Mess Me Up
Page 22

I wasn’t sure if what I’d heard was acquiescence to do what I wanted to do, or her hazy reply because she was still sleepy and not firing on all cylinders.
Or hell, she could possibly still be drunk off her ass and in no shape to be making the decision that I think she might’ve just made.
Whatever the reason, I needed to go.
Now.
Because if this went any farther than this point we happened to find ourselves at, I might very well do the things I’d wanted to do to her for longer than I was comfortable admitting to.
I shifted my weight, rolling her off of me by rolling my body over as well, and groaned when she went with me easily.
When I went to move my hips off of her, she hastily threw her legs around my waist and said the last thing I ever thought would come out of her mouth.
“I’m not drunk. I’m not tired. I’ve been awake for an hour, and I want you.”
All of my concerns that I’d had as I was rolling her off of me took off like a puff of smoke on a windy day.
“Iz,” I hesitated. “I’m not in the right place…this could turn out really bad.”
I needed her to know that before I did anything.
Though, I shouldn’t have bothered to tell her that.
“And I’m not in the right place, either,” she admitted. “I’m still fucked up over my ex. I have nightmares every night thinking he’s in my room with me, about to strangle me—and that I have no one to blame but myself because I wanted to marry him despite knowing he wasn’t a good man. I walk everywhere because he held buying me a car and teaching me to drive over my head, and let’s not forget the fact that he’d beaten me four times over the course of our relationship, and it was only learning that he’d slept with one of my bridesmaids the night before the wedding that had been the trigger point for me to realize that he wasn’t the man for me. Despite it being years ago now, I still don’t have my shit together. I’m a fucked-up mess, and I have no one to blame but myself.”
I growled in anger.
“Your ex-fiancé used mind games on you, as did your parents,” I said, trying not to pry. I had barely managed to keep the “what’s this man’s name” question off my lips for months now. But last night I’d finally learned it, and it was seared into my brain like a brand. Rodrigo. “And it’s nice that you agree, because we really shouldn’t be doing this.”
I wanted to ask her questions. I wanted to know what made her tick. I wanted to know all the gory details that there were to know, and I wanted to make her feel better.
I wanted to plant my cock inside of her, and I wanted to make sure that she knew that not every man was an asshole like her father and ex-fiancé.
Most importantly, I wanted her to know that I wanted her. Fucked-up mess and all.
I wanted to mess her up, and I wanted her to mess me up.
I wanted us to be fucked-up messes together.
But…I had a conscience, and that conscience was telling me that this idea I had in my head about her was something that probably shouldn’t happen.
She might very well be more screwed than I was, and that was the last thing I needed in my life.
But for once, my conscience was being overruled by my need.
And I wanted her more than I wanted anything.
I wanted to forget with her.
I wanted to bury myself so far inside of her that all of my aches and pains were forgotten.
I wanted her, and I hoped she was ready for the man she was about to unleash.
“I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of everything. I just want to forget the world for a while,” she whispered.
I could feel her eyes on me, despite not being able to see them.
And I wholeheartedly agreed with everything she’d just said.
“I can make you forget,” I found myself saying.
My voice was ragged and husky, sounding just as desperate as I felt.
Then I felt her small hands on my face before she pulled me down, her lips searching for mine.
Turning my head slightly, I allowed her lips to meet mine, and the reins of my control snapped.
Her lips felt like the softest, warmest, slickest silk I’d ever touched, and she tasted like the strawberry daiquiri she’d consumed hours ago.
The groan that left my chest when her tongue touched my lips was nothing short of explosive.
She was so sweet, so controlled, so hesitant that I never once thought she’d want this from me. Knowing that she did, indeed, want this, was playing havoc with my control.
I had one hand fisted in the pillow above her head, and the other in a death grip on the comforter that was covering her and not me.
I’d never thought that it was possible to hate a piece of material, but right then I did.
It was keeping us from fully touching.
Granted, she still wore her running shorts and I still had on my jeans, but those didn’t stop me from feeling all the softness that was Izzy.
The stupid blanket that was too goddamn hot and thick did.
“Oh, fuck.” I breathed against her lips. “Do you know what you’re doing, sweetheart?”
It was the last chance she would get.
“Of course,” she breathed. “Do you?”
That was the million-dollar question. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. That didn’t mean that I was going to stop.
I had no clue where this would lead after tonight. I had no idea whether it would change the dynamic of our relationship. I had no idea if she wanted a relationship—or if I did for that matter.
Everything was still up in the air…but I knew one thing.
I wanted her. This. Right now.
“Yes,” I said confidently.
I grinned, then reached blindly to the side table so that I could turn on the lamp.
I had to see what I was doing. I felt like it was imperative to how this was about to go for both her and me.
Then my mouth was back on hers, and slowly I started to shove down the blanket that was separating us.
She moved as best she could without taking that perfect mouth from mine, shimmying and shaking as well as giving me her entire body weight as she tried to lift other parts of her body. When I finally had it down from between us, I nearly groaned at the feel of her full, supple body—even in running clothes—against mine.
“Wait.” She breathed, reaching over to do something with her phone. Moments later, the flashlight on her phone was lighting the room, and I could see.
I could also feel her nipples through the thin shirt she wore, and the soft rounded curve of her ass felt even better. My hand squeezed her ass tightly, and she moaned into my mouth, pulling back just far enough that she could latch onto my bottom lip and pull it into her mouth.
I groaned when she sucked on it lightly, my hands tightening on her.
Her ass was so soft. So pliable.
I wanted to bite it.
She let my lip go and reared up, panting.
Both of her fists were planted in my chest, and she was flexing her fingers as she tested the muscles beneath my skin.
“I need your clothes off,” I growled, my eyes still on those lips.
They were puffy and swollen from my kiss, and her face was red along her jaw and cheeks from my beard.
“I should shave,” I said idly, eyeing that red.
I didn’t like that it’d caused her harm—however insignificant it may or may not be.
She narrowed her eyes. “You ever shave that beard, and I’ll never talk to you again.”
My eyebrows drew up in surprise. “You like it?”
Her laugh was husky as she went all the way up, her lower body straddling my hips.
That’s when her eyes widened at the feel of my cock—cramped and uncomfortable in its tight quarters—beneath her.
“I’ve dreamed about your beard,” she whispered, moving her hands to the bottom hem of her shirt and drawing it up slowly.
I nearly groaned when I realized there was a second shirt underneath.
“You’re a tease,” I panted. “Hurry.”
She did, making much shorter work of the second shirt than she did of the first.
“What do I get since I hurried for you?” she asked teasingly.
I did a sit up and reached for her bra at the same time, yanking the sports bra up so that her beautiful breasts were bared to my gaze.