Page 63 of Reply All
No. “Yes.” A chill runs up and down my spine, and suddenly this whole thing doesn’t seem as funny as I thought it would be.
Will looks up between me and the sketch pad several times, face serious, but tender. Like he’s staring at his favorite thing in the whole world. Like Iamhis whole world. With each passing second, I find myself hoping it were true. A stinging grows behind my eyes, and I’m mortified to realize that I just may cry—and I don’t even know why.
Each scratch of the pen, each flicker of his eyes as they roam my body, stokes the fire inside. Every single movement of his wrist increases my heart rate and the temperature of my skin. It’s so intimate, what we’re doing. More than I ever expected it could be. I’ve given him permission to take me in, to focus on every peak and valley, every flaw I may have. I’ve given him the green light to look at me and take what he sees and put it on paper.
But what if I don’t like what he sees? What he thinks of me? Or worse: what if he sees me exactly for who I am and realizes he doesn’t like it?
It isn’t long before he sets the pen down on the desk and sits up, holding the sketch close to his chest before dumping it facedown onto his desk. Wordlessly, with eyes so dark and an intense gaze I’ve never seen before, Will walks over to me, slowly, like a lion about to attack his prey. Lungs frozen, unable to breathe, I watch as he places a knee on the mattress and crawls over me on the bed, covering my entire body with his. Noses touching, I feel something hard press into my thigh. Involuntarily, I arch my hips up to feel it better, to double check that it really is what I think it is.
Yup. That’s his cock. Hard. Pressed against me.
“What’s happening here?” My voice is barely a whisper, shaky.
Will licks his lips as he looks down at mine before speaking. “Before I even saw you on FaceTime, I used to imagine you in my head often. And I sketched out versions of what I thought you looked like. I have so many versions of you sketched into the pad in my apartment back home, Bridge. You wouldn’t believe. But I never would’ve dreamed you’d be this beautiful. Never.”
“I… I thought you didn’t sketch people.”
“You’re notpeople.You’reyou.”
My breath hitches, trying hard not to cry. Something about this moment, something about how he grazes one of my arms while he keeps his eyes on me, has me enraptured and overwhelmed.
“Since seeing you for the first time,” he goes on, one hand coming up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip, “you’re all I can draw. All I can sketch. And it’s never enough. It never does you justice. You’re my biggest frustration, Bridget. For so many reasons, but… You’re so fucking beautiful, and I will never be able to draw how absolutely fucking perfect you are. There’s just no way.”
No oxygen. There’s no oxygen left in the room.
I open my mouth to beg for air, for words—forsomething—but nothing comes out or comes in. I need something to bring me back to life because the words I just heard come out of Will’s mouth killed me.
As if reading my mind, Will presses his lips to mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth and waking my body from its shocked stupor.
It’s me, Will, it seems to say.I’m here and you’re safe and I’ve come to bring you the happiness you finally deserve.
With a moan, leaving all rational thought behind, I let myself enjoy the kiss, finally moving my arms from above my head to wrap around his neck. Feeling the way I shift beneath his body, Will’s hand travels down my arm, over my ribs, and onto my hip. He pauses there for a moment, gripping me hard, pulling me closer to feel the hard line of his cock. I gasp when I feel it press just shy of my clit, my underwear already soaked after just a few moments of kissing. When he moves his lips to my neck, I hear myself beg for more. And because Will is such a good man, he proceeds to give me exactly what I want.
His hand trails down my thigh and stops at my calf; he hooks it behind my knee and hitches my leg on his hip. I stop breathing for a moment, my dress riding up all the way to my waist. Suddenly, I'm back to that night we shared in my bed which started almost in the same position as this one—except vertically.
He moves his hips in a slow roll against my own, rhythmic and perfect, making me cry out his name once again. One of his hands comes over my mouth as he shushes me, lips pressed to my ears. “You're going to get us caught.”
All of a sudden, the awareness that there are people just outside the door washes over me, and while I would've expected myself to let this piece of information put a damper on this moment, all it does is make it all the more appealing. The taboo of it all increasing my need for him, for us.
The hand that was holding my thigh to his hip travels inward, heading straight for where I'm wet and hot and aching for him.
“I don't have time to fuck you like I properly wanna fuck you right now. But there's no way I'm going to let you walk out that door without having come. Hard. I wanna see that special blush on your face. The one that only happens after you have an orgasm. I’ve only seen it a few times, but it’s seared into my fucking brain, Bridget. The most beautiful color red I’ve ever seen.”
I whimper beneath his palm, meeting his fierce dark eyes as his hand moves my underwear to the side.
Will’s head dips to my neck with a groan when he feels the wetness between my thighs, growling words that sound like “…can’t fuckingbelieveyou get this wet this fast for me.” But I can’t be sure, because he says them right as he begins to tease me, run his index and middle finger around my clit, and the only thing I can focus on in that moment is keeping myself from screaming for him to touch it. To rub it. To make me come like he did when we spent the night together in my place.
“You’re so fucking perfect.”
I wrap both legs around his waist, the stiletto heels of my brown boots accidentally stabbing Will. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. Too busy driving me wild with his fingers, teasing at my entrance as he sucks on my neck.
“Hickey,” I say in a gasp behind his hand. “No hickeys. Work.”
“But I want to mark you,” he growls, kissing down my neck. He pulls down the neckline of my dress to expose my tits, cradled in my favorite lace bra. “Can I mark you here?”
A hickey from Will on my tits?Yes, please!
I nod enthusiastically, something about the knowledge that I’ll get to walk around with his mark on my skin for days after this incredibly hot.
