then pinched them, hard, until the sting became an ache and she finally let go, panting a little.

“You like a bit of pain, don’t you?” He was talking so matter-of-factly, but there was a rasp to his voice that let her know this was getting to him the same way it was getting to her. It made her wonder whathemight’ve noticed aboutherall those years, what conclusions he might’ve drawn about what she’d be like in bed. If he’d thought about it at all.

He leaned over her, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath stirred her hair, his body so flush with hers it felt like a fever. “How do you make it better?” he asked.

The words came out before she had time to think about them. “Spit on me.”

He looked at her, his eyes dark. Then he bent his head and spit directly on one nipple before giving the other the same treatment. “Rub it in,” he said.

Micah massaged John’s spit in circles over her nipples, feeling the touch almost like it had a direct line down to her clit.Holy shit, was she about tocome? Just from this? She wanted to give in. She wanted to hold back, make him work harder for it.

As if reading her mind, John’s gaze went to her legs, bent at the knees and spread open. She wondered if he could see the way she pulsed through her underwear, if it was obvious how wet she was.

“Take those off,” he said. “I want to see you touch yourself everywhere.”

She lifted her hips, sliding her underwear down her legs in record time, moving to kick them off when they got tangled around her feet. But John reached down to grab them first, balling them up in his hand.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to touch me,” she said.

“And I haven’t,” he said. “Have I?”

She’d felt the ghost of his fingertip tracing one ankle bone,knewshe’d felt it because she was so attuned, like a stringed instrument picking up vibrations from across the room. She felt like he’d done it on purpose, like he knew full well that he’d technically broken that rule, but she wasn’t about to say it aloud if he wasn’t.

“No,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Now let those legs fall open for me, honey.”

She’d been clenching her knees together without even realizing she was doing it. Her shirts were still tangled around her waist, and she reached down to lift them both over her head, tossing them onto the floor until she was completely naked. John’s gaze was on the bounce of her breasts from the action, but she saw when it snagged on the tattoo she’d gotten all those years ago. His hand came up, almost like he was about to touchit, before he clenched it in the sheets instead, his knuckles so close they grazed her rib cage.

“That’s what you got?” he asked.

It was the chord shape for A minor, the grid of the fretboard and then the Xs and Os showing the strings you muted and the ones you played open, three filled-in dots showing where you placed your fingers.

She’d assumed he already knew that. She’d assumed he would’ve seen the pictures inPlayboy, one in particular where she was lying on her side, her arm over her head, the motion lifting her breast almost as if she was trying specifically to show off the ink underneath. She felt like she had been. She’dwantedhim to see it, had looked at the pictures herself when the magazine came out and tried to see them through his eyes.

She realized how excited she’d been to show it to him even back when she got it, had imagined his gaze on her when she lifted her shirt to reveal it. She’d kind of regretted that she’d said she wouldn’t show it to him unless he got his own tattoo, which she knew might never happen.

“You didn’t exactly keep your side of the bargain,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

He reached up to smooth her hair back, tucking some of it behind her ear. That simple touch was so unexpected, felt sogood, that she closed her eyes and let out a sigh that cracked in her throat.

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