I huffed a laugh of disbelief. What were the chances? “My drawing.”
“It was good.”
“It was shit,” I laughed.
“Okay, I might have cleaned it up a bit.”
I traced the rudimentary outline of the guitar I drew for her one night, up and down the squiggled frets on the neck, down to the initials P-C resting inside the body of the guitar. Taking it further—needing to—I leaned over and pressed my lips to the soft skin, soaking in her gasp. Barely lifting my mouth, I turned to her skin, loving the increasing rise and fall of her chest against my mouth. I edged her shirt up an inch further and nipped at the curve of her breast.
She cried out and slicked her tongue across her parted lips, and I couldn’t take it a second longer. Moving slow enough to give her a chance to stop me, but with an urgency I knew we both felt, I adjusted myself up so I could reach her lips and latched on. She met me halfway, lifting her head off the pillow.
We’d kissed that night of spin the bottle, but this was different. This had been building and building and building, and there was no stopping it. This was years of waiting with the bare minimum between us, and I just wanted to live with her mouth on mine forever.
This kiss screamed desperation in the messy onslaught of our tongues fighting to taste each other, to memorize the give of her lips under my teeth, to never forget the angle she tipped her head to match mine perfectly. I sucked in every delicious sigh and savored every whimper. One hand delved in her hair to hold her up, and hers gripped my back to keep me close. I was so focused on finally kissing her that I couldn’t think of anything else.
At least until she arched up, and her nipples scraped my chest, a moaning whimper shooting straight to my cock. Then I couldn’t help but let my body take control. I rolled over on top of her, gripped her thigh, and pulled it wide enough for me to situate myself between them. I rocked forward, determined to make that whimpering cry again.
“Parker,” she gasped. “Ash is right there.”
“Does that bother you?” I asked. When she didn’t immediately say yes, I rocked again and leaned my forehead to hers. “Does it bother you that he can hear what you sound like in pleasure? That he’s probably imagining exactly what you look like when you make that sound?”
“Oh god,” she whimpered again.
I rocked softly, gliding my length up and down her slit, already feeling the warmth soak through the few layers between us. Trying to gauge her reaction, I watched her squeeze her eyes shut, and the faintest pink tinged her cheeks.
“It’s okay if you like that,” I said when she didn’t answer. “It’s okay to want to be seen, Nova.”
Ever since I knew her, it was like she’d been too scared to be noticed by too many people, but when she was, she flourished. Unfortunately, life kept shutting it down, but a person could still be seen without being seen by everyone. An insane thought popped in my head that made me about a million times harder, and I could’ve been wrong, but the possibility of trying was too great to pass.
“Do you want to be seen, Nova?”
“No, I—”
“Not like a famous person,” I clarified. “I mean, like when you kissed the guys the other night and sat on my lap…did you like them watching you?”
“I-I…” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Did it make you wet? Because your nipples were so hard, it took everything I had not to give them all my attention.”
She licked her lips, her brows pulled together tight, but she still writhed under me. “I—” Another swallow followed by a deep breath. “I know you have experiences, but I didn’t experiment. Instead, I learned from watching porn.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathed, the shock and desire knocking the wind from me. “What kind?” I wasn’t sure I could survive knowing, but I needed to.
“Umm…it was—was exhibitionism,” she admitted, squeezing her eyes shut.
The blush grew so deep, it spread down her neck.
“Nova. Look at me.” One eye peeked open and then the other. “There is nothing you could want that I wouldn’t want to give you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to have you. And you admitting what turns you on has got to be the sexiest fucking thing ever.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And we already know I love the attention.”
She laughed, but it died on a moan when I slid my hand to her ribs and pressed my length to her again.
“I bet Ash can hear you right now,” I whispered in her ear.
Her breathing picked up harder, and she met me at the next thrust. Holding her stare, I pulled the curtain back halfway, holding my hand there, waiting for her to tell me to close it. The music from Ash’s bunk had stopped—a clear sign he was dead to the world, but I wanted to give her the idea of being exposed—that he could be watching.