Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Sure.”
He poured us glasses, and then we sat at the table to eat. I asked him how his day was, and he told me about a house he was selling, then a funny story about a rat running through a condo in the middle of a showing.
“Did you save the day, Superman?”
“Hell no. I screamed and ran. His teeth were huge! I think he wanted to nibble off my toes.”
I chuckled, imagining Clark running from a monster rat. “Well, they’re cute toes. Maybe he has a foot fetish?”
“I don’t have one, so my feet are off the market. If I see him again, I’ll send him your way.” He laughed again.
God, I enjoyed spending time with him.
“What about you?” I found myself asking.
“What about me?”
“Any fetishes?” I waggled my eyebrows at him playfully.
“What? No. You’d probably think I was boring in bed.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. I could see he hadn’t planned to say it; the words had just come out.
“Um, no. I’ve jerked off with you a few times and kissed you once. I can promise you, there isn’t an ounce of me that thinks you’d be boring in bed. You’re like…sweet on the streets and fire in the sheets.”
He was taking a drink right as I spoke. He choked on his wine and started coughing, and I reached over and patted him on the back until he calmed down.
“We all good now?” I asked, laughing.
“Yeah, sorry. Went down the wrong pipe.” His voice was slightly huskier than usual.
I looked over to see a tear run down his face. He must have choked more than I realized. On reflex, I reached out again, swiped it away with my thumb, then sucked it into my mouth.
Clark watched me, his eyes intense, holding me, like they had some kind of power over me, like he was trying to ask me a question with them, only I couldn’t answer. “Sorry. I… Sorry.”
I went to move, but Clark grabbed my wrist and stopped me. “Sky?” he asked, all dark and hoarse, his voice like sex, and damned if I didn’t tremble.
I blamed that voice for what happened next, which was me doing that same really stupid thing again—I leaned forward and kissed him.
He tasted like a sweet Riesling, and he groaned into my mouth, his fist knotting in my hair. I moved toward him, our tongues tangling, tasting. He whimpered when I climbed onto his lap, straddled him, and rested my forehead on his.
“Sky…what are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, only I did. “I want you…and I know it’s stupid. I know you probably don’t feel the same. I don’t do serious, and you aren’t into casual hookups, but…I want you. I keep trying to tell myself I don’t, but I do.” When he didn’t reply right away, just sat there, hands on my hips, holding me, my heart dropped. Fuck. I’d screwed up. Again. “Sorry. Ignore me. Shit. You said we shouldn’t kiss again. I apologize…”
Clark’s hold on me tightened, his blunt nails digging into my sides. “Wait…don’t be sorry.” His eyes fluttered down, but then he looked up at me. “I want you too,” he whispered.
Fuck yes!
I wanted to scream. To dance. To shout from the window that this sweet, beautiful man wanted me, but I didn’t, just stayed on his lap and asked, “What are we going to do?”
He licked his lips again, and my eyes followed his tongue. I waited…hoped.
26
Clark
“I dunno,” I admitted, my hands turning clammy but still gripping his hips. I thought I must be dreaming or having an out-of-body experience. How was this real? Skylar wanting me, and me wanting him. But only in a physical sense, which was a bummer. “What if we mess up our friendship?”
That made my stomach even more unsettled because I wanted him in my life any way I could have him. I liked knowing he was home waiting for me, or anticipating him climbing into bed after a long night.
“What if we don’t?” Skylar countered, and there it was right there—the stark difference between us, one of many. I was glass half-empty; he was half-full. I wished I could infuse his casual, hopeful attitude directly into my veins so we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We could easily just take what we wanted from each other and move on. Essentially, this entire discussion came down to my hang-ups, and that made me feel guilty.
“Besides,” he said, playing with the buttons on my shirt, “I just found out that I’ll be able to move back to my place in two weeks.” I was glad he couldn’t see my face right then because his words had made my stomach drop. I didn’t want him to go, and yet I always knew this would come to an end eventually. “So I figure we can have space if we need it and regroup.”