me what you want.”
“I think—”
“Not what you think. What do you want?”
“Tripp—”
“What. Do. You. Want?”
His arms were on either side of me, caging me against the island. Our faces were so close I could see the darker striations in his eyes. Dark blue, light grey.
My hands lifted of their own volition, and my gaze followed where they stroked along his strong arms up to his shoulders. I glanced back up and saw his eyelashes flutter closed. The skin at his neck was warm and smooth.
What did I want? I wanted to taste him there again.
So for once, without thinking, I did.
The moment my lips tasted his skin, he abolished the distance between us and pressed me into the island countertop. The edge dug into my back, but all I cared about was the weight of him moving against me. He was so tall, so solid, that he blotted out everything outside of our little bubble. The world shrank to just the two of us, and, for that moment, I didn’t need anyone or anything else.
One of his hands lifted to cup my head, his fingers sifting through my hair. I moved to take the kiss deeper, but he broke off. “That’s not an answer.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to say it.”
My cheeks burned. “Tripp,” I protested.
“Tell me.”
“I want you,” I said. “Please.”
He seemed to react better when I was kissing him, so I brought my lips to his throat. I seemed to have an obsession with the taste of his skin. I felt his responding groan against my mouth, and his hands dug into my waist.
“Ground rules,” he said hoarsely. “We have to have rules.”
“Since when does big bad Tripp Wilder care about rules?” I asked and reached up on my tippy toes to tug at his earlobe with my teeth. He groaned and clamped a hand on my head to keep me there. Tripp liked that. I did it again and felt him shudder against me.
“I care about you,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” I knew that unequivocally. “I want to know what you meant when you said that sex could be good. I want to enjoy it without worrying too much about feelings.”
“You’re killing me, angel.”
“Good. Let me make it feel better.”
I reached between us and quickly undid his pants. I didn’t want either of us to have time to come up with excuses. A moment later, before he could dodge me, his cock filled my hands, hot and hard, and at my touch his head dropped back, and he hissed out a breath.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Let’s go to your room.”
Wishing we had more time, I gripped him tight for a few exploratory strokes. “Can’t. We have to be quick. Let’s do it here.”
“Screw quick. I need at least a few hours.”
The desperation in his voice made me smile. “You’ll have to up your game, ace. Or is that outside of your expertise?”
“You play dirty,” he said. “Fine, but next time I want at least a couple of hours.”
Then he spun me around, and I was forced to let go of him. Glancing up, I said, “Next time?”
“That’s right. If this goes how I think it will, I’m going to need a next time. And that’s the first rule. Now strip.”
He pulled off his shirt, and I lost the thread of the conversation. His abs rippled underneath his lightly tanned skin. Just underneath his jeans, I spied his tan line and confirmed a mental theory I’d been courting for a while. Tripp practiced without his shirt on. It’s why I rarely went to his practices. Eye candy for days. I wondered if I could now, or was that against the rules?
Which reminded me, “Stripping is the first rule?”
Since I was taking too long to comply, he helped me lift my shirt over my head, and his eyes feasted on my breasts even though they were bound in an unflattering sports bra that did nothing to accentuate them.
When he could speak again, he chuckled darkly, “I won’t say no to that, but I meant that we should always talk to each other. Communication is the first rule, so things don’t get too complicated.”
My nipples beaded underneath the thick material of my sports bra, but it wasn’t because it was cool inside the apartment. It was because he couldn’t stop looking at me. “I can agree to that. What else?”
He eyed me up and down, then slipped a finger down