13
Blake
Lexi’s eyes are wide and challenging as she stares at me from her spot on my couch, the remnants of her words lying between us.
I think we should have sex.
My heart beats fast as she intertwines the fingers on one of her hands with the other and squeezes so hard the skin turns stark white. The idea of this brilliant, beautiful woman wanting to sleep with me is exciting enough that I could pounce on it right this second and never look back.
But something tells me that would send her running for the lab, never to be seen again, and that’s…not what I want at all.
“Listen, I think this is one of the best things to come out of your brain, and let’s be honest, we both know it produces a hell of a lot of good. But I don’t want to jump headfirst into this without exploring it first.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Cautiously, I wade into much more dangerous waters. “Are you…a virgin? Have you slept with someone before?”
She rolls her eyes, her patience with me just slightly tried. “I know what a virgin is, Blake. And yes, I’ve slept with someone before.”
A pang of jealousy hits my chest like a baseball bat, but seeing as I’m the one who started the trajectory of this conversation and it’s already tenuous at best, I make the decision to ignore it. I can tackle her horizontal scoreboard at a later date and time, when we’re so in love she finds my raging envy cute.
“Okay. And what about orgasming? Have you done that before?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant right now,” she sidesteps, her beautiful skin mottling with an embarrassed red. “Why does that matter?”
“Oh, Lex,” I counter gently, reaching a hand to her thigh and scooting it upward oh-so slowly . She jerks her gaze to my hand and watches with avid interest, her chest rising and falling faster with each inch it travels. “It’s important because if we’re going to have sex, you and I…I want there to be a connection. I want lust and hearts pounding and soul-touching intimacy. I want blinding, bonding pleasure for both of us, but more than anything in this world, I want it for you . And if I rush this or make assumptions or pretend it’ll all come together, no matter what I do, that won’t happen.”
“What are you talking about, Blake?” she asks, seemingly frustrated that I’m making this more complicated. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a dog of Pavlov’s that doesn’t learn lessons. Just last night, I left her longing for more…and tonight, she’s here asking for sex. There’s no way in hell, heaven, or on this big ball of earth I’m going to rush this process. I’m going to move one step at a time until she’s so hooked to me, it’ll take surgery to separate us.
“I mean that there’s more to sex than sex .”
“Are you drunk?” she questions, narrowing her pretty blue eyes at me. “Because you’re making no sense.”
“ No . I’m not drunk. And I’m only not making sense because you’re not paying attention. The act of sex itself is a culmination of other things. Of touch and taste and exploration and foreplay and closeness. It’s a finale , not an opener.”
“What does that mean , though? Are you saying no?”
I shake my head, squeezing the very top of her thigh, my fingers splayed on the denim fabric of her tight jeans at the line where leg meets torso. “I’m saying yes to the process, no to the act tonight. Tonight, I think I should touch.”
“Touch?”
“Touch,” I repeat. “Everywhere.”
Lexi swallows hard before nodding. “Okay.”
My hands are slow, but my heart is the opposite. This moment is the pinnacle of thousands of hours of thinking about what it might be like to touch her, feel her, and experience her. This giving in, this relinquishment of control by one of the smartest women I’ve ever met, this level of trust in me to handle things with consciousness and care—it’ll go down in my own personal history as a landmark point in time.
A core fucking memory.
Moving slowly, I sit down beside Lexi on the couch and drop my hands to her hips, pulling her toward me. I lift and settle her in my lap, sliding my hands to the top of her rain jacket and unzipping it slowly. Her beautiful blue eyes practically glow as she concentrates on my every move.
“You feel warm,” I tell her, the heat of her lap in mine a welcome and arousing sensation.
She nods, whispering, “So do you.”
Her jacket slides from her shoulders easily, and a plain white T-shirt cups her breasts underneath. Her nipples stand out, thanks to the change in temperature, and I have to restrain myself from leaning forward and taking them both in my hot mouth and sucking.
I lift her quickly off my lap and lay her back on the light-blue couch, and she gasps, her whole body shaking with anticipation. I lean forward and cover her body with my own, my lips skimming hers.
“I thought we were just touching,” she says, her whisper desperate.
I smile against her mouth. “We are just touching. My body is touching your body, and your body is touching the couch. Right?”
She nods, her head so close, her forehead brushes mine, and I slip out just the tip of my tongue to run the seam of her perfect, plump lips.
Her breathing escalates again, and I sink my weight into hers, my hand finding the tangles of hair at the back of her head. Her mouth searches for mine, and I give in to the request, melding our lips and taunting. Slow, steady, and soft, I kiss her like we have all the time in the world, like our mouths aren’t strangers at all, but long-lost friends.
She moans, and I sink my tongue through the opening that creates, touching the tip of hers and swirling. She tilts her head in my hand, desperate to get deeper so she can taste more, and I follow her lead.
She tastes like sweet fruit and intrigue—like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Carefully, I pull back enough to disengage, running my lips along the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, and down her neck until stopping at her collarbone. Her body responds, arching into mine, while her hands grip at the skin of my back.
“Feel good?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Good. I want to make it feel even better.”
Her head jerks. “Please. Yes. Please .”
Hearing Lexi Winslow beg me for more wasn’t on my summer bingo card—hell, I didn’t even think it was on a list of remote possibilities. But I swear, at the sound of it, I’d do anything to keep it.
I’d be morally gray, desperately corrupt, unfair, and unjust. I would walk a lava-covered volcano, fight a dragon, sell my soul to an underground world—as long as it ended in hearing her say please again.
Climbing off her, I undo the button on her jeans and lower the zipper, grabbing them at the waistband and pulling them down as gently as I can manage. She lifts her ass for me to make it easier, and a smile paints itself across my face. Her plain black cotton bikini underwear are undeniably sexy but appropriately practical. They’re so perfectly Lexi.
I wouldn’t expect her to wear thongs or synthetics or bother with unnecessary laces. I’m unbelievably interested to see if any of that changes the more we’re together, but my guess is that it won’t. And for some reason, that makes me smile.
I’ve seen the lingerie of many a desperate woman—none of it changed what lay underneath.
Shifting her slightly, I lie down on the couch next to her, my back to the upright cushions and her spread-out body near the edge. She watches carefully as I run my hand down her stomach, over the white of her T-shirt, around the bikini line of her panties, and then underneath, to the hot, wet apex of her center.
As I make contact, her head rolls back, and a moan falls from her lips involuntarily. It might be the first thing on scientific record that Lexi Winslow has done without meaning to.
“Yeah,” I say softly, encouragement rolling off me into the soft shell of her ear. “Just relax and feel me.”
Swirling moisture from her center to her clit, I stroke softly at the sensitive bud until her back arches again. I put my lips to her neck and suck gently, using my knuckle to tease at her entrance. She gasps, and I straighten my finger, sinking it to the base in one smooth motion, turning my hand so I can swipe softly at her G-spot.
Her hips jerk up and down restlessly, so I add another finger, beckoning her orgasm with a curl of my fingers over and over again at a steady pace.
“Are you going to come for me, Lexi?”
She tries to speak, but her words are stilted and awkward. The usual connection to her brain is temporarily unavailable due to a redirection of blood flow.
“Come on. I want to feel you all over my fingers. I want it to drip down my hand.”
“Oh my G-od,” she manages through a whisper, her breathing heavy. Her eyes flutter open and closed as she fights the lull of my fingers on her G-spot. I don’t want to be fought, so I pull my fingers out quickly and swirl at her clit before diving back inside.
Her back bows and her breathing stops and her eyes fall closed with the weight of her head on my arm.
She sounds like sweet victory and no turning back.
I may be a thorn in her side, but I also come bearing orgasms. I’d like to see her avoid me now.