“What now?” He smirked.
I had no clue, but my jealous mind drifted to partially waxed Tiffany. She wanted my naked fisherman.
“She can’t have you.” I tried to infuse confidence into my words, but I think it fell a little short of the mark.
“No?” He canted his head to the side.
“No.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I lowered to my knees, way out of my comfort zone. Way out of my own league of intimacy. And definitely scared out of my mind. I just … I wanted to be an adult with Fisher. I wanted to be a woman with him. And I didn’t want some hairless hussy meeting his needs.
“Reese …” His voice held reservation. It was the first sign since I came into his room that he was dealing with his own emotions, his own expectations or maybe lack thereof.
My hands ghosted up his legs and gently took ahold of him.
“I don’t expect this from you,” he whispered.
From you …
He expected it from other women? Like Tiffany? Teagan? Angie?
As if dealing with God wasn’t enough, I felt so much conflict because I had no clue what I was doing. Fisher became his own godlike man in my life. And I wanted to please him, nearly as much as God, who was surely frowning at my behavior … at what I was about to do out of wedlock.
Before Fisher could talk me out of it, I wrapped my lips around the head.
He closed his eyes.
I continued doing things to him with my mouth that seemed to please him, despite my cluelessness, keeping my eyes on his face the whole time like a guide. That was how I knew what he liked.
What made him breathe heavier.
What made his teeth dig into his lower lip.
What made his hands grip the side of the doorway, knuckles white.
What made him rock his hips ever so slightly.
Dropping one hand, he gently threaded his fingers into my hair. His muscles tightened, even the ones in his face.
At the last second, he took a step back. Gripping his cock in his hand, he dropped to his knees and kissed me, keeping one hand in my hair while his other hand did something …
I wasn’t sure what until his tongue drove deep into my mouth and a loud moan vibrated from his chest and throat, his body making a few short jerking motions.
Then he relaxed, releasing my mouth. I glanced down.
Whoa … okay …
He finished … the …uh … job on his bath towel.
“Fisher?” Rory called as three knocks tapped his bedroom door. “Are you coming?”
He grinned at me. It was so big and beautiful as he answered her. “Yes, I’m definitely coming.”
My cheeks caught fire.
“Give me five more minutes, Rory.”
I skittered to my feet and turned my back toward him, breathing heavily and wondering if she heard anything, if she knew I wasn’t downstairs.
“I have five minutes,” Fisher said just above a whisper as he pressed his naked body to my back and snaked a hand around my waist. His fingers dipped an inch into the front of my jeans.
“You should get dressed,” I said in a nervous tone, stepping out of his hold and circling to get out of his closet while tugging on my shirt to fan the heat away from my skin.
He chuckled. “What should I wear?”
I ignored him as I splashed water on my face and pressed a hand towel to it, trying to slow my breathing, trying to not think about my mom and her friends in the other room.
Tiffany … he was still going on a date with her. I bet she would do more than what I did to him, and she’d probably do it with way more confidence and experience. Fisher stood a few feet from me when I pulled the towel away from my face. He looked painfully sexy in his dark jeans, light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and stark white sneakers.
He looked painfully sexy for someone else.
I was ready to puke.
“Why the face?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t shake your head.” He glanced at his watch. “I have three minutes left. What can I do to ease your anxiety?”
Don’t go.
“I’m not anxious.”
Lies … lies … lies …
“Then are we going out there together? Are we letting everyone know that you like to watch me shower and dress?”
I needed a second round of cold water on my face. “I didn’t watch you shower.”
He smirked. “But you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re a jerk.”
Holding that smug expression for a beat, he nodded once. “Probably.” Again, he glanced at his watch. “Two minutes. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
I rolled my eyes. “What are you going to do in two minutes?”
“Anything you want.”
My voice didn’t exist. It must have required more than eighteen years to find my voice. To unapologetically ask for what I wanted without fearing embarrassment or rejection.