It hits me that most of his previous hookups probably happened on the road. In a hotel room. He wants to make this one special.
He’s nervous.
Ignoring my pup-tent problem, I move to nonchalantly sit on the bed and reach for a soda, popping the tab and enjoying the sound of escaping carbonation. “This reminds me of what I imagine prom night felt like for my brother Craig. You know, the baseball fan of the family? His experience was the definition of cliché. He and his future wife had reserved a hotel room months in advance, talking about it nonstop. How glad they were that they waited. How special it would be. It was such a big buildup, we stopped calling it prom and started referring to it as Craig’s First Time. The night my brothers left the house, looking like a row of penguins marching to their doom, Craig was already so green I wasn’t sure he’d survive it.”
The bed dips as Elliot sits down next to me, the tension visibly disappearing from his shoulders. He takes the drink out of my hand and has some for himself. “Did he? Survive it?”
I smirk and shake my head. “It was bad. He got drunk. She cried. She fell in the bathroom while washing off her smudged mascara and tore her very expensive dress. He actually sprained something before they got to third base, the first time we learned that was possible. And then they broke up for five of the longest days of my family’s life.”
He takes that in, along with another sip of my soda. “You said your brothers went to the prom. You didn’t?”
“Tani and I were boycotting.” I grin at the memory. “More out of convenience than moral outrage, since I was babysitting a sick toddler at the time and her parents had told her that the only way she could go would be if her brother was her date and her father waited outside in the car.”
He frowns at that until I nudge his shoulder with mine. “That isn’t the point of our story. The real moral is that overthinking hotel sex can lead to a sprained penis.”
His unexpected laughter bends him over and I grab the can back, drinking while the warm sound washes over me. When he turns his head my way, lopsided smile in place and green eyes heating as they skim my barely covered body, awareness kicks in again.
“I want to touch you,” he admits, his voice making me shiver.
Yes. Please. Everything. Why isn’t it happening already? “What’s stopping you?”
His sets our communal can on the dresser and drops to his knees in front of me.
I think my heart took a break for a second. “What are you doing?”
His neck is flushed, his breath changing as he studies my body, both hands on my thighs at the edge of my towel. “I need to know you’re sure about this. I don’t want you to feel pressured. And the things I want to do to you are new for me.”
I touch his face and then skim my fingers over his shoulders. “We’ve covered this already, haven’t we? This was my idea. I’m here. And you already know I want that, too. I liked what you did before. Loved it.”
He licks his lips. “You’re not stuck in the dark and drunk on whiskey this time. I need to… Let me give you something before I take. Try something. Just let me.”
His hands are in my wet curls, pulling me down to his mouth for a kiss that’s hunger mixed with tenderness. Bites and soothing licks. Tongues thrusting and exploring until I’m on the edge of the bed and his grip is the only thing holding me in position.
“I love your mouth,” he rasps, leaving it to explore my neck with his lips while one hand glides over my tuft of chest hair. My nipples. Counts my ribs. “Everywhere. I need to taste you everywhere.”
The sharp sting of his teeth on my nipple arches my back. “Fuck.”
He licks it before lifting his head. “You don’t like that?”
Don’t like it? “I can’t remember. Do it again.”
His chuckle is wicked, his fingers digging into my back as he sucks on my flesh. My neck. The skin of my stomach. Everywhere his mouth goes, every hard pull feels as if he’s sucking my cock.
He’s exploring me. Learning me. Taking so much time, I’m not sure I’m going to survive it. “Why don’t you get your clothes off and give me a turn?”
“Be patient.” His voice is deep, his attention on my towel. “I haven’t been everywhere yet.”
He tugs the fabric until it’s lying open on either side of me, doing nothing to hide me from his up-close inspection.
I love his eyes on me.
I have a lot of issues, but hating my body isn’t one of them. I prefer his, but years of cycling have kept me fit and my dick is—well, let’s just say I can hold my own. And I’m not talking about our close personal relationship. But watching Elliot’s face as he studies my erection is almost as arousing as those fingers he’s exploring with. He likes what he sees. He wants me.