Page 72 of Flagrant Foul
The room spins, and I fall back. No, not fall. I step back several times as Sev walks me to the sofa. When we get there, he takes a seat as I sway on my feet, unsure what to do now that his hands aren’t on me.
“Why so many clothes, Tee?” he asks seriously. A cocky brow travels up as he tugs at the hem of my T-shirt playfully. He looks up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Thought you didn’t feel the cold. Aren’t you hot?”
My giggle is punched and affected, but it doesn’t stop me from reaching behind me and yanking my shirt off so hard that I’m pretty sure I hear a seam rip. I throw the shirt, along with the lube, onto the seat next to Sev.
I still care a bit about what a fool I’m making of myself, but not as much as I did earlier.
He acknowledges the lube with a lazy smile and drops his head back onto the couch.
“Slowly,” he says. “Take it off slowly.”
The words enter my bloodstream and crank up my body heat. It’s more than a collection of words. More than an instruction. It’s Sev’s will flowing into my veins.
My hands shake like a leaf, causing the prong and frame of my buckle to rattle as I undo my belt. Sevwatches patiently, not like he’s watching the fumblings of a man with no game, like he’s watching something he likes. Something he likes very much. Something he wants.
When it becomes clear my button and zipper are beyond me, he reaches out and undoes them for me. His touch is rough, just enough to jostle me from side to side and scramble my brain. He pulls my jeans down, sweeping a heavy hand over my thighs as he does it.
He seems to remember that I’m still wearing my shoes and shakes his head at himself, smiling up at me like he’s not the bane of my existence. Like he’s someone who likes me. Like he’s my friend.
Like he’s my lover.
He unties my laces and pulls my shoes and socks off. I stomp on my jeans, holding on to his shoulders as I step out of them unsteadily.
When I’m naked, Sev leans back again, mouth ajar. His chest heaves, ribcage rising and falling as he inhales and exhales. He does it hard and fast. His hand floats up to his chest, and he digs his fingers into the slab of muscle over his heart.
I know how he feels. I feel it too—a blood-pumping organ beating out of my chest.
His hands are on me, steady and sure. Traveling up my legs, grazing the hair they find there, pausing at my hips, circling the bones that protrude slightly, and lightly tracing the indented V that leads to my cock.
I press my lips together to stifle a whimper.
It doesn’t help.
Sev’s hands keep moving, up my chest and down again. Up my sides. Up my arms. Down again.
His face is passive, eyelids heavy, features so lax that if I didn’t know him, I’d think he looked sleepy. His eyes, though, are on fire. His pupils are blown out so wide, they look black. So black that slick, sultry shadows dance in them.
It takes me a second to realize the shadows are me. My reflection. My likeness swaying unsteadily before him.
It’s too much suddenly. I’m too far away from him, and I can’t stand it for one second longer. My whimper turns to a whine, and thank God Sev understands it.
He pulls off his hoodie and the T-shirt he has underneath it in one angry motion, yanking them off roughly and tossing them on the floor.
He wraps an arm around my waist and guides me toward him, pulling me onto his lap. My side is nestled against his chest, my upper body resting against his left arm, both legs bent, feet on the couch to his right. Hecradles me gently, stroking my face and kissing me until I’m a gurgling mess and the only thing holding me up are the strong arms around me, the wall of his chest, the tongue in my mouth. The sound of him breathing.
He pulls away but keeps his face close, his eyes looking into mine, as his hand starts to wander. He strokes my back lightly in big figure eights. A rash of goosebumps erupts in his wake.
“Beautiful,” he says, slurring slightly. “So beautiful.”
His hand moves lower. Down my spine to the small of my back. He sits up a little straighter and shifts me slightly, turning me onto my side just enough that when his hand moves again, my ass is exposed enough to allow a single finger to slide down my crack.
Heat thunders through me. Roars. Reverberates like hot and cold air crashing together.
He takes my arms and circles them around his neck, making me hold on to him so I don’t flop onto the couch when he lets go of me.
I moan softly in protest from the absence of his touch, but stop as soon as I realize what he’s doing.
He’s getting the lube.
