The Hook Up
Page 40

Drew reaches the center of the room before he stops. I cleaned here too, and though I don’t think he minds, part of me still cringes. I took over his house with impunity, making myself at home before we’ve even settled things. At the time, I pushed this all aside in favor of assuring his comfort, but he’s here now, seeing what I’ve done.
His golden eyes find mine and they’re smiling, soft and tender. “My mom used to give me fresh sheets when I was sick. It always felt good to slide into a clean bed.” His mouth quirks. “I’m not saying I think of you like my mom, just that… well, I appreciate it.”
Now I’m blushing. “My mom did that too. Maybe it’s a mom thing.”
He holds my gaze. “If you’re ever sick, I promise to change the sheets for you.”
Warmth floods my veins. One small statement, promising a future.
He heads to the bathroom. “I’m dying for a shower. I swear to God, I stink like hospital.”
“Just a little,” I tease, following. I’ve got the room set up for this eventuality.
Drew’s bathroom is gorgeous. Heated floors of a dark, distressed wood, white and blue glass tiles, and a massive walk-in shower encased in frosted-glass panels, the space resembles a luxury spa. A white bowl sink rests on a teak cabinet base. He lays his crutches there as he reaches in to turn on his shower, and water falls from the big, rain showerhead. Almost instantly, the air begins to grow sultry and humid.
His eyes glint again as he turns. “Gonna join me, Jones?” He wags his brows like a stage villain before tugging his shirt over his head. Good God, but I’m never going to get over the splendor that is his chest, or the way those taut muscles move and flow beneath his honeyed skin.
“Not today.” My voice is unsteady, as I fight off a picture of his chest all wet and glistening, of running my tongue along the groove in his abdomen, right down the happy trail of dark hair that leads to his thick—
“Spoil sport.” He sighs. “Though I’m guessing we’d end up on our asses when I’m in this condition.”
Blinking rapidly to clear my dirty mind, I reach over and grab the garbage bag and surgical tape I’ve set on a shelf. “Speaking of…” I hold them up and give his leg a pointed look. While the doctor said Drew could get his cast wet, it will take hours to dry off and won’t be comfortable for him.
“Kinky.” Keeping his eyes on mine, he hooks his thumbs on the waist of his shorts and eases them off, revealing those long, strong legs of his and the weighty c**k that has brought me so many hours of pleasure. I swallow hard. I’ve missed this part of him too. He’s already growing thicker, his c**k curving as it begins to rise under my stare.
With effort I raise my gaze up to his face, which is currently wearing a smug yet hot expression. I give him a level look. “Behave.”
“What?” He’s all innocence. “I’m taking a shower here, Jones. Kind of have to get na**d to do that.”
“Whatever.” And because I can be a tease too, I kneel down before him, my face inches from the heat of his cock. It twitches, the musky scent of him filling my nostrils. I look up at him, my smile sweet. “Lift your leg.”
A pulse visibly beats at the base of his throat as he gazes down at me. Slowly he lifts his cast-covered leg an inch. The garbage bag rustles as I ease it under his foot and begin to pull it over him. Drew’s flat abdomen lifts and falls in a steady, quick cadence.
His leg is so long, the bag barely makes it to the top of the cast. With quick movements, I wrap the ends up with surgical tape, not missing the way his c**k is now standing proud and waiting. Longing fills me. I know how he will taste, salty and sweet, how he will feel against my tongue, heavy and firm. Instead, I look into his eyes. “There now, all set.”
Drew swallows audibly, his h*ps canting just a bit as if he can’t help it.
“You love torturing me, don’t you?” His voice is a husky whisper, barely heard over the steady rush of the shower.
I lick my dry lips, noting the way his breath catches as I do. “It’s only fair, you know.”
“Why is that, Jones?” But he knows. I can see it in his eyes, those f**k me eyes that both challenge and make promises.
I cup his ass, that fantastically firm ass that features prominently in so many of my dirty dreams. My finger strokes his little battle axe tattoo, and his nostrils flare in a sharply drawn breath.
“Because,” I say, “you only have to be standing there to torture me.”
“You’ve just made countless painful hours of exercise worth it.” A teasing note lightens his tone but shadows creep into his eyes. Drew doesn’t work out to impress people. His body is a tool, finely honed to perform at the optimum level. And now it’s broken. I know he’s fighting off the fear and has been since the sack.
My knees protest as I rise. On my way up, I pause and kiss the smooth, hot tip of his cock, and he hisses. Before I’m fully standing, he cups my neck and pulls me in. His biceps bulge as his arms bend, and then his mouth is on mine, his kiss tempting me with little licks, soft sucks, and sharp needy breaths. His c**k pokes my belly as I lean into him, and I’m so hot, so wet that I nearly forget why this is a bad idea.
He sways on his feet, the long length of his body threatening to topple. I pull back. “Drew…”
He doesn’t let me go but sighs. “All right, all right. I’ll be good for now.” His eyes meet mine, and I see the heat in them. “But you’re going to pay for that one, Jones.”
“I’ll be waiting for it, Baylor.” Tenderly, I kiss his mouth, lingering just enough to have him follow when I pull away. I smile at him. “Now, take your shower.”
He gives my upper lip a soft nip before backing away. “Heartless wench.” And then, before I can change my mind and grab him, he hobbles into the shower and stands under the spray.
No, I will not watch. I will not. My mouth goes dry. Those fine muscles are defined by taut skin, all slick and shining. Water runs in rivulets off of his still half-hard cock. I suck in a breath and close the door on his knowing laugh.
Fleeing to the relative safety of Drew’s room, I pull back the covers on the bed and arrange the pillows so he can lie comfortably. It feels good doing this for him, yet anticipation bumps around in my belly. I am going to sleep here with him. I’ve done so before. Though never like this, never planned and without the promise of sex. I prefer this way, knowing that I’m here because I simply want to be with him. Letting go frees me more than I thought possible.
I’m smiling as I catch a glance in the mirror, then halt in horror. My hair has a fuzz factor of ten.
“Holy hell.” Mad snarls stand out around my head. I’m like a girl version of freaking Carrot Top. And I’ve been flirting with Drew like this. I almost moan, but stifle it when I hear the shower stop.
I grab my toiletries bag as he comes into the room.
Drew, of course, does not bother with a towel. No, he’s perfectly fine limping in butt-naked and giving me a cheeky grin.
“I’m taking a shower,” I say as I edge past him, dying to hold down my maniacal hair.
He raises an irate brow. “Then why didn’t you shower with me?”
“You know why.” I’m almost to safety.
“Wasting water is a crime in some states, Jones,” he calls, as I scuttle into the bathroom.
“Good thing we don’t live in one of those states.” I close the door on him.
Despite my hair nightmare, Drew’s shower is heaven. I bend my neck and let the hot water pour down on my aching muscles. But I don’t linger long. I want to be with Drew now.
Putting on enough product to make my hair behave, I look around for my nightshirt and curse. I’ve forgotten it. And while I’m not shy about Drew seeing me naked, it seems like a tease to do it now. Not that going out wrapped in a towel won’t be either. I could put on my clothes, but they stink of hospital too. Then I spy one of his shirts hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It smells clean, so I take it, only to realize that it’s one of his jerseys.
I slip the jersey over my head, and it falls to my knees, the sleeves flopping around my elbows. I dither, wondering whether to keep it on when I hear him from the other room.
“Did you get lost in there, Jones?”
Rolling my eyes, I put some lotion on my legs. “Impatient much?”
“Hey,” he says from the room, “what’s with this little jar here?”
I crack the door open. “It’s olive oil.” I’d left a small jar of it on his bedside table. “The team physical therapist said you might be sore, and I didn’t have any massage oil so…”
“You talked to my PT?” He sounds a bit strangled, surprised, but not angry.
“Of course.” I walk into the room. “I wouldn’t be much help to you if I didn’t. I can massage your leg now if you… What?” I stop at the foot of the bed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because he’s hauling himself up from his slouch in the bed, his muscles bunched and tense, and he’s gaping at me. For a moment we simply stare at each other. God, but he’s a sight. The lamplight glows warmly on his golden skin, a sharp contrast to the white bedding that lies low over his narrow hips, the cover more a tease then a barrier.
Drew breaks the silence.
“You…” He clears his throat. “You’re seriously trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Are you high?” I laugh softly, but my heart rate has increased to an excited flutter.
“Maybe.” His lips curl into a tilted smile. “You look utterly, spectacularly hot in my jersey, Anna Jones.”
I roll my eyes, but grin. “You are high.”
“Come here.” He holds his hand out to me. “Like now.”
Shaking my head, I go to him, and promptly yelp when he grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me onto the bed. “Easy,” I admonish as I straddle his lap, facing him. “I’m not going to be happy if you make me kick your leg.”
“Screw the leg.” His hands settle on my hips.
Since I have him all to myself, I explore the silken skin of his chest with my hands, loving the dense muscles and the heat he gives off. Drew is always warm. “Feeling all right?” My voice is soft with a protectiveness I hadn’t known myself capable of.
“Feeling pretty damn fine now, Jones.” He lifts a hand and gently traces the iron-on number one over my right breast. My nipple stiffens under his touch, and he lingers there, drifting back and forth. “This looks a lot better on you than it does on me.”
And though heat is in his gaze, I hear the hitch in his voice and the darkness. My insides clench. I try to shift away, but he holds me tight, a frown working between his brows as he looks at me in question.
“I shouldn’t have worn this. It was insensitive.” Why didn’t I realize he’d remember his loss when he saw the stupid jersey?
He gives my hip a squeeze. “Yes, you should. Every damn night, if I have my say.” He fights valiantly for a smile.
Wanting to sooth him, I caress his shoulders. “All right. If you wear this every night.”
“But I’m not wearing anything, Jones.”
“I know.” I give him a soft kiss.
Our lips cling, and he threads a hand through my hair.
“You’re so beautiful to me,” he says against my mouth.
I pull back to look him in the eyes. “To you?”
He often says that, and part of me wonders if others have said something contrary to him.
“To me.” His fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, brushing a lock of hair over it. “When we’re together, it’s just you and me. No one else exists.”
He makes me want to cry, to tell him things I’ve never allowed myself to think, much less say aloud.
“Drew.” I press my fist against his chest. “You can’t keep saying these perfect things to me.” I give him a wobbly smile. “I mean, how am I supposed to match that?”
He chuckles. “Are you giving me grief for being too romantic?”
“No.” I kiss his cheek, high up by the corner of his eye. “Maybe. I find that when it comes to you, I’m competitive too.”
Another laugh rumbles in his chest. “Game on, then?”
“Yeah.” I kiss his other cheek.
He sighs, touches my neck, a light stroke. “Hit me with it, Jones.”
“Drew?” I nuzzle his ear.
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re real cute,” I drawl.
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, wow,” he deadpans. “I’ve just been schooled.”
“You know it.”
I’ve missed him. Happiness is a blade that cuts into my heart.
His warm palm skims up my thigh until his thumb brushes the curls between my legs. Immediately, my insides clench. More so when his voice lowers roughly. “Ah, I missed this. I missed the perfection of your pu**y.”
“Oh, that’s smooth,” I say with a snort.
“Classy too.”
We snicker, but another light touch of his thumb makes me utterly wet. He feels it and sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “Anna Jones’s pu**y. Total perfection.”
“I’m thinking of having cards made up that say just that.” I’m trying not to squirm against his roaming finger.
“At the very least, have it imprinted on your underwear.” He flickers a thumb over my clit.
“I’ve decided to forgo underwear altogether.” I’m breathless. “Seems a shame to cover perfection, you know?”