Instead of crying myself to sleep like I have the last couple of nights, I let my hand wander down Spade’s chest, wondering for a brief second if he stiffens under my touch because he honestly can’t stand for me to brush his skin.
He hasn’t opened that sexy mouth of his once to complain about being here, but he also didn’t answer when I asked him about being upset he was forced to be here.
I know he doesn’t want a girlfriend, and I can almost convince myself that I don’t want to be that person to him, but my brain is also muddled from spending every night in his arms, especially after sleeping beside him that first night and again without being touched by him when we were in Telluride.
This isn’t his normal behavior.
I sigh, thinking I have no damn clue what’s normal for him. I don’t know him. I realize, I don’t know anyone. I made the mistake of thinking I knew Will Varon, and see how that turned out? I won’t make the same mistake again.
I also don’t mistake the way Spade starts to thicken under me as my fingers tease his skin.
Despite not turning our embraces at night into anything sexual, he doesn’t seem like he’ll argue if that’s the direction I want to take things. It gives me a hint of the power I’ve been desperate to feel the last couple of days when I feel like the rest of my life is falling to pieces.
I have no control over anything else happening outside of this room, and I’m not fool enough to think I have any control over what may happen in this bed, but maybe we can use each other enough to forget all the terrible things happening in our lives.
Pressing my lips to his throat, I grin against his skin when his breath hitches.
When his fingers grip the fabric of my nightgown, bunching it up my legs, I know I’m not going to get any objections from him.
His eyelids are low when I pull back and look at him, and it feels a little too intimate despite where this is heading. He cups my jaw when I attempt to look away, preventing me from moving.
Much like it happened that night in Telluride, I know he’s going to kiss me, only this time, I’m powerless to stop him.
A sob bubbles out of me when his lips brush mine for the very first time, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t pull back when I dig my fingers into his skin nor when I nip at his lips in an effort to make him stop.
The intimacy of his mouth on mine isn’t normal. It’s not something he does. Kissing goes against his rules.
Yet, I need him that way right now.
I need to pretend he’s more.
I need to imagine him holding me, making love to me, comforting me because he wants to and not because he’s been using each of the past nights as a way to build us to this moment, the fact that he wants to get laid. This is his long game, and if my body wasn’t so willing, so greedy for the escape he provides, I’d probably be mad.
He ignores the bite to his lip as he deepens the kiss. The brush of his tongue on mine makes me gasp. It feels forbidden, breaking this rule with him, but I allow the fantasy of it, not complaining when he turns me to my back and covers my body with his.
His hands wander, tugging up my nightgown until my lower half is completely exposed, and I can’t even formulate an objection when he rolls his hips, his thick cock pressing against my aching clit.
His mouth never leaves mine, but those talented hands of his never stop moving on my skin.
I can’t recall a single time in my life where I’ve been so wrapped up in someone else, and I don’t just mean in the physical sense. Nothing exists right now besides this man and the way he makes my body sing, both satisfying me and making me want to beg for air all in the same breath.
It’s intoxicating, the way he touches and pleases me. When he rests most of his weight on one forearm, using his other hand to shove my panties down, instead of arguing, I lift my hips to help him out.
I know he’s going to give me exactly what we both need, and I’m desperate for it, need it like I need air in my lungs.
I shove down on the waistband of his boxer briefs, gasping at the heat of his cock as it settles against my sensitive skin.
“I ache for you,” I confess against his mouth as he pulls back to catch his breath.
“Jesus, Sylvie. You have no fucking idea.”
And then he’s there, the tip of him pressing to my slickened flesh.
This entire interaction feels like a fantasy, like something I’m dreaming about rather than actually happening.
It’s not entirely different to the way I felt when I came home New Year’s Day with all the information on who Will really is. Only this time is all pleasure and bliss rather than pain and regret.
Despite knowing it’s real, I allow myself the opportunity to forget everything else.