Page 28 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

“Your apartment smells like Pop-Tarts.” The words sound like an accusation, or maybe growly is Eric’s new default.

His arms are folded across his chest, drawing my eyes to his biceps and the bottom edge of the tattoo peeking out at me from his charcoal-colored T-shirt.

I didn’t know it was there, but now I can’t seem to look away.

“Are you going to report me to the food police?” I ask when I’m finally able to meet his gaze.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

I want to tell him I don’t want him here, but that’s a lie and we both know it.

“No making fun of my Pop-Tarts.”

“Then you need to share, and they better be strawberry frosted.”

I laugh despite being admittedly butt hurt by his “give me time” attitude. “Of course they’re strawberry frosted. Nothing but the best.”

I pour another glass of milk, then grab a corner of each toasted pastry and place them on a plate. Eric appears next to me like some kind of oversized ninja. He grabs one of the glasses and the plate from my hand.

“I thought about your proposition.”

“I prefer to think of it as a coaching strategy .” I offer air quotes, and he grins.

Have I mentioned that his smile should come with a warning label? I’m grateful I haven’t taken off my bra yet, because my nipples would for sure be waving right now. I follow, expecting him to head to the kitchen table, but instead he veers toward the living room sofa.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Yes, I overstepped my bounds, or yes to the coaching strategy?”

He glances toward the TV, which is currently showing an extremely graphic image of a mutilated torso. Talk about a mood killer. “What the fuck are you watching?”

“True crime.” I grab the remote and turn off the television. “Are you not a fan?”

“I watch sports highlights and porn,” he says conversationally.

My mouth drops open because the images that pop into my already jumbled mind are enough to steal my breath.

He chuckles, a sound as dark as his coffee-colored eyes. “I’m joking, Tinkerbell.”

“About the sports or the porn?” The question is out before I can stop it.

One thick brow raises. “I don’t need porn.”

Right. I should have guessed that.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” I tell him, even though I can practically feel my knees knocking. “This is a coaching strategy with or without air quotes. I don’t want sex because you feel sorry for me.”

“No worries there.” He takes a Pop-Tart from the plate, shooting me a sidelong glance. “The last thing you could be is a pity fuck. ”

Blunt, as compliments go, but my pulse goes into overdrive. I break off a piece of pastry and dip it in the milk. “Then why all the time for thinking about it?”

“My sister made me promise I wouldn’t get involved with a woman while I was taking care of Rhett.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I don’t blame her.” He shrugs. “You know my reputation. Hell, Toby might as well have plastered my manwhore status on a billboard.”

“You aren’t that person any more.” I believe it with my whole heart.

“I don’t want to become him again,” he says quietly. “Besides, Rhett needs one hundred percent of my focus. And as far as you and me, there’s the not insignificant possibility that your brother would disembowel me if he thought something was happening between us.”

I laugh around a mouthful of Pop-Tart. “I get the promise to your sister, but Toby wouldn’t even notice if you looked in my direction.”

He shakes his head. “He already noticed. At Tony’s.”

My eyes roll to the ceiling. “He noticed me ogling you .”

“Ogling.” Eric laughs again. “That’s a librarian word. I like it. For the record, your brother warned me away from you.”

“No way. My brother has never in his life warned a guy away from me.”

“He probably hasn’t felt the need because you go for limp dicks.”

“I don’t think he cares that much,” I answer, ignoring the limp dick comment once again. I try to sound like it doesn’t matter, but not so sure I pull it off.

“He cares.”

“But you’re still saying yes?” I place my glass next to his on the coffee table.

“I’m not afraid of your brother.” Eric has polished off his Pop-Tart in two giant mouthfuls and reaches for the remaining half of mine.

“What about your sister?”

“This isn’t me getting involved,” he says. “It’s a coaching strategy .”

As rationalizations go, it’s weak at best, but I’m not going to argue.

I’m also not going to wish his answer had been more along the lines of me being special or him wanting more than just sex, because I don’t want more.

I want Bryan. This whole arrangement is about making me more confident—both being on stage and going out with the guy I want to date. That guy is not Eric.

I’m a woman on a mission, and I need him to accomplish it.

“Then we’ve got a deal.” I hold out my hand.

Eric takes it and tugs me closer. “You sure about this, Tinkerbell?”

“I am,” I answer with a confidence I don’t feel. Look at me flexing those acting muscles. “We can decide on a time for?—”

“Now,” he says and lifts me across his lap until I’m straddling his muscled thighs.

My breath catches when I feel his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. Sweet baby Jesus. “We should probably think about?—”

He brushes his mouth across mine, then groans when I sink lower. “No more thinking. Or talking.”

Not that I can do either with his lips working their magic. He kisses me like we have all the time in the world, sipping and savoring. He tastes like sugar and strawberries, and will I ever be able to eat my favorite comfort food again without thinking of this moment?

Then the kiss deepens, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. Those giant hands reach up to cup my face, tilting me to an angle that gives him better access. I’m swept away like we’re out on the open ocean. My need for him is a wave crashing over me again and again.

Now. That one word echoes through my brain. This isn’t just kissing or touching. It’s going to lead to more. Because I asked for it.

I should be nervous, but all I can think is yes…more…please…more.

“Patience, Tinkerbell,” he murmurs against my skin and I realize I spoke the words out loud.

It’s hard to be patient when I have an idea of the pleasure that’s coming. When every kiss and nibble sends sensation pulsing through me. His hands wind through my hair, and suddenly, I can’t get enough.

Eric makes me feel wanted just the way I am. I want to capture that feeling and carry it with me for the rest of my life.

He grips my face until my eyes flutter open. “Tell me you want this. I need you to say the words.”

“I want you ,” I whisper on a soft exhalation, then add for good measure, “Now.”

“Thank fucking god,” he says and stands up with me in his arms.

I cling to him as he strides down the hall to my bedroom, and I can't stop the way my heart swells at how carefully he holds me when I know this is just supposed to be physical.

He tears away the quilt and lowers me onto the bed. I pull my sweater over my head, my gaze never leaving him as he strips away his shirt. His jeans and boxers follow a minute later, and my mouth drops open.

Muscles bunch and ripple across his chest. My eyes catch on the tattoo I’ve seen glimpses of that wraps around one firm bicep.

It’s some sort of geometric design, and through the lust making my mind hazy, I tell myself to remember to ask about it later.

His whole body is strong, hard, and so ready that my breath whooshes out of my lungs, desire pooling low in my belly .

I’ve had a couple of boyfriends over the years, but nothing prepared me for this man. A hint of a smile plays around his mouth as he watches me watching him. “You can’t leave me standing here all alone like this. I want to see those matching panties, Tinkerbell.”

I reach for the waistband of my jeans, then still. “I don’t know about…I mean, my body isn’t like yours and?—”

“Praise the lord for small favors,” he says with a laugh, coming toward me. The look in his eyes is unmistakably predatory, and the air between us sizzles and pops like a bonfire that could singe me if I get too close.

His hands slide up my legs then he bends forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of one nipple through the delicate fabric of my bra as he unzips my jeans and pulls them down my legs. He leans back when he reaches my knees, his gaze roaming over me with an appreciation that makes my breath hitch.

“Pink lace.” His voice is rough and reverent. “You’re seriously trying to kill me, Tink. You are so beautiful and I plan to get familiar with every perfect inch.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” I murmur, then squeeze my eyes shut as heat rushes to my cheeks. It sounds like I’m fishing for a compliment, which isn’t part of the coaching strategy.

Eric’s voice is firm yet gentle. “Nothing you do could disappoint me, Taylor. I want to touch you. All of you. But only if you’re sure.” He leans in and drops slow, open-mouthed kisses along the edge of my panties, like he’s giving me time to change my mind, to pull back if I need to.

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

I do, and the intensity in his sends a shiver through me.

As he pulls off the lace fabric, I can’t help myself—I sit up and reach out, running my palm across his taut stomach muscles and up the hard planes of his chest. His heartbeat beats strong and steady under my hand, grounding me in this moment, making it real.

A slight grin tugs at my lips as I watch his dark eyes flame hotter the longer I touch him. He swallows, his breath ragged, almost a groan as I graze my fingernails along his skin.

He’s giving me time to let me get my bearings and take control of this moment. That understanding melts something deep inside me. And the knowledge that he wants me as much as I want him gives me the courage I need to pull him closer again.

The tip of my tongue touches his, and I gasp as his mouth turns hot and demanding. I pull him down with me, and my legs wrap around his body, instinctive and desperate. I reach for the sheet to yank it over us, but Eric snatches it away with a grin.

“No need for that,” he says, his voice rough with promise.

He trails his mouth down my neck, along my collarbone, over the swell of my breast. His hand traces a path up my thigh then spreads my legs. I gasp, my back arching, as he teases me, gentle and relentless, until I’m trembling beneath him.

“Wait,” he whispers into my ear, his breath warm and unsteady. “Not yet.”

I shudder at the command, gripping the sheets as he reaches for his jeans, snagging a condom from the pocket. He rips it open with his teeth, his eyes locked on mine, filled with a raw intensity that steals my breath.

A moment later, he’s above me again, his mouth finding mine just as he enters me. I can’t tell if the groan of pleasure comes from me or him, the sound reverberating between us, mingling with the heat of his kiss.

Our bodies move together, perfectly in sync, like we were made for this—made for each other.

A sensation builds low in my stomach, growing with every thrust, every brush of his skin against mine.

The rhythm intensifies, and I’m lost to it, lost to him.

For this moment, we’re one. Completely. I revel in the feel of his body over mine, the sparks of pleasure spreading through every part of me.

Minutes blur together, and I feel it coming, crashing in waves I can’t hold back. My release ripples through me, pulling me under, and I cry out, his name on my lips.

Eric’s breath catches, his movements faltering, and I feel him shudder above me. He whispers my name before his head drops to the pillow beside me, his mouth nuzzling my ear as he murmurs words of endearment I didn’t realize I needed to hear.

I’ve never known anything like that level of connection—and it’s more than just physical.

It’s also slightly terrifying from a standard of where the bar has been set going forward. But no matter what the future holds—even when we go our separate ways—I know I’ll hold this night close to my heart.