Page 18 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

I fall asleep to delicate kisses. When I wake, it’s to a hard body under me. At some point in the night, I ended up atop Tyson, plastered to him, really. My pillow is his pectoral, my blanket his arms wrapped around me, a palm resting on my ass.

I blink, take a steadying inhale of air, and evaluate the data.

My body isn’t tense; I’m relaxed and well rested. No racing pulse, no pain in my temples, no signs of anxiety. No fight or flight response to waking up with a man next to me, or under me, as the case may be.

His chest moves at a slow, steady pace. His pulse vibrates against my cheek. His dick hard against my hip. An itch to reach down and touch it starts at my fingertips, and I remind myself that it isn’t okay to touch him like that while he sleeps.

I’m unsure of the time. It must be early because the light seeping around the curtain is still dim. Nightmare will want out soon enough, though moving from this bed anytime soon sounds like a horrible idea.

Which tells me everything I need to know.

I didn’t just survive my first sleepover with a man—I enjoyed it. My soft giggle stirs him.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice rough from sleep. “You good?”

“Better than.” I stretch my legs as I say it, and he sucks in air. “Sorry.”

“No, I am. Biology doesn’t always know the rules.”

“I don’t always know the rules, either,” I say. “Besides, I like that I, um…have that effect on you.”

“Do you now?” he teases.

“I do. I told you I like sex—I meant that. Or my version of it, anyway.” I shift again, careful of his sensitive parts, propping my chin on my hands and staring up at him.

“What has your version entailed?”

“A fairly pricey vibrator and a carefully curated selection of pornography,” I say, crinkling my nose. I’ll be thirty in a couple of years, and every orgasm has been delivered by the equivalent of a pocket-sized robot.

“Maybe when you’re comfortable with it, you can show me this curated collection.” He loops his hands under my arms, dragging me up his body so he can bury his face in my neck. His light stubble tickles in an intoxicating way while he trails kisses down and across my collarbone.

“You want to watch porn with me?”

“I want to know what you like,” he says. “You smell good.”

“Doubtful. I need a shower,” I say, but he just grunts in disagreement. His fingers play at my side where my shirt has ridden up, brushing bare skin and making me squirm with the urge to lay hands on him, too. It’s all I can think about. “Tyson?”

“Mmm.”

“Can I touch you?”

“You already are,” he says, nodding toward where my fingers are in his hair.

“That’s not what I mean.” I disentangle myself and sit up, my legs straddling his chest. “I mean—will you be still and let me touch you?”

“You mean, explore? Get familiar?”

He understands me so well for someone who’s known me such a short time. My heart does that stupid swelling thing again, and I nod. He nods back, an almost sinister grin flashing across his face.

“You’re excited,” I say, cocking my head to the side.

“I can’t think of anything I want more than for you to trace your way around my body. I’ll be as quiet and still as I can be.”

“Well, now I’m even more nervous.”

“Don’t be anything but you, Kit.”

The thing is…nervous is me.

Oh. Maybe that’s what he means. He’s watching me with nothing but encouragement. No judgment. Okay, then.

Fumble away, Kit.

I start with his face, dragging my fingers down his cheek, around his jaw. Tyson just watches me intently. Still self-conscious, I stick my tongue out at him, making us both laugh and breaking some of the tension.

Is it sexy? No, probably not.

But I’m like an inexperienced teenager, here; might as well own it.

Besides, sexy isn’t the goal. We’re not about to have sex—I’m not that ready.

I just want to know what a man feels like when it’s not fearful and forced.

I want to see what sensations it sparks inside me.

Wide awake, eyes open, and most importantly… in fucking control.

By the time I’m at his chest, the dark thoughts have faded. He hasn’t shaved or waxed away his body hair. It’s ruddy, like the hair on his head, but not thick—a soft smattering that suits the protector side of him he’s been showing me.

When I reach the ridges of his abdomen, the muscles shift under my touch, and again, his cock makes itself known.

The blood rushes to my head like a high. Me—a nerd in an alien butthole T-shirt with morning breath—can stir the desire of a godlike professional NHL player.

How is this real life?

I take my time on his abs. No, it’s more than six—this man is all edges and ridges, hard lines under smooth skin. An urgency rises in me to taste him. I want to see every part of him.

I pause, looking from my fingers at the band of his boxer briefs up to his face. His gaze is steady, intense, sending fire through my veins.

“Whatever you need, Kit,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.

Keeping my eyes on his, I bend to lick a slow line over every hill and valley of his abs. My first thought is that he tastes clean, which makes no sense. Pheromones are oddly powerful. I do it again, testing my reaction, but it’s Tyson whose skin flushes and warms.

“Fuck, Kit. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That sounds monstrously untrue. I’ve seen the women who’ve left his house, and Isla is effortlessly, naturally sexy. How could I ever compare? But again, I can’t read a lie in his expression.

I grip his waistband tighter, forcing away my insecurities. They aren’t real—they don’t exist in this room, only in my head.

“Kit? What do you need?”

“To believe,” I say, the words escaping before I can think better of them.

“Hey, sit up. Let me show you.” His hand comes to my cheek, guiding me. I obey, watching as he slowly, carefully, scoots up to rest against the headboard. At the same time, he pushes the covers down. There’s space between us; I can move away if I want.

“This is you, Kit. It doesn’t matter what you know how to do—or don’t. It’s you my body reacts to. It’s you I want.” He lifts his rear and slides out of his boxers.

I barely hear him past the pounding in my ears. It’s hard to focus when he’s lounging like a naked god in front of me, his cock—hard, veined, and divine—resting between the V of his hips.

“Will you…” I falter, sealing my lips shut, my fingernails digging into my palms, too afraid to ask for what I want.

“Give me the words, Kit. You’re safe. Ask me anything.”

You’re safe.

Tyson is a safe space. He’s done nothing to prove otherwise. Willa would tell me there’s nothing to be ashamed of, that I should go after what I want.

I want to see Tyson’s hand on himself.

You’re safe.

“Will you touch yourself for me?”

“Fuck,” he says with a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The relief he shows makes me grin, until his hand wraps around his length and all the blood in my body moves to my own core.

“Damn,” I whisper.

“You like that?”

“It doesn’t suck,” I say, and his head falls back, eyes closing.

“Oh my God,” he groans, his hand working up and down his cock.

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him if I tried.

But why the hell would I try something so stupid?

He moves slightly faster, his other hand moving to cup his balls.

This live action is better than any porn I’ve watched.

I get fidgety, shifting my weight from hip to hip when the tingling sensations get to be too much. “You need to touch yourself, Kit?”

“How do you know everything?” I ask with a mixture of surprise and urgency as I push my hand into my underwear. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s a sweet relief when my fingers start circling my clit.

“Beautiful,” Tyson mutters. His eyes move all over me, never straying from my face for too long. “Find your rhythm, Kit. I’ll follow.”

Tyson rises, his heels digging into the bed. The muscles in his thighs flex, and it brings me a step closer to climax. I could watch him for hours and never last mere minutes. I slip my finger down and in. A whimper escapes me, and Tyson licks his lips.

“Tyson.”

“I’m here. Right here with you, Kit. Get yourself there.”

I insert another finger, picking up my pace while grinding against the heel of my hand. Reaching out with my other hand, I wrap it around Tyson’s. I’m not helping him get off so much as feeling the power of him doing it himself.

It’s all it takes to tip me over the edge, shaking through my climax while I watch his semen escape the tip of his cock. His cum falls into the ditches I had my tongue on only moments ago. I want it there again.

“Fuck, Kit.” We’re both breathing heavier by the time our movements slow. Sweat glistens on his chest, and I find even that sexy as sin. Everything about him is sexy, in this moment. “You okay?”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes. It isn’t humor, though—it’s tearful, it’s joyful.

It’s fucking healing, even as it turns somewhat manic.

Immediately, Tyson’s arms wrap around me. He pulls me to him, cradling me against his chest, soothing a hand over my head as my laughter mixed with sobs escape me.

“It’s all right,” Tyson whispers repeatedly into the crown of my head. “Let it out.”

He doesn’t stop petting or whispering until I’ve regulated my breath and my tears have slowed.

“That was the best moment of my life,” I’m finally able to say after a minute or two. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I never really thought I’d have this experience.”

“I’ll help you experience whatever you want to in life, Kit,” he says before bringing my fingers up to his mouth and sucking them in. His tongue works around them as he hums in pleasure.

This man’s understanding ways are going to be the death of me.

Or maybe he’s going to help me finally live my life.

“I was going to steal your T-shirt and wear it home, but I think the neighbors might look at me funny if I cross the street in a jizz-stained alien-ass shirt,” I say after a few more minutes, when I realize what the dampness between us is.