Page 47 of Whirlwind
Oh. Maybe that’s what he means. He’s watching me with nothing but encouragement. No judgment. Okay, then.
Fumble away, Kit.
I start with his face, dragging my fingers down his cheek, around his jaw. Tyson just watches me intently. Still self-conscious, I stick my tongue out at him, making us both laugh and breaking some of the tension.
Is it sexy? No, probably not.
But I’m like an inexperienced teenager, here; might as well own it. Besides, sexy isn’t the goal. We’re not about to have sex—I’m not that ready. I just want to know what a man feels like when it’s not fearful and forced. I want to see what sensations it sparks inside me. Wide awake, eyes open, and most importantly…in fucking control.
By the time I’m at his chest, the dark thoughts have faded. He hasn’t shaved or waxed away his body hair. It’s ruddy, like thehair on his head, but not thick—a soft smattering that suits the protector side of him he’s been showing me.
When I reach the ridges of his abdomen, the muscles shift under my touch, and again, his cock makes itself known.
The blood rushes to my head like a high. Me—a nerd in an alien butthole T-shirt with morning breath—can stir the desire of a godlike professional NHL player.
How is this real life?
I take my time on his abs. No, it’s more than six—this man is all edges and ridges, hard lines under smooth skin. An urgency rises in me to taste him. I want to see every part of him.
I pause, looking from my fingers at the band of his boxer briefs up to his face. His gaze is steady, intense, sending fire through my veins.
“Whatever you need, Kit,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.
Keeping my eyes on his, I bend to lick a slow line over every hill and valley of his abs. My first thought is that he tastes clean, which makes no sense. Pheromones are oddly powerful. I do it again, testing my reaction, but it’s Tyson whose skin flushes and warms.
“Fuck, Kit. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
That sounds monstrously untrue. I’ve seen the women who’ve left his house, and Isla is effortlessly, naturally sexy. How could I ever compare? But again, I can’t read a lie in his expression.
I grip his waistband tighter, forcing away my insecurities. They aren’t real—they don’t exist in this room, only in my head.
“Kit? What do you need?”
“To believe,” I say, the words escaping before I can think better of them.
“Hey, sit up. Let me show you.” His hand comes to my cheek, guiding me. I obey, watching as he slowly, carefully, scoots up to rest against the headboard. At the same time, he pushes the covers down. There’s space between us; I can move away if I want.
“This is you, Kit. It doesn’t matter what you know how to do—or don’t. It’s you my body reacts to. It’s you I want.” He lifts his rear and slides out of his boxers.
I barely hear him past the pounding in my ears. It’s hard to focus when he’s lounging like a naked god in front of me, his cock—hard, veined, and divine—resting between the V of his hips.
“Will you…” I falter, sealing my lips shut, my fingernails digging into my palms, too afraid to ask for what I want.
“Give me the words, Kit. You’re safe. Ask me anything.”
You’re safe.
Tyson is a safe space. He’s done nothing to prove otherwise. Willa would tell me there’s nothing to be ashamed of, that I should go after what I want.
I want to see Tyson’s hand on himself.
You’re safe.
“Will you touch yourself for me?”
“Fuck,” he says with a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The relief he shows makes me grin, until his hand wraps around his length and all the blood in my body moves to my own core.
