Chapter 12

TWELVE

Arousal, like the kiss, starts slow and soft.

His lips barely touch mine, careful and gentle and not at all what I expected. I have room to back out if I want to. I don’t. But it’s there. And it makes me feel safe.

Our bodies are only connected by our lips and our thighs and his fingers under my jaw. Nothing more.

His lips brush mine, still impossibly soft and gentle and skillful. The inside of my chest gets warm, and the feeling starts to spread the longer he kisses me. It moves through my arms to the tips of my fingers. Up my neck. Swoops through my belly.

My dick is pressed against the front of my pants, and my toes curl into the soft rug in front of the couch.

His lips leave mine, and I let out a sound of protest. When I open my eyes, I find him looking at me. He holds my gaze as he very slowly and deliberately moves closer. And then he’s really straddling me. I suck in a breath at the pressure against my cock once his hips are flush against mine.

He smirks briefly before he leans down and catches my mouth with his again. His arms are on top of the backrest, caging me in, and I wrap mine around him. A rumble of approval echoes inside his chest, so I tighten my hold on him.

His tongue sweeps out and brushes over my lips. I open for him, and his tongue slides over mine. Something jolts inside my chest, and I make some kind of desperate noise while my fingertips dig into his hips.

He tastes sharp. Like peppermint and scotch. He licks and teases and kisses until I can’t think at all. Until his kiss is all I know.

And he makes no move to take things any further.

We just kiss.

My chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls his mouth away from mine. And then he’s kissing my cheek and then my neck.

It feels like my skin tingles everywhere his lips touch me. Shivers race up and down my spine when his tongue swipes over the sensitive skin just beneath my ear.

I move my hands up under his shirt. His skin is impossibly soft and hot to the touch, and he lets out a happy sigh when my palms slide over his sides. So I do it again. This time I draw a satisfied hum out of him.

I want more.

I arch upward and plaster myself against his body as I search out his mouth again. This kiss is more urgent. His hands go to the back of my neck and then down my arms. His tongue dives into my mouth again.

His fingers find the hem of my shirt and tug it upward, and I start to lift my arms.

And then I freeze.

He catches on immediately and lifts his head. His eyes search mine.

I try to swallow down the hesitation and get over myself, but it’s easier said than done.

“Maybe…” I say hoarsely. “Maybe I should leave it on.”

He blinks, and I can see the haze of pleasure retreating a few steps.

“Your shirt?” he asks.

I can’t make myself meet his gaze for this.

“It’s not pretty.” I let out a short, forced laugh.. “And not exactly arousing.”

I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s not saying anything. He just keeps looking at me.

Before he gets up and off from me.

I close my eyes for a second and push out a slow breath.

Crap.

Well, I just ruined the mood. Or maybe Sutton changed his mind after all, and if he did, I’m going to accept that with composure because?—

“Hey.”

Sutton’s voice makes me snap my eyes open.

He’s standing in front of me, only inches between my knees and his. His eyes stay on mine while he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

I blink at him, not sure what he’s doing.

He nods toward me.

“Your turn.”

I stare at him. Him and his wide, muscled chest. Him and his golden skin and six-pack abs and an effing V-cut.

Yeah, no, if he thinks this is helpful in any shape or form, or that I just can’t make myself take my own clothes off because I’m weirdly shy or something and he’s now eliminated that roadblock by going first, that’s not it. Not it at all.

He eyes me calmly while I seriously consider making a run for it.

“Wren,” he says around the time I crane my neck to see if there’s a fire escape I could use. I force myself to meet his gaze again.

“Trust me,” he says.

My foot is nervously tapping against the floor, and I clench my fingers into fists.

It’s this, or I’ll probably die a sad, lonely loser, because I doubt I’ll ever get up the courage to get naked in front of anybody else if I walk out of here.

I asked him to help, and he agreed. I can’t chicken out right away. I owe him this, at least.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Sutton takes one look at me and can’t get it up anymore?

It’ll be humiliating and it’ll fucking suck and I’ll feel like shit afterward, and I’ve been there, done that already.

But.

If I walk out of here because I was too much of a coward, it’ll also be humiliating, it’ll fucking suck, and I’ll feel like shit afterward.

So the end result is the same, no matter what I do.

I guess I can suck it up and take the longer route since I’m already here.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, more as encouragement for myself than anything else. “Fuck it.”

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head before I clutch it against my chest.

Sutton’s eyes move over me calmly, unreadable in the way only he can be.

There are a lot of platitudes he could throw at me right now. A lot of meaningless words you could fit on an inspirational poster.

We all have scars.

Yours are a sign of strength.

Don’t be ashamed of your scars. They tell your story.

Crap like that.

He doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead, his fingers go to the button of his jeans, and he pops it open. The zipper sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband, pushes the jeans down, and steps out of them.

I lick my lips, but my throat is suddenly dry as a desert.

He’s not wearing any underwear.

So now he’s naked.

One hundred percent.

Not a stitch of clothing on him.

And that’s all just, as unbelievable as it sounds, background noise.

Because he’s also rock hard.

His cock is pointing toward the ceiling, long and stiff and definitely, one hundred percent hard.

When I look up, I find him eyeing me with an arrogant smirk on his lips.

I let go of the shirt, and it drops down in front of my feet.

His eyes move over the scars on my chest. The mesh of borrowed skin from other parts of my body and the patterns my old skin has drawn on me in its effort to stitch me back together.

He’s still hard.

I push my sweats down past my hips, and then I tug them off my feet, which isn’t even in the realm of a sexy seduction, but then when I straighten myself up again, guess what?

He’s still hard.

My underwear is last to go, and then I’m standing opposite him, just as naked as he is, covered in scars and with no visible abdominal muscles or really anything noteworthy in a strictly positive way.

And he’s still hard.

And when he swipes his gaze up and down me, his dick jerks.

And I suck in a breath that gets stuck somewhere in my lungs.

And I wait.

He’s still hard.

And I’m hard, too.

And my nerves start to ease slowly and something hot sparks inside my belly.

So this is what it feels like to be wanted.

The spark turns into a heady, exhilarating rush, a bit terrifying and a lot overwhelming.

He wants me.

Sutton saunters closer with the ease and confidence of somebody who knows damn well that his birthday suit is designer and he wears it well.

He captures my face between his hands and gives me another one of those thorough kisses he seems to have mastered so effortlessly.

We’re both panting when he pulls away.

And he’s hard.

And I’m hard.

“You’re sexy as hell,” he says in a low voice.

I try to blink away the dizzy haze of pleasure and think clearly.

“Yeah. Same,” I manage to say while I look up and down his body. “So much same.”

He chuckles, and that too is very, very sexy.

“I think we need to set some rules before we go any further,” he says.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what he has in mind with those rules of his, but I nod anyway. He’s the expert.

“Anything you don’t like?” he asks.

Okay. So that’s actually a very sensible question and something we probably should have discussed beforehand, but I guess better late than never.

I try to think, but he’s so very naked, and it’s so very distracting.

“I don’t know?” I finally say. It’s not like I have ample experience. I try to think of something. Anything. And it does come to me.

“I can’t handle pain voluntarily,” I finally say, because that’s at least something I know is true. “It’s just really not my thing, and I don’t have it in me, and I can’t associate it with anything pleasurable, and I don’t want to try or test it out or give it a shot to see if I’ll change my mind because I won’t. So if you spring spanking on me, I’ll most likely knee you in the balls.”

The look in his eyes isn’t heated anymore. It’s soft. And when his gaze sweeps up and down and takes in my skin, it’s not with lust but with something that feels a lot like understanding. It feels like he gets me without any further explanation necessary.

“Not my thing either,” he simply says after those few moments of silently getting me .

I nod with relief. I don’t want to explain and dissect the invisible scars that go hand in hand with the visible ones when you’re a burn survivor. Let’s just say recovery is painful and leave it at that. I don’t want to remember right now, I just want to be young and carefree and, for once in my life, to be wanted.

And I want to be wanted on the most superficial level. Not because of personality or sense of humor or anything else meaningful like that. No. I want to be wanted because somebody finds me attractive.

I want this to be shallow and superficial and exciting.

And I think he’s going to give that to me.

“Umm…” I hesitate, but Sutton just waits me out until I figure what the fuck and just say, “Sometimes parts of my skin are overly sensitive, and touching them doesn’t feel good.”

“You’ll tell me, then,” he says, and it doesn’t seem like he’s annoyed by this extra hassle he has to put up with, and surprisingly I don’t go down the road of overthinking his easy reaction, because it’s Sutton, and if he had any other thoughts about this, there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he’d just let me know.

What do you know? Life really is easier if we all just speak our minds.

“That’s it, I think,” I say. “I mean, there might be something I’m just not aware of right now…”

“And then?” Sutton prompts.

A small grin tugs at the corner of my lips. It’s mostly relief at how easy it all seems to be. “I’ll tell you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“What about you?”

“I usually draw the line at hardcore BDSM,” he says thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about me unpacking my whips and chains collection right now.”

“Hey, if it’s your thing, we can always negotiate.” He grins. “It’s already somewhat tempting because I do think you’d look good in leather.”

“I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Thanks for leaving my options open?”

“Sure,” I say slowly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Uh-huh. Any real, hard limits? The nonnegotiable kind?” I ask once I’ve got my bearings back.

I fully expect him to just be his usual self and give me another flippant, joking answer.

And he delivers.

“You can’t fall in love with me,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Is that a common problem?”

“Depends. I’m usually very good at detecting the early signs when things are about to go horribly wrong for me. I’d really prefer it if we could avoid any feelings getting involved at all.”

“I’ll try and resist the temptation,” I say drily.

“Much appreciated.” He holds out his hand. “Shake on it.”

So I hold out mine as well, and we do. Once that’s done, he doesn’t let go, but instead tugs me toward him.

“Are we finally done negotiating?” I ask.

His eyes shine with amusement.

“I find your smartass tendencies incredibly hot.”

My cheeks heat. Some leftover nerves give another kick in my stomach.

“You make me nervous, and it just sort of comes out.”

And he’s far too handsome with the way the dimple flashes in his cheek as he bites back a smile.

“You haven’t been nervous around me since we met, so why would you start now?”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping with you all those other times.”

His eyes darken, intensity mixing with lust.

“But you are now,” he says.

“Well, I’m not here to play Scrabble, am I?”

“All the better for you. You’d lose. I’m fucking awesome at Scrabble.” He leans closer and kisses the side of my neck.

I suck in a breath and tilt my head to the side.

“You’re very confident about your Scrabble skills.”

He hums against my skin and a shiver runs down my spine.

“I’m confident about most of my skills,” he says, just before he covers my mouth with his. It’s another one of those exploring kisses. Light and almost lazy. Little more than a brush of his lips. A graze. A tease.

He keeps kissing me.

He kisses me until my nerves ease into something manageable.

He kisses me until I forget to worry about my body or how inexperienced I am at using said body when it’s naked and in the vicinity of another equally naked body.

He kisses me like he’s in no hurry to do anything else. Like kissing me isn’t just a pit stop on the way to something better. Like kissing me is the something better.

His hands move to my hips and pull me closer.

I tense at the feel of his fingers on my skin, but he just keeps kissing me, and I start to relax.

This pattern continues.

His hands slide up my sides.

Tense.

Kiss.

His thumbs glide over my rib cage.

Tense.

Kiss.

His palms move over my back.

Tense.

Kiss.

His hands move all over my body, and it makes shivers run up and down my skin. Somehow we end up on his bed. I don’t have a clear memory of how we got there, because he expertly maneuvers us through the apartment while kissing and touching me, so I don’t pay too much attention.

And then I’m on my back on his bed, and he’s above me. His tongue is in my mouth, and his erection is pressed against my hip, and he’s letting out these gravelly sounds that are made even better by the knowledge that I’m the one causing them.

He props his elbow next to my head, and dips down to kiss my shoulder. His hand moves lower, and he wraps his long fingers around my cock.

And that’s when my brain decides to chime in and ruin this for me.

Because I’m hard.

But what if it goes away?

My body stiffens. Not the right part of my body though, because as a result of that one tiny moment of hesitation, the arousal that moments ago had been taking over my whole body, is just a tiny bit less sharp.

Sutton lifts his head and sends me a quizzical look.

“Okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Uh-huh. Perfect.” I pull his face down and kiss him.

Don’t think.

Don’t think.

Don’t think!

Sutton’s hand tightens around my cock. Okay, no. I’m definitely not as hard as I was before. I think. I mean, I’m hard but…

Sutton keeps moving his hand, and it’s the exact right kind of pressure, and his touch is sure and confident, but instead of relaxing into the feeling, I’m now even more tense because if I lose my erection now, he’ll be able to tell immediately. Fuck, tell? He’ll feel it happen. Front row seat.

That does not help.

Sutton’s hand stills, but instead of saying anything, he keeps kissing me, and I slowly start to relax again.

My dick rubs against his, and it feels good. It feels so fucking good.

And now don’t think.

I try. I really do try. I try to just feel, but there are way too many ifs in my head by now, and fuck’s sake!

Sutton raises his head and looks at me, not frustrated or angry or anything. Just calm.

“What sets you off?” he asks.

I blink at him.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“What makes you get in your head? Because you’re into it. I can see it. Until you’re not and you go all tense on me.”

I lick my lips and try to swallow past the dryness in my throat.

“There’s no specific reason. I just… start to overthink.”

“About?”

I swallow hard.

“I don’t want this to end up being a disappointment.”

There’s a small frown on his face now.

I swallow again. Why are words so hard sometimes?

“You’re doing me a huge favor,” I say. “I just… I don’t want this to end up with you not getting anything out of it.”

His frown deepens.

“Wait, you’re worried about disappointing me ?”

“Well, yeah,” I say slowly. “If I fuck this thing up, you’ve just wasted a lot of time on nothing, and the only thing you’ll get in return is blue balls.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he narrows his eyes.

“Are those your own thoughts or somebody else’s?”

“That’s irrelevant,” I say, avoiding his gaze.

“Got it. Look, whatever dickhead said that to you, he’s just that. A dickhead. I don’t consider any of this a waste of time.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He sends me a knowing look.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that,” I say. “Just…”

I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I don’t know how to explain the mess that is the inside of my overthinking brain.

He eyes me thoughtfully for a little bit, and I’m quietly preparing myself for when he gives up because that’s what most people would do.

I underestimate him though.

He gets off me and nods toward the headboard.

“Sit up,” he says.

I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I follow the order. I lean my back against the headboard of his massive bed and settle in.

And then he’s straddling me again.

He cups my cheeks and kisses me, slowly and thoroughly, so by the time he pulls his mouth away from mine, I feel just the right amount of dazed.

“I think we need to take the pressure off you,” he says.

“How?” I frown.

“Jerk me off.”

My heart goes on some kind of runaway gallop inside my chest.

“What?” I ask, like an idiot.

He sends me a shit-eating grin. “Oh. Where the fuck are my manners? My bad. Jerk me off. Please.”

“Um, okay?” I say. Not that I have anything against the offer. I can do that. I absolutely can. Even more importantly, I want to. Really want to. I’m just trying to see how we got here.

“It’ll take the pressure off. And then you won’t be in the midst of one of those decent-people ethical crises you seem to have every few hours where you’re so worried about doing the right thing and reciprocating and whatever else is going through that head of yours.”

And now my brain is finally catching up to what he’s thinking. I’ll make him come first, and then maybe my brain will leave me alone about the whole thing being a giant disappointment for him because… well because then he will have gotten something out of it, no matter what ends up happening.

“Okay.” I straighten my back because this sounds like an actual good plan, and I get to touch him, and nothing about this is about me. I look down at his cock in all its perfect, long, hard glory and lick my lips.

He grins and wraps his hand around himself, and I let out a loud breath. He starts to jerk himself slowly, and my eyes get stuck on the way his cock moves in his fist, the tip appearing and disappearing from view.

My own dick is resting against my abdomen, but neither of us pays any attention to it.

I place my hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat beneath my fingertips for a moment before I move my palm lower. Down his pecs. Past the flat disks of his reddish-brown nipples. Lower still until I pass his solar plexus.

I spend some extra time discovering his abs, my fingers moving over the ridges of his muscles. He’s hard and defined in all the right places. Almost like a sculpture where the artist decided his goal was to create an example of the perfect male specimen.

My fingers move lower, and then I bat away his hand and wrap mine around his cock.

There’s a small part of my brain that still insists on telling me I might not be good at this either, but it’s not overpowering like before, so it’s easier to dismiss. Especially with Sutton’s cock all silky, hard, and throbbing against my palm.

My left hand is on Sutton’s thigh. The hairs tickle my skin. I brush my thumb over the plump head of his dick, and he lets out a long groan. I feel hot, like I’m standing in the midday sun on a hot July day.

Sutton looks down at where my thumb is playing with the slit of his dick, spreading around the drop of precum, and a string of spit lands on the head of his cock.

My heartbeat picks up speed.

I start to move my hand up and down, my palm slippery from a mix of saliva and precum now.

My own dick tingles like somebody’s sent electricity through my skin.

I ignore it. I have way more interesting priorities right now. Like the way Sutton moans when I rub the spot just underneath the head of his cock with the tip of my thumb. Or the way the muscles of his thighs tense when I lick my palm to get it wetter.

I keep my strokes steady and use the sounds he makes as the guidelines. His lips are slightly parted, and he moves his hips in slow, lazy thrusts.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans when I play with the sweet spot underneath the tip of his cock. “More,” he gasps, so I give him more, a kind of warm elation dancing in my chest.

He’s breathing harshly, his eyes hooded when he looks at me, and I’m doing that to him. I move my other hand up his side and over to his nipple. I experimentally roll the small bud between my fingertips, and he thrusts his hips forward with a strangled gasp.

I stroke him faster.

The only thought in my head right now is getting him off. I want to see him come. I need to see him come. There’s nothing else. Just that one fervent, desperate wish bouncing around in my head.

He’s rocking his hips faster now, and he anchors his fingers to the back of my neck. His gaze is aimed at where my hand is working him over, his stomach muscles clenched, precum a steady dribble by now.

It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, watching him chase his orgasm with single-minded focus that borders on desperation.

The room is filled with the noises we’re making. Panting and groaning and gasping.

“Fuck, yes,” he says hoarsely. “Fuck. Yes. You’re so good, baby. Please. More.”

His hips hunch forward. I tighten my fingers around him.

“I’m close.” His voice is wrecked. “So fucking close.”

His forehead lands against mine.

His body seems to curl in on itself, and hot bursts of cum coat my hand and my stomach while his grip tightens on the back of my neck, and he lets out a low groan of release and pure pleasure.

When he opens his eyes, there’s a dazed look of bliss in them, and then his mouth slams down on mine, the kiss so intense it’s almost violent.

“Now make yourself come,” he says—demands—eyes locked with mine, a fierce look in them.

My hand moves. No thinking is involved anymore.

I wrap my fingers around my rock-hard cock and start moving my hand up and down. My palm is wet with Sutton’s cum, and the realization makes my toes curl.

His ass is in my lap, thighs bracketing mine. His breath is on my lips, eyes on where my hand is jerking my cock, rough and hard and a bit clumsy with need.

Getting him off and watching his release was intense foreplay, so I’m already close to the edge. By now it’s pretty much just about making the orgasm official.

I let go of my dick and dig my fingers into his forearm and pull it down.

“You do it for me,” I say through gritted teeth, chest heaving. “Do it to me.”

His eyes find mine and stay there, hand wrapped around my cock. He starts to move without missing a beat.

“Eyes on my hand,” he says. “Watch me.”

I do as he says.

His palm rushes up and down my overly sensitive skin.

His thumb presses against the slit. Fingers circle the root of my cock and squeeze.

It doesn’t take long.

“Sutton,” I gasp.

And come.

Pure bliss hurtles through my insides, and I slump against the headboard, a boneless mass of pleasure. My limbs are tingling, mind hazy, as waves of pleasure pulse through me, one after another.

“Oh, fuck,” I say weakly. “Oh, fuck.”

As the high of the orgasm slowly recedes, it’s replaced with something else.

A startled realization.

“You made me come,” I say with a dazed voice.

Sutton’s lips twitch.

“Yeah. I was here.”

“No.” I sit up again and grin at him, wide and uninhibited. “You don’t understand. You made me come! And I was hard. And I made you come. And it was you. And it was glorious!”

I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say at this point. It’s more incoherent babbling than words, but I don’t even care because I made him come, and he made me come.

“Can we have sex now?” I blurt.

Sutton snorts. “We just had sex.”

“No, I know, but it’s like we passed the first level, so we should tackle the next one right now because we’re doing so well. We’re on a roll! So… blow jobs?”

“Oh fuck.” He groans, and I can feel his cock hardening between us. “Ignore it,” Sutton says in a stern voice.

“But why?” I ask. “I don’t want to ignore it.” I lower my voice into a theatrical whisper. “It might get offended, and I don’t want that. We got along so well. He likes me.”

He rolls himself off me and onto his back, and then he spends a good thirty seconds silently staring at the ceiling while muttering something under his breath.

Finally, he meets my gaze again.

“We’re going to take it slow,” he says.

“Slow,” I repeat in a scandalized voice. “But?—”

He slams his palm over my mouth.

“Slow,” he says pointedly, then snorts at whatever it is he sees on my face. “Just out of curiosity, are we having a competition with somebody to see who can tick off the items on a list faster?”

“Depends. How competitive are you? Because if very, then yes, it’s a contest. And we’re losing. By a huge margin. Dead last right now.”

He hums in reply and then shrugs. “Ah, well.”

I sigh and my shoulders slump. “Not competitive then, huh?”

“God, no. Not even a little bit.” He yawns and stretches, his long golden body on full display. I take the chance to ogle unashamedly.

“Why not?”

“Being competitive seems like a shitload of effort, and I’m way too lazy for that.”

“Slacker,” I say with a grin.

He just looks at me. He does that a lot.

“We’re not in a rush,” he says. “Rushing, as a concept, is pointless. I’d rather take my time with you. You know, if a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

I bite back a smile. “What an admirable principle.”

“One of the rare moments I have any.”

My smile widens.

“It’s like seeing a unicorn,” I say solemnly.

He laughs, all relaxed and beautiful and naked, and I can’t believe he just made me come, and being naked with him isn’t weird or uncomfortable. I think it’s safe to say I’m still riding the high of my orgasm. That another person gave me. After I made him come.

“That satisfied smile you’ve got going on suits you,” Sutton informs me.

I’m too elated to be embarrassed, so I just laugh. “Thanks.” But because I need the confirmation, I eye him for a moment before I ask, “So… to clarify, we’re doing more of this?”

He sends me one of his arrogant, cocky looks.

“We’re just getting started,” he says.