“Are you—” I cleared my throat. “Are you not putting on shorts?”
He looked over his shoulder, that same smirk still taunting me. “Are you going to fix my shirt?”
“No.”
“If I’m going to be tortured by the sight of you like that, Paisley, I’m not helping you by putting anything else on.”
“But I’m covered! Well, half of me is.”
“No one ever said you had to be.” He pulled back the comforter and slid into the bed, messing with the pillows as he tried to get comfortable sitting up against them.
I just stood there staring at him with my jaw dropped.
“Bed, Paisley.”
His words moved straight to my stomach and curled in the most amazing way. It didn’t matter that I’d seen him in a bed hundreds of times like he was then; looking at him like this with those words was something right from one of my fantasies. And while I wanted to live out those fantasies so bad, I also kind of wanted to draw out this whole torturing him. He’d tortured me for years; it was an exhilarating feeling knowing I was finally getting my chance.
I walked over to the bed and crawled on, but instead of getting on my side and curling up against him, I climbed onto his lap. Trying to ignore the way his eyes heated so I wouldn’t go right into fantasy mode, I reached back for the comforter and pulled it over my shoulders as I rested myself against his chest with my cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Eli’s hands went to my hips and began moving back, but paused. “Paisley,” he growled in warning.
“You should’ve put your shorts on.”
He leaned his head back against the pillows and laughed in frustration. “You’re making it a lot harder than it needs to be.”
“Pun intended?” With how short I’d made the shirt, all that was between us was two thin pieces of cotton, and I involuntarily rocked my hips against his growing erection.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and tried to still my hips.
“Language.”
Gripping my chin between his fingers, he moved my head so he could look in my eyes. “Who was the last?” he demanded.
My breathing deepened as I pressed myself more firmly against him. “Johnny Gallo,” I responded automatically.
“That first time?”
I nodded and moved against him again, a whimper on the tip of my tongue, but Eli’s hand flexed against my hip to the point where it got my attention.
“Who was the last guy to touch you?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I sat there staring at him for long seconds. I only responded when his fingers left my chin and brushed against my cheek.
“Paisley,” he crooned. “Tell me.”
“No one.”
His eyebrows slammed down. “Not even Johnny?” When I shook my head, he muttered something too low for me to hear. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Starting tomorrow, everything is going to be about you.”
“What?”
Bringing his mouth to mine, he spoke against it. “For one week, I’m going to show you what it feels like to be touched . . . everywhere. The week after I am going to explore every inch of you with my tongue,” he vowed, and a bone-deep shiver moved through my body. “And when that week is up, I’m going to spend an entire day buried deep inside you.”
And I’d thought it was my turn to be the torturer. My breaths were so ragged my voice was nearly inaudible. “That’s not necessary.”
“I disagree.” Capturing my mouth with his, he stopped any other protests I may have had as he kissed me thoroughly. “Now go to sleep before I try to think of reasons why right now isn’t a bad idea.”
I sagged against his chest, and a deep laugh filled the room. All he’d done was told me everything, and I was already aching for him and exhausted from what he’d promised. I was sure I wouldn’t sleep after that with how wild my mind was running, but his deep, rhythmic breaths soon had my eyes shutting and I slowly fell asleep on his lap.
Chapter Eight
September 22, 2013
Paisley
“PAISLEY.”
My eyes cracked open to Eli’s dark room hours later, and I rolled my head back to see him looking down at me. “Hi,” I said hoarsely.
“Hey.” He smiled. “Guess what.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s Sunday.”
I was still asleep enough that I had no idea what he was talking about until his lips were pressed against mine and his hands were moving down my back.
It was Sunday. Holy crap, it was Sunday.
Running his hands down the curve of my back and over my butt, he curled his fingers around the hem of his shirt on my body to pull it higher. There was no time for worry about where this was going—there was no reason to think of anything other than the way his hands felt on my bare skin . . . I’d wanted this for as long as I could remember.
Sitting up straighter, I threaded my fingers in his hair as I deepened the kiss, muting my moan when his long fingers pulled aside my underwear and trailed over me. A shiver coursed through my body when his thumb circled against my clit, and I had to break away from our kiss when it became too difficult to remember how to breathe.
I pressed my forehead against his and kept my fingers locked in his hair as I moved my hips against his hand, my movements stopping when he slowly slid one finger inside me.
“You okay?”
I lowered myself slightly, and bit my lip against the feel of him. “More,” I whimpered, and before I could be embarrassed about my plea, he was adding a second finger and I was trying to stifle a gasp.
I hadn’t meant that by more. I’d meant I wanted more of his teasing, more of his fingers and palm moving against me . . . but, oh God, when he began moving them in and out of me, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
My stomach tightened and my body warmed as I rocked against his hand, and soon the tightening got to be too much, but even as I stopped moving and my body became as tight as a bow, Eli’s hand continued the sweetest agony I’d ever endured. I tried to say his name, but my breath was caught in my throat and my blood felt like it was on fire.
Pressing the heel of his palm against my clit, he tightened his grip on my hip at the same time, and it felt like everything in me shattered. No sound left me as my body shook against the rush of adrenaline, but my mouth remained open as I desperately tried to pull in air.
Eli’s movements slowed, and my body jerked when he ran his fingers over my clit as he removed his hand. “Happy Sunday,” he murmured against my neck, then placed a kiss there.
His hands wrapped around my thighs to pull me closer onto his lap, and I whimpered when his thick erection pressed against me. Releasing the lock I had on his hair, I sat back and began trailing my fingers down his chest. And even though everything was too sensitive, I couldn’t stop myself from rocking against him, and wishing there wasn’t any material between us.
“No, Pay.” He stopped my hands when they reached his stomach, and pulled them to our sides.
“What? Why?”
His eyes—darkened from the room—held mine, and the heat was clear there. I didn’t have to be sitting on his lap to know what he wanted. “I told you these next two weeks were about you.”
“But, Eli—”