Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends #3) - Sara Ney Page 0,71

I was surprised by my own choice of words, that’s nothing compared to the look of surprise on Tripp’s own face, eyes wide with disbelief.

It emboldens me.

Throwing back my shoulders, I tilt my chin up. “Want another taste?”

“Are we still talking about pumpkin seeds?” he asks, so hesitantly it almost makes me laugh.

Seems I’m not the only insecure one here—who would have thought? Not me, not in a million years, but here we are.

“Do you want to still be talking about pumpkin seeds?” The question sounds cockier than I feel. Where is this bravado coming from? Jeez, Chandler—don’t write any checks your ass can’t cash!

“No.”

I bend, using the hot pad to remove the cookie sheet from the oven, turn it off, and close the oven door. Leaning against the counter, I watch Tripp watching me, knowing the expression on my face is one of satisfaction.

He’s not sure what to do with me.

Is he…intimidated by me?

Little me?

Huh.

Your move, Chandler. Big, bad Tripp Wallace is suddenly as timid as a mouse.

I look at his lips. Down at Chewy, snoozing comfortably nearby. Up into his eyes.

They’re watching me cautiously, as if he’s waiting for me to reject him. As if he wishes I’d put him out of his misery so he could laugh it off and continue with the monumental task of the carving.

I put one hand to his chest, where his heart is beating, and slide it up, over his shoulder. Tripp is solid and warm, a fortress that wants breaching.

Breaching?

Stop it right now, ew.

His breath catches when my fingers nick the bottom of his earlobe and I’d wager that they’re an erogenous zone. Make a mental note of it, just in case.

“You’re so handsome,” I tell him, knowing he’s heard it dozens of times and doesn’t need his ego inflated. He can barely fit his head through the door as it is, but for some reason, he needs to hear it from me.

For some reason, I think maybe he sees me…differently than the others?

My palm grazes the stubble on his neck on its way toward the smooth skin of his cheek. Tripp tilts his head a little, leaning in toward it. Nuzzling, his lips find the pulse in my wrist and kiss it.

I shiver.

Reach up on my tiptoes to close the space. Rest my mouth on his, marveling at how soft and warm it is. How full and sexy it feels being this close to him.

Tripp’s arms go around me, hands bracing my backside, sliding down to my ass—not grabbing it but gripping, holding me up so I don’t falter given our height difference. I’m not wearing heels and can barely reach his lips.

After a while, he squats to give me better access to his face, back against the counter, legs spread, pulling me over.

“Much better,” I whisper, fingers combing through his dark hair and lavishing kisses along his jawline.

His hands have a firm hold on my hips, flirting with the hemline of my top. Tugging it. Toying with it. A deliberate dodge and weave, not quite committing to going up and under.

In response, my breasts begin to ache, so close to the largest set of palms they’ve ever been privy to, curiosity almost unbearable.

My boobs are as needy as I am; arching my back, I press into Tripp, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. The only thing missing is my purr.

Touch them, touch them, touch them!

Our mouths fuse once more. More tongue. Wetter, better. I could eat him up he tastes so good, boobs pressing forward. Nipples throbbing from the make-out session.

So different than that first, innocent kiss in the street.

Er. On the sidewalk?

Tripp’s hand is between our bodies, working the button on my jeans. Zipper. Jerks it down as I spread my legs to give him better access, because suddenly, I’m begging for it and want it bad.

Real bad.

Badder than I’ve ever wanted anything. Badder. Gooder.

Wait…did that even make sense?

From the floor, Chewy whines, awake now and wanting our full attention.

“Stop watching us,” Tripp tells him.

Chewy watches us.

“He’s creeping me out,” Tripp tells me. “Chewy, look away.”

Chewy seems to look harder.

“I feel like he’s judging me.” His hands are still down near my crotch, inches away from going down my pants, the sexual frustration boiling up inside me ready to bubble and burst. “Chewy, I love you man, but fuck!”

I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing. “Bedroom?”

That seems drastic, and only asking for trouble, but if it’s going to get his fingers