“But you know what you want,” he said, breath hot against my skin.
Oh. I’d been talking in a more metaphorical sense. He wasn’t wrong, though. Mild embarrassment spiked through me at how my hips were bucking up against him, grinding on his torso in desperate arching movements.
He pressed the flat of his hand between my legs, dizzying me with the sudden rush of warmth I felt there. He expertly found exactly the right spot and started rubbing while he still kissed his way down my neck and to my chest. The buttons on my uniform got in his way, but he undid those easily with his free hand without missing a beat with his other.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I said. I wasn’t thinking. The words were just spilling out of me. My brain was too overloaded with all the wonderful sensations of friction and heat to filter my mouth.
“It definitely is,” he agreed, but showed no sign of stopping.
“Are you sure we sh-”
Riggs finally paused. He lifted his eyes, glaring into mine. “It doesn’t have to mean more than it means.”
I wasn’t sure I knew what that meant, but I nodded, feeling comforted by the seeming simplicity of the statement. It didn’t have to mean more than it meant. Right. But what if it felt like it meant a lot?
He interrupted my thoughts by yanking my skirt down, panties included.
I expected to be more embarrassed if I ever had a guy see me like this, but there was a ravenous hunger in his movements and expression. I could plainly see how much he was enjoying this—just much as I was—and that did wonders for my self-confidence.
“I’ve never done this before,” I said.
Riggs had been ripping off his shirt, but he paused at that. “Is this okay?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard. I realized until that moment, I’d felt like I had no choice at this point. I’d let him get this far, and he would be mad if I changed my mind—or so I thought. Three little words made me see there was far more to Riggs than I’d given him credit for.
I nodded, smiling shyly.
It was like I’d pressed “resume” on a movie. He leapt back into action, stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the side.
His torso was dusted with dark hair mostly concentrated around his chest. A seemingly endless row of abdominal muscles flexed and shifted while he worked on his belt and pants.
I had sat up halfway at some point and my hands were on him, warm skin and soft hair tickling my fingertips as I ran them down his muscles.
Riggs took my wrist and pushed it down his stomach, plunging it toward his underwear, which was the last article of clothing he had on. They were tight-fitting black boxers that revealed a thick bulge that looked too big to be what I thought it was.
I immediately blushed and tried to pull my hand back.
Riggs let go of my wrist and took a fistful of my hair. He gripped it, which pulled my head back slightly, but not painfully. He used his leverage to force my chin up toward him. He studied me with parted lips and hungry eyes, then a faint smile formed. “I haven’t done this in a very long time,” he said.
“Really?” I had to admit I’d already puzzled that question over in my head. The truth, I’d decided, was that someone like Riggs probably had a new woman in his bed every weekend. Abstinence on his part wouldn’t be for lack of willing partners, and that made me further re-write my understanding of him.
He pushed me down gently by my chest. My legs still hung over the edge of the bed at the knees and he was between my legs. He planted his chiseled arms on either side of my head so his heavy frame made my head sink into the plush comforter deeper.
“It seems I was waiting for the right suicidal, bat-wielding, immune compromised human woman to come along.”
“Oh,” I whispered. “I guess I should go, then. It sounds like you’re still searching.”
He cupped my chin, then planted his first tender kiss on my lips. It took me by surprise.
All the contact until now had been part of a frenzy. It was all instinct and hormones. Rough hands and heavy breaths.
But the kiss was different. It was soft and purposeful. It made my breath catch and my skin feel like it was crawling with little motes of fuzzy warmth.
I practically melted into the comforter, body going slack as his lips brushed mine.
He pulled back and our lips made a quiet sound as they parted. “Unfortunately for you,” he said. “I seem to have a fondness for you.”
“Unfortunately for you,” I countered. “I-” I swallowed. I’d been planning to say something suave and clever. The truth was neither. “I like you too,” I blurted. “But I don’t know if that’s just the fact that you’ve saved my life a few times talking.”