Page 83 of Misguided
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mel
The rings of the heavy drapes make a scrape as they drag across the rail. Dog opens them wide, letting the pale moonlight spill in as I sit on my heels in the center of his bed. He turns to me with a smile, and utters, “All the better to see you with, my darlin’.”
I can’t help but chuckle. His use of humor to ease my nerves is appreciated.
It resonates with me, just how much I obviously care about him if I’m this worried I won’t live up to expectations. He holds an air of confidence about him, sexually, that I can’t match. Sure, I’m not stupid. I know I’m pretty, that my mom gave me her stunning looks, but what does a pretty face matter if you can’t match that with stamina?
What if the things I think are amazing between the sheets are boring for him? What if I do something wrong? Oh my God, I need to stop. I’m working myself into a frenzy and he hasn’t even stripped his jeans off yet.
“What you thinkin’?” Dog sets a knee on the bed, slowly crawling toward me.
I reach out and run my fingertips over the gentle swell of his chest as he mirrors my position. “Nothing much.”
“Bullshit.” The heel of his hand presses into my throat as he grips my jaw. “This face don’t lie, baby. Tell me the truth.”
I swallow, feeling it press against the restriction of his hand. “I feel like I’m a teenage novice all over again.”
He drops his hand from my jaw, placing both his palms on my hips instead. “You think I’m not worried?”
“You?” I scoff. “Whatever.”
Dog shakes his head. “Fuck, Mel. This has been years in the makin’. Easy to brush it off and not give a shit what happens when you don’t care, but with you …” He trails off as he lifts a hand to pull the tie around my ponytail out.
My hair falls about my shoulders, a section sliding into my face. He gently tucks it behind my ear, the care and reverence in his touch bringing tears to the back of my eyes. I lick my lips, running my teeth over the bottom one to try and distract myself from the intensity of it all.
“Do that again,” Dog rasps.
“What?” I frown.
“That thing with your lips.”
I repeat the action, wetting them with the tip of my tongue, and then running my top teeth over my bottom lip, pinching the flesh hard before letting it go.
His eyes burn bright, watching the movements with such intensity he even frowns a little. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“I’m just biting my lip.”
He shakes his head, eyes wide. “It’s what those lips could do that makes me hard.” He lifts a hand, gently running his index finger over the curve of my bottom one. “You women don’t know how sexy your fuckin’ mouths can be, huh?”
I don’t get it really, but hey, I get worked up by the angle of his jaw, so I guess it holds some truth to it.
I make a show out of sighing and rubbing my lips together. His reaction is priceless: narrowed eyes, firm jaw, and the roll of his hips as he shifts in his seat to accommodate the growing erection in his jeans.
His lust sets my inhibitions aside.
Dog places both hands at the hem of my tank and eases the fabric up over my body. I lift my arms to help him as he peels it off over my head and tosses it aside. I’d already taken my bra off.
“Goddamn, baby.” He sweeps his hands around my ribs, settling them under the swell of my breasts and teases the pert nipple with his thumbs. “Beautiful.”
I return the favor, reaching out to run my hands over his bare torso. His flesh is still cool from the night air, yet definite warmth burns beneath the cool exterior. I trace every dip and curve, unintentionally biting my lip again as I settle my hands over the strong muscles in his neck.
Dog leans forward, his own hands on my shoulders as he guides me toward him. The softness in his touch as he places his lips on mine, the calm and unhurried movements he makes—I feel appreciated. As though the connection means more than the outcome.
I feel as though he appreciates every second of the memory, rather than the thought of the future.
I love him for it.