Page 35 of Flagrant Foul
It singes my face and makes my cheeks flush.
Look awaysays the soft, breathy voice from before.
I forcibly blink to buy myself time.
When I open my eyes again, it’s too late to look away because Teddy is holding his top up near his clavicle. He’s using both hands now. One to lift it, the other to pull it outward and away from his body. A pair of pale-pink nipples taunt me. They’re puckered, tiny bumps forming where his skin has pulled tight. They’re hard. Taut. Tiny and so fucking sexy that I start grinding my teeth involuntarily.
Teddy disappears under his T-shirt, and thank God for that. My soft focus function has glitched, and I need the moment his disappearance offers to gorge myself on the sight of him in private and then concentrate on pulling myself together.
I’ve always wondered what it is that makes you want some people more than others. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I think it has something to do with their skin. Or their smell. Or it’s the combination of their skin and their smell. Teddy’s skin is pale and clear. Almost translucent. It makes him look strong and fragile at the same time. Masculine and gentle. Hard and so fucking sweet I can’t see straight.
His smell makes my head spin. It makes me hard. Solid like granite. I’m not talking about the scent of his body wash. Citrus and leather are nice and all, but they have nothing on his own personal smell. The smell of his neck. Of his chest and his pits. It’s earthy and has more density than any artificial scent ever could have. There’s a realness to it. A manly musk sluiced with a prickly bouquet of sweetness and spite.
It messes me up.
It messes me up so much that by the time Teddy emerges from under his shirt, chest bare but for the chains that hang from his neck, I feel drunker than I did last night.
I must look it too because Teddy laughs at the state of me. His lips part and a soft, angelic sound bubbles out of him. It’s so fucking beautiful that my head drops back against the couch and my mind goes blank.
His hand traces a line down the middle of his chest, teasing me. Taunting me. Tracing a path between his pecs, down to his navel, and then even lower. A neatly trimmed nail flicks the button of his jeans. Brass glints. He worries the button until my lungs are paralyzed and parts of my soul wither and come unstuck at the seams. Until I can’t blink and my tongue is so thick in my mouth, I can’t talk or swallow.
He undoes it the same way he lifted his T-shirt. Slowly. In stages.
When the button finally opens, my mouth is open too.
I blink again, and when I open my eyes, I see that my hand is suspended, reaching out toward him.
A clear, angelic sound rings like a bell, arctic blue narrows, and for a second, I think he’s going to slap my hand away. He doesn’t. He barely touches me. He just digs two fingers under the hair tie I have on my wrist and pulls it off over my hand. He puts the band on his own wrist as I frantically try to make sense of what’s happening. My thoughts are sluggish and thick. Slow as fuck.
His right wrist.
He put the band on his right wrist. His beautiful right wrist. Graceful and angular. Sculptural, but sturdy as well. The band is black and a little looser on his wrist than it is on mine. It lies nestled in the dip next to the bone that protrudes on the pinky side of his hand. The pisiform bone, I think it’s called.
Actually, I don’t think,I knowthat’s what it’s called. I’ve googled it more than enough times to be sure.
I don’t know what the fuck it is about this guy or his wrist that turns me on this much, but seeing my hair tie stretch and slide over his hand, coming to rest right nextto that fucking bone, cuts off my air. It strangles me as surely as it would if he’d wrapped that goddamn hair tie around my neck. Twice.
I have no way of knowing how long it takes me to realize he’s stopped. That he’s not taking anything else off and we’re still in the living room. It’s still daytime. I’m still me, and Teddy is still Nate’s brother.
“That’s it?” I croak.
He nods sweetly. “For today.”
“Mmkay,” I manage. It’s impossible to describe what a dumb fuck he’s turned me into. I know nothing. Understand nothing. I have questions, though, and I’m too fucked up to stop myself from asking them. “What happens now?”
“Well,” he says brightly, “I’m going to fetch you some Advil because you look like hell, and maybe some OJ, and then we’re going to put something mindless on TV.”
I nod agreeably, grateful the worst of the threat seems to have passed.
“Lucky for you, we have the day off, so we’re free to rot for the rest of the day. I mean it. We’re not going to move from the couch, no matter what.”
A day off. Yes. Thank fuck.I’ve never needed a day off more than Ineed one today.
He heads off to get the Advil from his bathroom, and I use the time to rest my eyes. They’re feeling super strained from the hangover. To be on the safe side, I keep resting them when he gets back and pours the OJ. From the whirring and popping sounds coming from the microwave, I think he might be making popcorn.
When the seat of the couch dips under his weight, I steady myself before opening my eyes. I’m a little disoriented, but all things considered, I think I did pretty well. I wasn’t perfect, but I could have been a lot worse, so overall, I’m taking it as a win.
TheWturns to anLthe second light hits my retina. Teddy is still shirtless, still stunning, and his jeans button is still undone.
