hand. Both. More.
He flicks his gaze up to mine and grins. “I woke up with you and for a second I forgot last night. I thought I was dreaming.” He leans forward, and I gasp as his tongue runs the length of my clit. “When I remembered . . .” He watches me as he licks his lips. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I kiss you here for a while.”
His words steal my breath and make something greedy and achy coil tight between my legs. I don’t have a chance to respond before his mouth is on me again, longer this time. Slower. He spreads me with his hands and explores me with his lips and tongue. And it would feel good no matter what, because he seems to know just how to touch me—how to alternate soft and hard and where to suck—but when I force my eyes open and witness the fantasy of Arrow in my bed, Arrow kissing me like this, it only adds to the pleasure.
I’m halfway there when he slides a finger inside me, and even tender from last night, I can’t help but lift my hips off the bed and get his mouth closer to my aching clit. He groans and rewards me by sucking. Ever. So. Gently.
And then I’m gone. Slipping. Falling. Melting.
* * *
“What’s your thing, Arrow?” The clock reads ten a.m. We’re still in bed, and I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. My phone flashes at me from the nightstand, but I don’t want to see a bunch of missed calls from Brogan or face reality after these amazing hours with Arrow. I will. Just not yet.
“My thing?”
I feel stupid for a minute. That day we met was so much to me. Maybe he doesn’t even remember it. My curiosity wins out over my pride. “The thing you want so desperately that the idea of having it makes you as sick to your stomach as the idea of never having it?”
His eyes lock with mine, and I know he remembers. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Tearing his gaze from mine, he rolls to his back and stares at the ceiling. “It used to be football.”
I always presumed it was football, but then he never said one way or another. “It isn’t anymore?”
“Football’s been playing second string in my wishes for a lot of months now. My life was easier when football was my everything.”
I always assumed it was football, but he never told me. He was a little mysterious about it. “What is it now?”
That’s when he looks at me again, his eyes dark and tormented, his body tensed beside mine. The silence grows thick with everything we never say. “You.”
My heart squeezes and my breath catches. There’s so much in that word. A promise of what he’ll be to me if I let him. A question of what tomorrow will hold. And I’m not sure what I think about either, so I just take the answer as the gift it is and remind myself to breathe.
I don’t want to speak his name and break this spell, but someone pounds on the door, breaking it anyway. I pull from Arrow’s touch and sit on the edge of the bed.
“Ignore it,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“Mia Maria Consuela Mendez!”
“That’s my brother. Shit.” Nic’s only been out of prison a couple of weeks, and neither of us are used to it yet. I forget that he can stop by anytime he wants, and he forgets that I’m not five anymore.
“I know you’re home,” Nic calls. “Your neighbor told me she saw you come in this morning.”
Arrow sits up and drags a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s cool.” He scans the room, probably knowing how bad this looks, considering I was his best friend’s girlfriend this time yesterday. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
I swallow. “Hide?”
“Mia—”
“I’m serious,” I hiss. “Nic is not going to like seeing you here, and I’d rather you leave with your face intact. Get your clothes and hide in the closet.”
“I’m not scared of him.”
“Do it for me,” I say as Nic pounds on the door again. “Please.”
“Right. Okay. Fine.”
While he gathers his clothes, I hurry and dress myself. I grab a button-up shirt and a pair of jeans.
“Mia, I fucking swear!” Nic calls.
“I’m coming,” I say. “I was sleeping.”
“It’s important,” Nic says. “Dad’s gone on a bender and he’s gotten out the gun.”
My fingers pause halfway up