The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,140
comes up behind me, drops my duffel at our feet, and wraps his arms around my middle. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I haven’t brought anyone here before,” he says. “You’re the first.”
Warmth fills me. I look around the room. It’s his safe space, and he’s inviting me in. But Bell’s presence sticks to me like an extra limb. I feel her a couple rooms away. I turn in his arms. “Thank you. I’m going to stay in the guest room, though.”
He furrows his eyebrows. “What? Why?”
“This is about more than us.”
His face softens. “I know, but you heard her. She’s okay with it.”
“She doesn’t understand it,” I say. “Let her get to know me before she wakes up and finds me in her dad’s bed.”
He cups my face, running his thumb along my cheekbone. “I appreciate that, but I’m a grown man. I can make love in my own home.”
My breath catches. Andrew and I have made a few different kinds of love, but something tells me it’ll be different in his bed—his domain. My insides tingle with anticipation, but I swallow them down. “I’m new at this,” I say. “The kid thing. I don’t want to screw it up.”
“You will screw it up. So many times. So many ways. Seven years later, and I’m still figuring out how to be okay with the fact that every day, I fuck something up.”
I wrap my hand around his wrist and kiss his palm. “You’re a good dad. A good man. A good boyfriend.”
“Easy for you to say,” he says, grinning. “I’ve only officially been your boyfriend for five minutes.”
With a last kiss, he shows me to the guest room, where he leaves me alone with my bag. I perch on the edge of the bed. I’ve slept by myself almost every night the past year, yet suddenly I feel Andrew’s absence acutely.
I have to give him credit for what he’s done. He’s the personification of “actions speak louder than words.” I can trust him. I knew it early on, but I wasn’t sure I could trust myself. After a few minutes have passed, and I haven’t moved, I stand up from the bed and tiptoe into the hallway, back to Andrew’s room. I knock lightly.
Andrew opens the door in only his boxer-briefs, filling it with his six-foot-plus frame. Without a word, he pulls me in and locks the door behind us. He engulfs me in a hug, consumes my mouth with his. Separating only to discard clothing, we stumble to the bed, leaving a trail of underwear. He ushers me under the covers, climbs over me, and hides us under the comforter. “Back-up plan,” he teases, “in case she breaks down the door.” I smile into his mouth. He nabs my bottom lip with his teeth. “Have I ever mentioned how it feels when I’m the reason for your smile? Like a million bucks.”
My grin fades. I touch his face. He’s so good to me. And if he keeps this up, I won’t have a chance. I’ll fall over-the-edge in love with him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, but I think he knows I’m perfectly fine, because he kisses the tip of my nose.
“I’m happy.”
“I’m glad.” He nuzzles my neck and cups me between the legs. “I want to make you even happier.” He slips a finger into me, and I suck in a breath. “You’re ready,” he says.
I nod. After the night we’ve had, the high-highs and low-lows, the loss of what I thought was my identity, the possible gain of a family, I want to feel connected to Andrew more than anything right now.
He removes his hand to position himself against my entrance. He cups my head, keeping my eyes locked on his. Our mouths reach for each other as he pushes into me. I groan as he fills me—fully, completely, relentlessly, until he’s rooted as deep as he can get. And then, as promised, he makes love to me, his thrusts slow but firm, his mouth hot and greedy on mine. My body melts into the mattress for him, my eyes glued shut from pleasure. He overwhelms me, engaging all my senses—giving me his taste, his moans, his cock, his briny scent and, finally, he says, “Let me see you.”
I open my eyes and come first under his half-lidded gaze. He rolls me over on top of him. After an intense orgasm, I’m nothing more than a bag of bones, so I prop myself on his chest with my hands, but my arms nearly