Page 46 of Whirlwind
Ifall asleep to delicate kisses. When I wake, it’s to a hard body under me. At some point in the night, I ended up atop Tyson, plastered to him, really. My pillow is his pectoral, my blanket his arms wrapped around me, a palm resting on my ass.
I blink, take a steadying inhale of air, and evaluate the data.
My body isn’t tense; I’m relaxed and well rested. No racing pulse, no pain in my temples, no signs of anxiety. No fight or flight response to waking up with a man next to me, or under me, as the case may be.
His chest moves at a slow, steady pace. His pulse vibrates against my cheek. His dick hard against my hip. An itch to reach down and touch it starts at my fingertips, and I remind myself that it isn’t okay to touch him like that while he sleeps.
I’m unsure of the time. It must be early because the light seeping around the curtain is still dim. Nightmare will want out soon enough, though moving from this bed anytime soon sounds like a horrible idea.
Which tells me everything I need to know.
I didn’t just survive my first sleepover with a man—I enjoyed it. My soft giggle stirs him.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice rough from sleep. “You good?”
“Better than.” I stretch my legs as I say it, and he sucks in air. “Sorry.”
“No, I am. Biology doesn’t always know the rules.”
“I don’t always know the rules, either,” I say. “Besides, I like that I, um…have that effect on you.”
“Do you now?” he teases.
“I do. I told you I like sex—I meant that. Or my version of it, anyway.” I shift again, careful of his sensitive parts, propping my chin on my hands and staring up at him.
“What has your version entailed?”
“A fairly pricey vibrator and a carefully curated selection of pornography,” I say, crinkling my nose. I’ll be thirty in a couple of years, and every orgasm has been delivered by the equivalent of a pocket-sized robot.
“Maybe when you’re comfortable with it, you can show me this curated collection.” He loops his hands under my arms, dragging me up his body so he can bury his face in my neck. His light stubble tickles in an intoxicating way while he trails kisses down and across my collarbone.
“You want to watch porn with me?”
“I want to know what you like,” he says. “You smell good.”
“Doubtful. I need a shower,” I say, but he just grunts in disagreement. His fingers play at my side where my shirt has ridden up, brushing bare skin and making me squirm with the urge to lay hands on him, too. It’s all I can think about. “Tyson?”
“Mmm.”
“Can I touch you?”
“You already are,” he says, nodding toward where my fingers are in his hair.
“That’s not what I mean.” I disentangle myself and sit up, my legs straddling his chest. “I mean—will you be still and let me touch you?”
“You mean, explore? Get familiar?”
He understands me so well for someone who’s known me such a short time. My heart does that stupid swelling thing again, and I nod. He nods back, an almost sinister grin flashing across his face.
“You’re excited,” I say, cocking my head to the side.
“I can’t think of anything I want more than for you to trace your way around my body. I’ll be as quiet and still as I can be.”
“Well, now I’m even more nervous.”
“Don’t be anything but you, Kit.”
The thing is…nervousisme.
