Say When - Micalea Smeltzer Page 0,58
be doing this and the less I know about him the better. But when you like someone it’s natural to want to know their habits, their likes and dislikes, what makes them tick.
“What do you want to talk about?” His tone is amused at my curiosity.
“I know you were a screenwriter and loved that, but surely you have other things you love. Hobbies?”
He laughs outright, his whole body shaking which makes me vibrate with the movement. “It’s so fucking cliché, but I like to golf. It was something my dad and I did together.”
I smile up at him. “I think that’s cute.”
“What about you? Tell me something I don’t know about you, Emilia.”
I snort in a self-deprecating way. “I’m way too boring. Believe me.”
He brushes his fingers over my forehead, pushing my hair off my face so he can better see me. “Believe me, you’re far more fascinating than you give yourself credit for.”
“Well, when I was little, I was obsessed with butterflies,” I confess. “One year I was convinced I was going to single-handedly save the monarchs.” I giggle at the memory. “My brother poked fun at me at first, but when he saw how passionate I was about it he ended up getting the whole neighborhood in on it—well, the street we lived on anyway—but to a twelve-year-old girl it felt huge. We released hundreds of them all summer. You would’ve thought I would’ve gotten tired of it, but with every successful release I only felt happier and more excited to do it again. I’ve done it every year since then.”
“Wow.” He stares down at me in awe. “That’s unexpectedly amazing.”
I shrug, which is kind of difficult considering I’m using him as a pillow. “It’s really not.”
He traces my lips with his index finger. “Don’t discredit yourself. I think often times we forget the impact even one person can have with enough heart and determination.” My heart stutters with happiness at his praise. “Do you think I could help you do that one day?”
“You want to help me save butterflies?”
He chuckles at my surprise. “Yeah, I do.”
“Well, y-yeah, I’d love that.”
“Good.”
We sit there in silence for a few heartbeats before I work up the courage. “Hayden?”
He arches a brow. “Yes?”
I give myself a three second pep talk that I can do this. I can ask for what I want. “Can I touch you?”
His mouth parts, a breath escaping him. “Touch me?”
I nod and growing bold I swing a leg over his lap so that I’m straddling him. It reminds me of the day in his car when he fingered me and gave me one hell of an orgasm.
“Emilia,” he warns, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His hands clench at his sides resting against the couch. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
I raise a brow, leaning in closer so I can brush my lips against his ear. “This is me saying when, Hayden, and right now that means I want to touch you.”
When I pull back, his green eyes are bright with desire. “Touch me then.” There’s a slightly challenging tone to his voice, a hint of alpha male coming out.
I reach for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his chest. He lifts his arms for me, and I remove his shirt, dropping it to the couch beside us. My eyes take in the light smattering of chest hair across his pectorals and down his stomach, thicker beneath his navel. I never thought much about chest hair before, but Hayden has the perfect amount.
He puts his hands back on the couch, being very careful not to touch me. I appreciate the gesture, the subtle reminder that he’s doing everything he can to let me be in charge of how fast we take things.
He watches my hands as I bring them his chest, gliding my fingernails lightly over his skin. His head drops back a little, his eyes closing as I drag my nails down further, stopping at his pants. Back up again, I circle my fingers around his nipples then draw random designs over his large shoulder muscles and down his arms.
Somehow, he manages to remain still, but I can tell from the hitch in his breaths and the intensity of his gaze that he’s more than a little affected by just my touch. The growing bulge beneath me gives him away the most though.
Slipping my hand beneath his sweatpants we