Page 48 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

A fissure of pleasure from her compliment ran through me, but I refused to let it distract him. “I don’t mean I need practice caring, generically speaking. I mean I need to practice showing you. Specifically.” I rubbed my thumb along her collarbone.

“Oh. Well.” She sounded slightly breathless. “You don’t have to wait until I’m sick to buy me ice cream, Max. My favorite flavor is Jeni’s Brambleberry Crisp. But—” She broke off, biting her lip, and her cheeks flushed pink.

Fuck, it might kill me if she didn’t finish that sentence. Immediately. “But…” I prodded, squeezing her hip encouragingly.

Her gaze dropped, following her fingers as she trailed them down my bare abdomen to my waistband, leaving gooseflesh in her wake. “But there are other ways to show someone you care. If you’re up for it.”

Her eyes met mine just as her palm cupped my dick through the thin cotton of my pants. And squeezed. I groaned. “I think you can tell that I am.”

I could tell she was up for it too, by the heated, lust-filled look she served me. But still, she hesitated. “You’re sick.”

“It’s a sinus infection, nothing contagious, and I’ve been on antibiotics for twenty-four hours now. I want you, Kate. I could be knocking on death’s door, and I would still want you. But honestly, I’m fine. I promise.”

To prove it, I kissed her. It wasn’t lost on me that her hand was still on my dick when her lips parted and my tongue brushed hers. Lightning shot through me as she squeezed me again.

“Oh,” she said, breaking away from my mouth, panting. “Okay. You’re fine. I believe you.” She stroked my jaw, where three-day stubble had formed. “Show me you care, Max Darlington.”

Words that would have once made me run in the other direction. Not that anyone had ever made such a demand of me. Only Kate.

And it was a demand. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. She said it like she knew I could. Like she believed I would rise to the occasion. Well, her faith in me wouldn’t be wasted.

Fuck yeah, I would.

Kate

The sudden flare of heat in his eyes caught me by surprise. It engulfed me like an inferno, making my light, long-sleeved T-shirt feel unbearably heavy. Fortunately, it was only a second before he swept it off over my head and tossed it to the floor next to the bed. My skirt—a floofy affair of bright yellow—followed immediately, leaving me in nothing but my plain white cotton bra and underwear.

“Sorry.” I gasped as he sucked lightly at my neck, one hand behind my back searching for my bra clasp. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

He pulled back with a questioning look.

“My underwear. It’s not sexy. If I had known, I would have put on something—” I broke off. Did I even own sexy underwear? No, I did not. I had a black set identical to the one I was wearing and a few in beige. Lots of beige.

There was nothing sexy about beige. I made a mental note to rectify that, pronto.

“Do you…do you like lingerie?” I asked shyly. I wanted to please him. I wanted to be good at this, with him.

He blinked, like he had never thought about it. “In theory, yes. But in practice, I can’t say I notice.” He pushed his glasses up and gave my bra his full attention. “Hmm.”

The whole thing was so adorable I thought I might actually die from it. I giggled, feeling warm and safe and adored.

“I like the white. It looks nice with your hair, and you’re so pink right here.” He ran his thumb across my collarbone and the curve of my breast before flicking over my nipple, again and again until it peaked. His expression turned hungry. “And the fabric is thin.” He sucked the tight bud through the cotton.

“Oh.” I arched, involuntarily grabbing his shoulders, urging him to suck harder.

He did, and I felt an answering pull deep inside me, where I was already becoming wet.

He pulled back to admire his work. The fabric had turned sheer, revealing a rosy nipple. He blew gently on the damp spot, and I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders.

Max grinned. “I’ve reached a conclusion. Your underwear is sexy.” He reached around my back and unclasped my bra. “But it still has to come off. Lift your hips for me.”

I pressed my heels to the mattress, holding his gaze steadily as I lifted my hips, rocking myself against him, where I could feel how hard he was through his soft pajamas. With a muttered curse, he hooked a finger under the waistband of my underwear and yanked it down.

I reached for his waist, but he pulled away. “Not yet,” he grunted.

I frowned at him. Not yet? I had been waiting for this for ten years. I wasn’t waiting a second longer than I had to.

He laughed at my disgruntled expression. “Kate, I’ve been fantasizing about being inside you for a solid month. If I let you touch me now, this will all be over in a few minutes. Is that what you want?”

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