Suddenly the warm rasp of his callused hand against my cheek disappeared.
He backed away.
I bit back a moan of disappointment and stopped myself just short of reaching for him and pulling him back by the front of his shirt.
With his eyes trained on me, he sank down on the bed, leaving me standing in front of him. I shifted on my feet, unsure what was happening now and trying for all I was worth to look sophisticated and at ease. Pointless. He had called me out as a virgin, after all. And I had admitted I came here looking for experience. That kind of outted me.
His pale eyes gleamed in the dim, red-gold light from the floor lamp.
Deciding to act, I stepped forward to follow him, but he shook his head at me, those eyes of his glittering like shards of glass. Leaning back on the mattress, he propped his elbows on the bed, looking deceptively casual.
“Take off your clothes.” The request was anything but casual, and yet he uttered it as though he were asking me to pass the salt.
An odd strangled sound rose up in my throat. I fought it, pushed it back down, and tried for speech that sounded halfway normal. “What?”
He angled his head to one side, studying me. “You wanted to learn foreplay. Isn’t that why you came here looking for my brother?”
My face heated at that reminder.
“Well, you got me.” He announced this like he was somehow second best. Which was ridiculous. Logan was hot, but he looked like he belonged as a lead in a boy band. Reece. Reece was something else entirely. “Now. Take off your clothes.”
My hands trembled. If not for his reassurance that he didn’t do virgins, I’d be running for the door. Probably.
I moistened my lips and my stomach tightened at the way his eyes followed the tiny movement. He missed nothing. Swallowing, I asked, “Isn’t that kind of skipping foreplay and getting right to it?”
“I’m the one with the experience. Are you going to trust me?”
It was my turn to look him over, splayed so deliciously upon the bed, so effortlessly hot. Like picking up virgins from the bar and bringing them up here was something he did all the time. I didn’t think that was the case, but the green monster of jealousy still crept up on me. I didn’t want to consider whether he had done this before. That he had reclined there on his bed and invited other girls to take off their clothes for him. Even though the presumption of his experience was what brought me to this moment, I wanted to think I was the first to see the inside of this room.
“Should I trust you?” I lifted my chin in an attempt to look braver than I felt. “It’s not as though I know you.” But I did. At least a little. I knew he was the kind of guy who helped a female stranded alongside the road. I knew he was good with kids. He was also the kind of guy to get offended when he was mistaken for his man-whore of a brother. He had scruples.
“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do,” he explained. “Taking off your clothes . . . looking sexy doing it.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, that’s a hell of a turn-on. And isn’t that what you want to learn? How to turn a guy on? A particular guy, right?”
Hunter. Yes. My mind leaped upon the memory of him. My purpose. The reason I was here. That was it exactly. I nodded.
“Good. Then what are you waiting for?”
What was I waiting for? I bit my lip, trying to decide. Logic and the hot pulse of desire in my veins urged me on. Yes. Just do it. Pretend the fear is gone, and live for once.
“Here.” He sat up on the bed. “I’ll match you move for move,” he offered. Because guys like him were shy about getting naked. Right. As though that would somehow make me feel better about stripping off my clothes in front of him.
He reached behind his head and gathered a fistful of shirt. In one tug he pulled the dark gray fabric over his head.
An invisible band tightened around my chest. Holy sexiness. My gaze devoured him. Bronzed skin. Washboard abs. My mouth watered and dried simultaneously. I could see now that the tattoo that covered his arm snuck down onto his chest, the fauna design covering his left pectoral. There was also some kind of script stretching down along his rib cage. Words I couldn’t make out from where I stood.
“That’s just ridiculous,” I breathed, awe and lust swirling through me like some heady elixir. I didn’t even realize I said the words aloud until they filled the space between us, making that band around my chest squeeze tighter.
One corner of his mouth lifted, curling up ever so slightly. “Tip number one: Don’t call a guy ridiculous when he undresses in front of you. It might give him a complex.”
I could never imagine Reece having a complex. Not the way he looked.
I scanned the lean chest and flat belly cut with sharply defined muscles. I couldn’t stop ogling him. The waistband of his jeans hung low, revealing a thin strip of black waistband that belonged to his briefs.
“Your turn . . . I mean, if you’re done staring.”
I doubted I would ever be done staring at him.
I dragged my gaze from that delicious chest back to his face. His voice sounded different, rougher and deeper, a low rumble that caused a physical reaction in my skin. His eyes looked different, too. The pale blue was smoky, like a fog drifting in off the sea. He stared with a deep intensity that had my hands shaking as I reached for the hem of Georgia’s sweater.
I can do this.
I pulled it over my head quickly, before I lost my nerve. A quick glance down confirmed I wasn’t wearing my usual white cotton bra. Thank God. The pale pink satin cupped my br**sts high. His gaze crawled over me, assessing, and I felt n**ed even though I was still wearing the bra. Come May there would be girls sunbathing on the quad in skimpier bikini tops than this.
“Nice,” he said softly.
“Thanks.”
“You don’t need to stand there like you’re facing a firing squad.” The rumble of his voice did nothing to ease my nerves. In fact, I might have jumped a little at the sound.
He scooted to the edge of the bed and stretched out an arm, reaching for me. His fingers curled around my wrist and pulled me forward, that half smile still there, hugging his lips. I moved into him with halting steps, both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was cutting short my striptease (but mostly relieved).
All that bare, firm-looking skin drew my eyes again. I couldn’t stop drinking it in. He looked edible. He should go around without a shirt on all the time. Scratch that. The guy would cause a riot.
He let go of my wrist, leaving me standing between his splayed thighs. His body radiated warmth as I stood between his legs, hovering close, looking down at him, my fingers itching to settle on the n**ed curve of his shoulders and feel all that solidness, that warmth, to trace the tattoo crawling over his chest and shoulder.
“Keep going.” His voice slid like velvet over my skin.
I swallowed. “What?”
“As pretty as the pink looks against your skin, I want you to take this off.” He fingered a single strap, barely touching me.
Okay, so he wasn’t letting me off the hook, but the idea of removing the bra sent a ripple of panic through me. He was eye-level with my chest! I wasn’t sure I could handle him that up close and personal.
I wanted experience, but wasn’t this diving into the deep end? Couldn’t we wade in a bit first? Start out with the kiddie pool?
His lips twisted. “You’re thinking too much. I can tell. Stop.”
“Is this what you do with other girls that you don’t intend to sleep with?” I hardly recognized my voice. It sounded so small and breathless.
“This is what I’m doing with you.” His hands settled on my waist, twin burning imprints on my skin just above the waistband of my jeans. “C’mon. Let go.”
Maybe it was the challenge in the low rasp of his voice—or simply the truth of his words. I was thinking too much. I reached behind me and undid the clasp, wondering how, in one week, I’d gone from a girl with one bad kiss to my credit to this. Alone and half n**ed with a hot guy way out of my league.
Stop thinking, Pepper.
I held the cups of my bra close to my chest, stopping it from falling.
This has nothing to do with thinking. It’s just instinct.
He studied me, looking from my face to my arms pressed tightly in front of me, saving me from total exposure.
He lifted one hand. Watching me intently, he slid one loosened strap free, his fingers grazing my skin, soft as a whisper. The thin scrap of satin fell soundlessly off my left shoulder. A shiver raced through me. Goose bumps broke out over my flesh and everything in me tightened.
It was just a tiny thing. One strap that afforded no real protection, but it was like a barrier dropped. He moved to the other strap. Another whisper-brush of fingers against the curve of my shoulder. More shivers.
It was just my arms now, clutched before me, holding the pink cups in place. He continued to watch my face as he set both hands to my wrists, circling them with long, sure fingers. Slowly, firmly, he pulled them away from my chest. The bra dropped.
Despite how warm I felt—how warm he made me feel—a cold draft slid over me and I shivered. My ni**les reacted, the peaks hardening. Or maybe that was just him. His stare roved over me, those eyes a glittery shade of blue, impossibly bright in the dim room.
It was the most exposed I had ever been. I didn’t even strip off my clothes in front of other girls. I had been that girl in that locker room who dove into bathroom stalls or dressed hurriedly with her back to everyone. This was a big, huge, never-before-happened event.
There was nowhere to hide.
His hands settled around my rib cage. It wasn’t my br**sts, but he might as well have touched me there. I still jumped. His thumbs rested below the undersides of my br**sts. So close but not touching.
He drew me in, pulling me down onto the bed. The mattress met my back. He curled against me, one muscled arm beside my head, one of his legs sliding over my hip, pinning me. I sucked in a tortured breath and held it. It was too much. Too soon.
“You’re beautiful. All peaches and cream.” His hand skimmed my stomach. The sensitive skin there quivered under his warm palm. My lungs ached, holding in my breath, but I couldn’t make them function.
I brought my hands self-consciously to my chest. He was quick to act, peeling my hands free. With a bracing breath, I held them stiffly at my sides, wanting to be brave. Wanting to be someone that reveled in this and didn’t feel like a scared virgin even if that’s just what I was.
Heat crawled up my neck, bursting across my face. I waited, expecting to feel his hands there, on my br**sts, groping like any other boy would do, but his touch never came.
He brought his face closer to mine, his lips brushing my ear with warm breath. I leaned up, seeking that touch. “You need to relax. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”
“O-okay.” My voice wobbled.
“Rigid and afraid isn’t exactly a turn-on.”
“I’m not turning you on then?” I blurted, mortified, feeling like I had somehow failed. I was here to explore, to learn, and I was doing an abysmal job.
“Oh, I’m turned on. Don’t worry about that.” His hand threaded through my hair, pulling it clear of my neck. “I’m just talking in general terms. If you’re messing around with someone else . . . he might like for you to be more responsive.”
As he spoke, his mouth settled at my cheek, just beside my ear. Someone else. The words rattled around inside my head like loose marbles. I couldn’t think of anyone else right now. Couldn’t imagine anyone but him and the way his mouth felt on my skin. The way his palm rested on my stomach, his fingers splayed wide, the blunt tips curled ever so slightly, lightly brushing my quivering flesh.
In this moment, I could forget all my fears. I could even forget the fact that I was exposed and vulnerable in a way that I had never been before. In a way I had never let myself be with anyone.
He backed away.
I bit back a moan of disappointment and stopped myself just short of reaching for him and pulling him back by the front of his shirt.
With his eyes trained on me, he sank down on the bed, leaving me standing in front of him. I shifted on my feet, unsure what was happening now and trying for all I was worth to look sophisticated and at ease. Pointless. He had called me out as a virgin, after all. And I had admitted I came here looking for experience. That kind of outted me.
His pale eyes gleamed in the dim, red-gold light from the floor lamp.
Deciding to act, I stepped forward to follow him, but he shook his head at me, those eyes of his glittering like shards of glass. Leaning back on the mattress, he propped his elbows on the bed, looking deceptively casual.
“Take off your clothes.” The request was anything but casual, and yet he uttered it as though he were asking me to pass the salt.
An odd strangled sound rose up in my throat. I fought it, pushed it back down, and tried for speech that sounded halfway normal. “What?”
He angled his head to one side, studying me. “You wanted to learn foreplay. Isn’t that why you came here looking for my brother?”
My face heated at that reminder.
“Well, you got me.” He announced this like he was somehow second best. Which was ridiculous. Logan was hot, but he looked like he belonged as a lead in a boy band. Reece. Reece was something else entirely. “Now. Take off your clothes.”
My hands trembled. If not for his reassurance that he didn’t do virgins, I’d be running for the door. Probably.
I moistened my lips and my stomach tightened at the way his eyes followed the tiny movement. He missed nothing. Swallowing, I asked, “Isn’t that kind of skipping foreplay and getting right to it?”
“I’m the one with the experience. Are you going to trust me?”
It was my turn to look him over, splayed so deliciously upon the bed, so effortlessly hot. Like picking up virgins from the bar and bringing them up here was something he did all the time. I didn’t think that was the case, but the green monster of jealousy still crept up on me. I didn’t want to consider whether he had done this before. That he had reclined there on his bed and invited other girls to take off their clothes for him. Even though the presumption of his experience was what brought me to this moment, I wanted to think I was the first to see the inside of this room.
“Should I trust you?” I lifted my chin in an attempt to look braver than I felt. “It’s not as though I know you.” But I did. At least a little. I knew he was the kind of guy who helped a female stranded alongside the road. I knew he was good with kids. He was also the kind of guy to get offended when he was mistaken for his man-whore of a brother. He had scruples.
“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do,” he explained. “Taking off your clothes . . . looking sexy doing it.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Well, that’s a hell of a turn-on. And isn’t that what you want to learn? How to turn a guy on? A particular guy, right?”
Hunter. Yes. My mind leaped upon the memory of him. My purpose. The reason I was here. That was it exactly. I nodded.
“Good. Then what are you waiting for?”
What was I waiting for? I bit my lip, trying to decide. Logic and the hot pulse of desire in my veins urged me on. Yes. Just do it. Pretend the fear is gone, and live for once.
“Here.” He sat up on the bed. “I’ll match you move for move,” he offered. Because guys like him were shy about getting naked. Right. As though that would somehow make me feel better about stripping off my clothes in front of him.
He reached behind his head and gathered a fistful of shirt. In one tug he pulled the dark gray fabric over his head.
An invisible band tightened around my chest. Holy sexiness. My gaze devoured him. Bronzed skin. Washboard abs. My mouth watered and dried simultaneously. I could see now that the tattoo that covered his arm snuck down onto his chest, the fauna design covering his left pectoral. There was also some kind of script stretching down along his rib cage. Words I couldn’t make out from where I stood.
“That’s just ridiculous,” I breathed, awe and lust swirling through me like some heady elixir. I didn’t even realize I said the words aloud until they filled the space between us, making that band around my chest squeeze tighter.
One corner of his mouth lifted, curling up ever so slightly. “Tip number one: Don’t call a guy ridiculous when he undresses in front of you. It might give him a complex.”
I could never imagine Reece having a complex. Not the way he looked.
I scanned the lean chest and flat belly cut with sharply defined muscles. I couldn’t stop ogling him. The waistband of his jeans hung low, revealing a thin strip of black waistband that belonged to his briefs.
“Your turn . . . I mean, if you’re done staring.”
I doubted I would ever be done staring at him.
I dragged my gaze from that delicious chest back to his face. His voice sounded different, rougher and deeper, a low rumble that caused a physical reaction in my skin. His eyes looked different, too. The pale blue was smoky, like a fog drifting in off the sea. He stared with a deep intensity that had my hands shaking as I reached for the hem of Georgia’s sweater.
I can do this.
I pulled it over my head quickly, before I lost my nerve. A quick glance down confirmed I wasn’t wearing my usual white cotton bra. Thank God. The pale pink satin cupped my br**sts high. His gaze crawled over me, assessing, and I felt n**ed even though I was still wearing the bra. Come May there would be girls sunbathing on the quad in skimpier bikini tops than this.
“Nice,” he said softly.
“Thanks.”
“You don’t need to stand there like you’re facing a firing squad.” The rumble of his voice did nothing to ease my nerves. In fact, I might have jumped a little at the sound.
He scooted to the edge of the bed and stretched out an arm, reaching for me. His fingers curled around my wrist and pulled me forward, that half smile still there, hugging his lips. I moved into him with halting steps, both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was cutting short my striptease (but mostly relieved).
All that bare, firm-looking skin drew my eyes again. I couldn’t stop drinking it in. He looked edible. He should go around without a shirt on all the time. Scratch that. The guy would cause a riot.
He let go of my wrist, leaving me standing between his splayed thighs. His body radiated warmth as I stood between his legs, hovering close, looking down at him, my fingers itching to settle on the n**ed curve of his shoulders and feel all that solidness, that warmth, to trace the tattoo crawling over his chest and shoulder.
“Keep going.” His voice slid like velvet over my skin.
I swallowed. “What?”
“As pretty as the pink looks against your skin, I want you to take this off.” He fingered a single strap, barely touching me.
Okay, so he wasn’t letting me off the hook, but the idea of removing the bra sent a ripple of panic through me. He was eye-level with my chest! I wasn’t sure I could handle him that up close and personal.
I wanted experience, but wasn’t this diving into the deep end? Couldn’t we wade in a bit first? Start out with the kiddie pool?
His lips twisted. “You’re thinking too much. I can tell. Stop.”
“Is this what you do with other girls that you don’t intend to sleep with?” I hardly recognized my voice. It sounded so small and breathless.
“This is what I’m doing with you.” His hands settled on my waist, twin burning imprints on my skin just above the waistband of my jeans. “C’mon. Let go.”
Maybe it was the challenge in the low rasp of his voice—or simply the truth of his words. I was thinking too much. I reached behind me and undid the clasp, wondering how, in one week, I’d gone from a girl with one bad kiss to my credit to this. Alone and half n**ed with a hot guy way out of my league.
Stop thinking, Pepper.
I held the cups of my bra close to my chest, stopping it from falling.
This has nothing to do with thinking. It’s just instinct.
He studied me, looking from my face to my arms pressed tightly in front of me, saving me from total exposure.
He lifted one hand. Watching me intently, he slid one loosened strap free, his fingers grazing my skin, soft as a whisper. The thin scrap of satin fell soundlessly off my left shoulder. A shiver raced through me. Goose bumps broke out over my flesh and everything in me tightened.
It was just a tiny thing. One strap that afforded no real protection, but it was like a barrier dropped. He moved to the other strap. Another whisper-brush of fingers against the curve of my shoulder. More shivers.
It was just my arms now, clutched before me, holding the pink cups in place. He continued to watch my face as he set both hands to my wrists, circling them with long, sure fingers. Slowly, firmly, he pulled them away from my chest. The bra dropped.
Despite how warm I felt—how warm he made me feel—a cold draft slid over me and I shivered. My ni**les reacted, the peaks hardening. Or maybe that was just him. His stare roved over me, those eyes a glittery shade of blue, impossibly bright in the dim room.
It was the most exposed I had ever been. I didn’t even strip off my clothes in front of other girls. I had been that girl in that locker room who dove into bathroom stalls or dressed hurriedly with her back to everyone. This was a big, huge, never-before-happened event.
There was nowhere to hide.
His hands settled around my rib cage. It wasn’t my br**sts, but he might as well have touched me there. I still jumped. His thumbs rested below the undersides of my br**sts. So close but not touching.
He drew me in, pulling me down onto the bed. The mattress met my back. He curled against me, one muscled arm beside my head, one of his legs sliding over my hip, pinning me. I sucked in a tortured breath and held it. It was too much. Too soon.
“You’re beautiful. All peaches and cream.” His hand skimmed my stomach. The sensitive skin there quivered under his warm palm. My lungs ached, holding in my breath, but I couldn’t make them function.
I brought my hands self-consciously to my chest. He was quick to act, peeling my hands free. With a bracing breath, I held them stiffly at my sides, wanting to be brave. Wanting to be someone that reveled in this and didn’t feel like a scared virgin even if that’s just what I was.
Heat crawled up my neck, bursting across my face. I waited, expecting to feel his hands there, on my br**sts, groping like any other boy would do, but his touch never came.
He brought his face closer to mine, his lips brushing my ear with warm breath. I leaned up, seeking that touch. “You need to relax. You’re supposed to enjoy this.”
“O-okay.” My voice wobbled.
“Rigid and afraid isn’t exactly a turn-on.”
“I’m not turning you on then?” I blurted, mortified, feeling like I had somehow failed. I was here to explore, to learn, and I was doing an abysmal job.
“Oh, I’m turned on. Don’t worry about that.” His hand threaded through my hair, pulling it clear of my neck. “I’m just talking in general terms. If you’re messing around with someone else . . . he might like for you to be more responsive.”
As he spoke, his mouth settled at my cheek, just beside my ear. Someone else. The words rattled around inside my head like loose marbles. I couldn’t think of anyone else right now. Couldn’t imagine anyone but him and the way his mouth felt on my skin. The way his palm rested on my stomach, his fingers splayed wide, the blunt tips curled ever so slightly, lightly brushing my quivering flesh.
In this moment, I could forget all my fears. I could even forget the fact that I was exposed and vulnerable in a way that I had never been before. In a way I had never let myself be with anyone.
