Page 54 of Want Me
“I wanted to make sure you knew I meant it.”
Eric tapped the skin between his brows. “I’ve mentally catalogued it now. Glares equal emphasis.”
“Good. Now quit wrinkling my tees.”
“As if you folded them yourself.” He smirked as he stood and made like he was going to ruffle my hair, but I caught him by the wrist as he snagged the ends curling over my temple and a staredown commenced, his forest greens pitted against my complete and utter helplessness. My dick declared no contest, but I maintained my grip, held his gaze, and let a smirk of my own uncoil that made his eyes go hot and dark in challenge. I really should’ve taken him up on that offer back in the car, because now I was restless and looking to blow, and as Eric’s eyes trawled up and down my body, I could tell he registered the desire coming off me because his smirk detoured into a satisfied curve. Then the fucker growled, sharp and short as he stepped in and nipped the side of my throat before wrenching his hand away and turning for the door. “You already know I don’t lock my door at night.” He tossed it nonchalantly over his shoulder and then disappeared into the hall.
I tugged at the ends of my hair in frustration, then swiped my hand across my mouth and reached for the shirts on my bed.
We’d talked on the car ride back about how this would play out, that really to all public appearances nothing would change, and that’d all sounded fine coming off of four solid days together. Four solid days in which we’d fucked and sucked each other at will in my bedroom at my parents’, in my car parked in front of the garage, in the woods behind Shana’s again the second time we’d hung out with my friends—as if we’d needed to make sure the first time hadn’t been a fluke inflamed by our own pent-up frustration with each other. Nope, it hadn’t been. It’d been just as intense as before. I’d never been so consistently, rampantly horny and so satisfied at the same time. Not that there wasn’t downtime, some quieter moments when it was the two of us hanging out watching a game with my dad, or sprawled on my bed next to each other, me snaking a leg between Eric’s as we both dicked around on our phones. One afternoon, I’d scrolled through Facebook and clicked on his profile, and when I’d asked about the dearth of photos, he shrugged and handed over his phone, letting me dive into his photo albums, patiently elaborating anytime I glanced over at him with an inquiring expression.
“So do you still have that mankini?” he’d asked, a mischievous expression crossing his face as I handed back his phone.
“Youhavestalked my Facebook.”
He cocked his head and gave me an unabashed grin. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
I’d been surprised actually, and told him as much, and then he’d repeated the question about the mankini.
“Maybe, but if I do, it’s only coming out if you’re putting it on and we’ll give you some fresh photos for your page.”
“Pass. I wouldn’t do it justice.”
“No one does a mankini justice except maybe Chris Hemsworth. He could.”
“You come pretty close.” Eric flashed me an electric smile. “I don’t want any fresh photos for my page. Who gives a shit? Tell you what I would take, though?” He waited until I rolled my wrist impatiently for him to get on with it. “You on your knees, that sexy-ass mouth wrapped around my cock while I record it. That’s worth capturing for posterity.”
I barked out a laugh even as I scoffed. “There are a hundred different ways that could go wrong. And why does it have to be me on my knees? How about you?”
He eyed me up and down just long enough to get me good and worked up. “I’m game. If you think you could hold the phone steady while I went to town on you, yeah, I’m all for it.”
We both knew the answer to that.
The craziest thing was, I’d liked just lying there and hanging out as much as fucking around with him. And now after that solid chunk of time together, I was pretty sure that going back to the way we’d been before was going to be easier in theory than in practice, regardless of how hot the sneaking around was. Because now the secrecy felt almost like a burden.
* * *
The next morning,I sat at my usual place on the kitchen counter, thumping my heel idly against the cabinet as I ate cereal in an exhausted daze. The night before, Mark and some of the other brothers had gone out, and I’d felt compelled to go along to try and be more socially active or something. We’d ended up late nighting it at our house, and even though I’d bailed early and left them downstairs, I’d still fallen asleep before they left. So I hadn’t made it into Eric’s room after all.
I’d discovered Mark passed out on the couch this morning, and Ansel had had a good time waking him up with a cup of ice water as payback for being so loud.
Eric slouched in the chair he favored at the table across the kitchen, a couple of pieces of toast pushed off to one side, his forehead against his fist as he slowly scrolled through his phone, reading. I couldn’t remember which class he had first today, and when he glanced up at me and arched a brow, eyes dancing, I forgot my own schedule. Sunblind. Lost. Stupid for him.
“Do. You. Want. Eggs?”
I wrenched my gaze away to find Jesse staring at me from over the door of the fridge, a carton of eggs in his hand, which he rattled aggressively in my direction.
“Sure. Jesus.”
“I asked, like, three times.”
“You asked twice and the first time was nonspecific.” I’d heard him, albeit distantly, and wasn’t sure he was even addressing me since Ansel had wandered in, too.
“It was three times,” Eric confirmed with a grin and then winked at me like a fucking know-it-all. “You look tired.”
“Your hair’s a wreck,” Jesse tagged on.
Ansel twisted around from where he stood in front of the cabinet with a box of cereal in hand to eye me. “Your face looks like a ballsac.”