Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Troy

Being in Anna's space reveals new and undiscovered parts of her, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the experience.

I can just imagine her sitting on the couch, ensconced in that cozy blanket, a steaming mug of tea—or maybe hot chocolate?—on the coffee table in front of her as she knits and watches some kind of cozy movie. I bet she'd go for Hallmark Christmas movies during the holidays. Her description of how magical the town is during ChristmasFest, her love of neat and tidy things with a side of cozy—how could she not?

I love the fact that she knits. It's … very her. It just fits with everything else I know about her. Quiet, steady, organized, unassuming, beautiful. All words I associate with both her and knitting.

When she takes me by the hand and leads me to the back of the apartment, my breath catches.

"This is the bathroom," she says, pushing open a door to a small space with a tub/shower combo, small counter with a clean sink bearing only a toothbrush holder and her toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. Over the toilet is a set of shelves bearing neatly rolled towels, a stack of extra rolls of toilet paper, a box of tissues, and a small vase with a sprig of lavender in it. Based on the scent in the room, I'm guessing it's real.

Then she leads me to her bedroom. There's a slight departure from the neutrals of the rest of her apartment here. Instead of creams and taupes and browns, it's cream and sage and lavender in the curtains and bed linens, plus light-colored wood in the dresser and nightstand. Another vase of lavender sits on her dresser, some abstract art that fits the color scheme on the walls. It all feels like some kind of high-end spa. A haven. An escape.

"I like your room," I tell her, my voice scarcely more than a whisper for fear of disturbing the atmosphere.

She giggles. "You don't have to whisper." But she says it in a whisper.

"Are you sure about that?" I turn my attention to her. "You're whispering."

"Only because you are," she whispers back.

And she's so cute that I have to kiss her right now.

She lets out that little gasp that she does so often when our lips make contact, and I'm not sure if it's surprise that I'm kissing her in general or just the shock of how intense every moment of contact with her is. Kissing her always seems to steal my breath too.

But there's no trace of the tentativeness that characterized our first kisses. She meets me, her tongue darting out to taste my lips, and I take the invitation, angling my head to plunge my tongue into her mouth.

With her hand still in mine, I wrap my arm around her, pressing our joined hands into her lower back. My other hand slides down, gripping her ass and pulling her close, then farther down, lifting her leg so I can press against her and she can press against me. I grind into her belly, pulling her hot little pussy against my thigh.

God, I've been dying to hear her, to feel her, to get more of her, even if it's just this middle school level of over the clothes touching—for now—I need this.

My dick grows hard and heavy, pressing into her soft belly, and she's making these quiet, needy sounds. I can't help thinking she wants more than this too. I don't want to push, though. She's skittish and shy, and the absolute last thing I want is to scare her off.

This—here, being with her—is the best I've felt in too long. Being with her makes me feel like a life after hockey is possible, even if I still don't know what it looks like.

I want so much to guide her to the bed, but I'm worried about fucking it up. But she doesn't seem like the type who's comfortable initiating, either, so I'm stuck. Frozen. Not sure what to do.

Her leg lowers to the floor, and she gazes up at me, lips swollen and a crease between her eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"

"God, no," I breathe, reaching for her. "I want you so bad, but I don't want to scare you away."

She chuckles, returning my kiss. "I'm not scared off that easily," she says, her voice remarkably husky.

Grinning, I examine her face. "Oh yeah?"

Biting her lip, she nods.

With one hand on her hip, I guide her back to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and moving her to stand between my spread knees.

She rests her hands on my shoulders, her fingers stroking the hair curling at the nape of my neck. I'm overdue for a haircut, but her fingers in my hair feel so good that I'd grow it out long if it means she'll keep doing this.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward, resting between her breasts. We stay like this for a long moment, and I breathe in her scent—lavender and laundry detergent. It shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is, but it's so unassuming and so perfectly fitting that it drives me wild.

My dick is hard enough to take penalty shots, my pulse thundering in my ears, but I stay still, breathing in deeply until she tugs on my hair, and I tip my head up in response.

Bending, she kisses me on the lips, and it's the sweetest, most delicious kiss I've ever received.

My hands can't stay still on her hips. One slides up her back while the other moves down, grazing her ass, then to her thigh. I squeeze her bare skin gently, inching under the hem of her shorts. When she doesn't object and instead opens her mouth and welcomes my tongue inside, I grow braver, moving my hand up under the loose fabric of her shorts, finding the thin edge of her panties. Stopping there, I slide my fingers back and forth over the thin barrier.

She grunts, breaking the kiss and pushing on my chest. Grinning widely, I follow her directions, moving farther onto the bed and reaching for her. "Come here," I murmur, my voice gravel. She climbs onto the bed, straddling me, and my hands graze up her thighs to her hips as I stare up at her. "God, you're so sexy," I tell her, the words needing to leave my mouth as soon as they enter my head. I need her to know what she does to me.

The pink of her cheeks is visible in the light filtering through her curtains, but she doesn't shy away from my gaze. "Thank you," she murmurs. "So are you."

A smile skates across my face, but it's wiped away when she settles onto my lap. It's the same position we were in at the cove but so much better. For one thing, we're on a bed. No sand or dirt to get into anyone's undies. No risk of anyone walking in.

"You don't have a roommate, right?" I ask, my lips skating over her cheek, and I nip at her earlobe. That turns her answering giggle into a gasp.

"No." Her short nails dig into the back of my neck, and I thrill at the bite. She's not doing it on purpose. She just can't control herself. "Just me."

"Good." I kiss the spot below her ear, then the place where her pulse hammers in her neck.

She groans, tipping her head, giving me all the access I want. I kiss my way down her neck, skimming my lips over her collarbone, enjoying the feel of her skin under my lips, the way her fingers rhythmically tighten and relax on my neck, almost like a massage, but nowhere near as deliberate.

Using the leverage of my grip on her hips, I hold her in place as I grind up into her, acting more on instinct at this point than the careful planning I started with. "Stop me when you want to," I whisper into her neck. "I don't want to do anything you're not ready for. But I'm ready for whatever you want to give me, so stop me before I go too far. Please."

"Okay," she breathes. When I hesitate, lifting my head to clarify what that means, she cups my cheeks and kisses me, and it takes my breath away. One of her hands closes over mine, and she moves it to her ass.

Taking the hint, I knead her flesh, groaning when she starts riding me.

But I want a clear go-ahead before I start getting clothes out of my way. "Can I—" I start, but she cuts me off with another kiss.

"Mmhmm. Whatever you want," she whispers against my lips. "I'm good."

I thrill at the words, but quickly tamp down my excitement. She might just think I mean this, not getting naked. But maybe she does? I'll just move slowly, give her time to stop me if she wants to. Tentatively, I slide my fingers up her shorts again, and this time when I reach the edge of her panties, I slip beneath the edge, getting the tips of my fingers on the bare skin of her ass.

She moans, and I take the sound as encouragement.

My other hand finds its way under her shirt, and I sigh as I connect with bare skin.

She's not content with that, though. If I'm touching skin, apparently she wants to as well, because she starts tugging at my shirt, pulling it up.

Taking the not-at-all-subtle hint, I relinquish my hold on her, leaning back to take my shirt off.

Her eyes are glued to my torso, and she almost gingerly reaches out and traces the lines of my abs which pop because of the way I'm holding myself up at this angle.

I shiver at the contact but otherwise don't move, letting her look and touch her fill.

She skims the fingertips of one hand up my torso, flattening her palm over my pec, then she meets my eyes. "You're gorgeous."

"Thank you." My smile is genuine. I've had plenty of women compliment my body—both in real life and in weird comments on the internet—but for some reason it means a lot more coming from Anna in this moment. "So are you." She blushes prettily again, and my grin pulls wider. "Why does it embarrass you when I compliment you?"

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. "Instead of delving into my weird hangups, why don't you kiss me again?"

Chuckling softly, I do as she asks, reaching for her and bringing her mouth to mine. With our mouths fused together, I lie back, pulling her higher up my torso. At first, she holds herself over me stiffly, but after a second she begins to relax by degrees. And when my hand skates under her shirt, she sighs at the contact.

We kiss for long moments, tongues tangling, hands roaming, hips grinding together. It's everything and not nearly enough.

Desperate for different, for more, I roll her beneath me, my hips lining up perfectly with hers, and I grind into her. Her shirt's already lifted, revealing a strip of smooth skin above the waistband of her shorts. Reaching for her shirt, I pull it higher, revealing the entire expanse from below her breasts to her belly button.

With a frustrated sound, she pulls it up over her face, and then she lets out a weird, garbled, "Ack!"

"What's happening?"

"My glasses! My shirt got caught on my glasses!"

Trying—and failing—to swallow back my laughter, I reach for her, but she just flips her shirt back down, strands of hair in her red face, her glasses askew. "Did I just ruin the moment?"

"God, no." I'm sitting back on my knees, my hard dick trapped in my shorts, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. "You're beautiful, Anna. And sexy and funny and adorable. Do you want help taking off your shirt?"

She glares at me. "No." She sounds petulant. "I can undress myself, thank you very much."

I dip my chin in a nod. "I'm sure you can. But it's really fun to have someone else undress you sometimes too."

That has her breath catching, and she silently mouths, "Oh."

While she slides her glasses off and sets them on her nightstand, I gather her shirt, ready to take it off as soon as she's done. She sits up, lifting her arms, and together we extract her from her shirt, leaving her in a smooth pink satin bra and her shorts.

When she reaches for me, I bring my mouth to hers, hungry and needy and happy to have more access to her bare skin but wishing we could both just be naked already.

I settle beside her, trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck and collarbone, my fingers tracing the edge of her bra then sliding down her smooth stomach to the waist of her shorts. I want to slide beneath the fabric, but I worry that's too much too soon. Being shirtless is one thing—arguably she's still more covered than she would be in a bikini, after all—but hand inside the pants is another step altogether.

Her fingers flutter over my shoulder, arm, and back to shoulder like she's not quite sure where or how to touch me. When I settle more firmly, rolling her closer to me and hitching her leg over my hip, that seems to help her resolve her indecision. She wraps her arm around me and sighs, her fingers pressing into my back.

This time when I move my hand around her body, I use more pressure, my full palm and not just my fingertips. She groans into my mouth in response and again when I finger the clasp on the back of her bra.

"Yes," she gasps, gulping air like she's been underwater, and I can't help smiling at that reaction. "Please. Take it off."

With a low growl, I fuss with the hooks, but it's tricky to do one-handed, and eventually she gets impatient, sits up, reaches behind her, and does it herself.

Grinning, I sit up, tugging the straps down her arms. "I like it when you're impatient to take your clothes off."

She blushes at my statement, but shakes her hair out of her face and meets my eyes. "I like it when you touch me."

"Me too," I murmur, pulling her close again to do just that.