Play With Me - Brittany Cournoyer Page 0,48
rather than feel upset for Foster and how much he’d missed out on, I was thrilled at the idea of being the man to touch him where no one else had, and to be the one to show him what his body was made for.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, you did everything right. It’s me who was in the wrong, and I need to rectify that right now.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” His hands trembled against my ass and his eyes widened at my gruff response.
“Take me to your room, and I’ll show you.”
I wasn’t aware of my surroundings as Foster led me down the short hallway toward his room. I didn’t notice any décor, or if he lacked any. I didn’t look around to see his furnishings, or even what the wall color was. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he had carpet or laminate flooring. I only cared about Foster’s firm grip on my hand and what would happen once we crossed the threshold of his room.
“This is it,” Foster said awkwardly after he let go of my hand to click on the lamp beside his bed.
But I wasn’t looking at the bedroom. The only thing I could focus on was the man who was standing in the middle of it, with a face that was unable to hide his emotions. Anticipation, nervousness, and a tiny bit of fear played out on his face like a movie, and I wanted to ease his worries.
I walked closer to him, only coming to a stop when our toes touched, and reached up to cup his face. As I stroked my thumb gently over his cheek, I leaned down and placed my lips gently against his in the briefest of kisses.
“Nervous?” I asked.
Foster nodded. “A little.”
“I never want to do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want this, let me know, and we can watch a movie. Or I can even leave.”
Please don’t make me leave, I silently pleaded.
Foster’s eyes had closed as I stroked his face, but they flew open as he shook his head. “No, I don’t want you to leave. I want this. I want…I want us.”
“That’s something we need to discuss,” I reminded him.
“There’s plenty of time for that. Later…”
“Are you sure? What I have I have planned for you will go much farther than kissing and will involve a lot less clothing.”
His expressive eyes widened even more. “Are we…?”
I shook my head. “No, I still don’t think you’re ready for penetration just yet.”
“But—” he started to protest, and I cut him off with my lips.
“Tonight is all about you. I want to make you feel good.”
“You already make me feel good,” he said softly, and my heart beat a little faster at his admission.
“Do you trust me?” I asked.
“Of course I do,” he answered without hesitation.
“Then stop talking and get on the bed, Foster.”
17
Foster
Holy shit. I was in my room, with Stellan, who was currently looking at me like I was his prey and he was the predator. I wasn’t afraid of him or the expression his face, though. Instead, I was excited, and yes, a little bit nervous, as I waited in anticipation for him to pounce. Only, rather than coming to join me on the bed, he paused at the end and slowly ran his eyes over the length of my body.
“Do…do you need me to do anything?” I asked when he continued to look me over.
His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see through my protective layers all the way down to my soul. I was still fully clothed, yet I felt more exposed than ever, and as his eyes made their slow, torturous pass up my thighs and toward my chest, I shivered under his scrutiny.
“Stellan?” I asked when he slowly walked around to the right side of the bed.
I tracked his movement, wondering what he was thinking and questioning whether I should do anything other than sit there.
“Take off your shirt,” he finally said. His voice was gruff but not demanding.
With shaky fingers, I grasped the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it over my head. I wasn’t overly muscular, leaner than anything else, and while I wasn’t ashamed of my body, I didn’t feel comfortable walking around without a shirt either. There was softness around my midsection, and I had never been able to grow chest hair, but I’d come to accept myself and my body over the years. Since I was