Then he scraped his teeth over the skin on the inside of my wrist. Just a light nip. Enough to let me know that he was more than just a singsong drunk who had been bellowing outside my door for the last hour.
Hour.
Who the hell sang for an hour outside a girl’s door? For fuck’s sake—any door. Especially when I knew he’d done a show tonight. One that was burning up the wire. They treated it like the Foo Fighters had done a secret show.
And while I was a very large fan of Dave Grohl, he didn’t turn my crank like Ian did. Especially with the understanding in his eyes that I wasn’t sure I was prepared for. I wasn’t an innocent, but my handful of boyfriends probably didn’t have the knowledge this man did between all of them.
He slid his arm around the back of my hips, twisting me so I faced him while still sitting on the arm of the couch. Intrigued by what he was after, I didn’t say a damn word. I wasn’t helping him in this seduction game.
If he wanted to prove to me that he was after only one thing—my pleasure—then he would have to earn it. Most men talked a good game about their oral prowess. About how much they were givers.
Five minutes with a sloppy tongue wouldn’t sway me onto Team Ian.
But it would let me shut the door on this ridiculous fascination I had with him.
And maybe I needed that.
To treat him like a real man, instead of this fantasy who wouldn’t be tempered.
I couldn’t even water him down with turpentine at this point. Every night I woke with a piece of him in my psyche. A smile in a crowd. A touch in the night. Even a disembodied voice on the open sea when I was alone.
It didn’t matter.
So I had to get him out of my brain. And at the very least, I could probably get an orgasm out of the deal. No bad there. I certainly hadn’t been able to do the job well enough on my own.
“Thinky-thinky, Magic.”
“I thought this was going to shut you up?” Though I almost wished he wouldn’t follow that directive. He was so goddamn contrary any other time. His raspy voice with the wash of England in it was as addictive as his dimples. Or the hairline scar at the corner of his mouth that he was forever touching with his tongue.
“Well, stop telegraphing your challenge. I can smell it through your pores.” He dragged his nose along the curve of my knee. He ducked his head down and draped my leg over his shoulder.
I yelped a little. Unbalanced, I let my legs fall apart as I gripped the couch cushion.
“Now there’s a good girl.” He dragged his lips over the inside of my thigh. His fingers inched higher to the boxer shorts I was wearing. He groaned as he discovered that boxers were all I was wearing. “Oh, that’s not playing fair.”
“Who said I had to?”
“Are these boy pants?” He lifted the hem of my muslin shirt.
“I bel
ieve the package said boxers.”
“Yes, and I’m suddenly in love with them.”
I glanced down between us to where his jeans were barely hanging on. His button-down shirt was wrinkled and missing quite a few of said buttons. But that wasn’t the important part. No, it was the decidedly boxer-less situation he had going on.
His chest was pretty smooth save for the trail starting at the space between his navel and the snap of his jeans. I itched to scrape my nails through the dark arrow of hair. Would it be silky or coarse?
And the curve of his cock swelling against his jeans? That was even more tempting. Was it curved just because of the confines? Or would it scrape inside me and drag out all sorts of new sensations?
I swallowed. “Not in love enough to wear them.”
His lips slid into a smirk. “See anything you like?”
“Not much choice, rocker boy. One good twist and your jeans will be off your ass.” I tugged at the belt loop above the tightly notched vee he had. No shoestring tonight. Though he didn’t need a belt of any style for this pair of pants. They were nearly spray-painted to his skin.
“Don’t worry about my denims, Magic. They’ll stay where they need to for now. This is about you.” He dug his fingers under my butt and leaned me back. He kissed my inner thigh and tugged my shorts over.