The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,73
Raleigh, hanging onto my freedom by the skin of my teeth.”
“Jesus, Alex.” Hesitantly, I touch my fingers to the fine chain where it falls across the back of his neck. I’ve noticed him toying with it many times since he started at Raleigh, but I haven’t realized how significant it is until now. How important. “I don’t blame you for doing any of that,” I tell him. “I would have done the same thing.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. The light from the fire dances across his face, and I can’t help myself: I release the chain, my hand rising up the back of his neck, a wild shiver of nerves and anticipation flying up and down my back as I brush my fingers over the closely cropped hair at the base of his skull. High, and a little higher still, and then my hand is buried in longer, wavy hair. I wind my fingers through it, curling the length of it around them, almost massaging his head, and slowly Alex closes his eyes.
“Dolcezza,” he whispers “Non fermarti.”
My heart trips over itself, stuttering frantically to find its lost rhythm. “You called me that earlier. What does it mean, Dolcezza?”
Alex’s voice is rough-edged and low. “Sweetness,” he murmurs.
A rush of adrenalin slams into me, pooling in the pit of my stomach. Sweetness. I am his sweetness. Fuck. “And…the other part?” I ask.
His eyes still closed, his face in profile, his features cast in gold by the fire, Alex looks like some of kind of mythical god. His chest rises abruptly, and he lets out a pained groan. “It means don’t stop.”
He moves so quickly, I barely have time to yelp as his eyes fly open and he twists, grabbing me by the waist, lifting me from the sofa in a swift, effortless maneuver that makes me feel as though I weigh nothing at all. His hands are firm, guiding me, and all of a sudden I’m exactly where I wanted to be five minutes ago, legs either side of him, straddling him, my chest crushed up against him as his hands press urgently against my back. He shifts down a little, sliding down the sofa, and I feel him between my legs—his dick, rock solid and hard enough to dig into the underside of my thigh. For one long, paralyzing moment, I think I’m going to punch him in the throat in an attempt to flee the situation. My head… fuck, my mind is roaring. I can’t…I can’t fucking…
Alex takes my hands and places them on either side of his throat, holding his own hands over mine, drawing me down closer to him. I can feel his pulse hammering frantically beneath my palms. “Ssshhhh. It’s fine. It’s okay, Silver. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even gonna touch you. Relax.”
“Okay. Okay.” I nod up and down, breathing in through my nose. “Okay.” By the third okay, the surge of panic that rose up and closed around my throat is dissipating.
“I’m never going to do anything without your permission,” he says, in that low, ragged voice. “I just wanted you here, against me, your body against mine. I wanted you fucking closer, Silver. Your hands in my hair like that…” He doesn’t finish. I don’t think he can.
Taking my time, along with a second to catch my breath, I slide my hands out from under his and gingerly brush the tips of my fingers down the side of his face. “It felt good?” I whisper.
His eyes are bottomless and fierce in the almost dark room. “Beyond good,” he grinds out. “Your hands anywhere on me feel good. But that…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his addled mind. “No one’s touched me like that before.”
I see the truth in his eyes. I’m no fucking fool. Alex doesn’t carry himself like a guy who’s inexperienced with women. I’ve heard of The Rockwell, and I know of its unsavory reputation. There’s no doubt in my mind that Alex hasn’t been a virgin for a very, very long time, but to have him tell me that I’m the first person to touch him in such a simple, intimate way like that, rubbing his head? I had no idea I could be any sort of first for him, and that feels fucking incredible.
With one hand, I tentatively begin to repeat the motion, weaving my fingers into the thickness of his hair, pressing the tips of my fingers into his scalp, biting