With Me in Seattle Bundle One (86 page)

God, that feels good.

I sigh and continue to touch him, enjoying his skin, the way his breath hitches when I hit a ticklish spot. I feel him wince when I touch one of his ribs, and I frown up at him.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little.” His face is calm, and he doesn’t explain further. I move my hand lightly over the rib again, and he grimaces.

“A little, my ass.” I climb over him and pull his shirt up so I can see his ribs and, sure enough, there is a deep purple bruise. “Sunday?” I ask.

“Yeah. No big deal.”

I glare up at him and then down at the bruise again. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m not in love with it myself, sweetheart.” He laughs and pulls me back to him.

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Meg, I have three-hundred-pound guys crashing into me. Of course I get bumped and bruised. I’ll live.”

I frown again and look down at his chest, not saying anything. I hate the thought of him getting hurt.

He tilts my head back with his fingers on my chin and smiles softly down at me. “I’m okay.”

I run my fingers down his smooth cheek. His eyes close as he leans into my touch, then he kisses my palm, and pins me with those blue eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.

“It’s about time,” I whisper back.

He grins and kisses my forehead, down to my nose, over to the dimple in my cheek, and then lays those lips on mine, resting them there, for just a second, and then he starts to move. Those amazing lips nibble mine, and finally his tongue licks my bottom lip and leisurely makes love to my own, dancing and twirling, gently exploring me.

This is so different from when he kissed me at the party. This is intimate and tender. I love both sides to him and can’t wait to learn more about him.

I push my fingers up into his hair and moan contentedly as he continues the soft assault on my mouth.

He pulls back slightly, breathing hard, his eyes on fire. “I wouldn’t mind kissing your lips all fucking day.”

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” I murmur and grin at him.

“I hate your rule, you know.”

“I kind of hate it right now, too,” I admit and chuckle.

“You’re worth it.” He runs his knuckles down my cheek. “Hey, what happened to the pink?”

I frown at the change of subject, not understanding what he means, and then I remember. My hair. “It’s not permanent. It’s this hair chalk stuff that I can paint my hair with, and then it washes out.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” His hand glides up my thigh again, under my dress, and I sigh. When he gets up to my hip, his eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not wearing underwear?”

“I rarely do.” I shrug.

“So, no pajamas and no underwear.” He swallows hard, clenches his eyes shut, and swears under his breath. His hand has stilled on my hip like he’s afraid to move it.

Maybe my rule is stupid.

Maybe it would be okay to break the rule, just this once. He’s already told me that he wants to pursue something more than just sex with me, and isn’t that the point of the rule anyway?

He opens his eyes and gazes down at me and smiles gently.

I brush my fingers through his hair, then cup the nape of his neck and pull him down to me. I nuzzle his nose and kiss him chastely.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear and sighs deeply. “I won’t be able to stop.”

“So don’t stop.” I grin at him, and he glares at me, making me laugh.

“You can’t change the rules, Meg.”

“Why not? It was my rule.”

“Because, you’ll resent me for it later.” His hand clenches on my hip for just a brief second and then glides back down my thigh.

Okay, he’s going to be all gentlemanly. Damn him.

“Will,” I whisper and kiss him again.

“Yeah?”

“I really need you to touch me.” God, please touch me.

In one large, smooth move, his hand glides up my thigh, over my ass, to my back and back down again. I groan and push my hands under his shirt, running my hands over his smooth, warm skin.

“Can I take your dress off?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

It’s dark in the living room now, the only light coming from the glow of the muted television. He sits up and pushes me to my feet before him, grips the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head and tosses it on the floor. He sucks in a loud breath, and his deep blue eyes are hot as he looks me up and down, from my hair, down my black-bra-covered chest, stomach, waxed pubis and legs. And then his eyes travel back up again and find my own eyes.

“Take your bra off,” he murmurs.

I comply and throw it on top of the dress.

“Dear God, Megan, you’re beautiful.”

I grin down at him, and suddenly he pulls me down into his lap and cups a breast in his palm as he kisses me senseless. I trace the muscles in his shoulder with one hand and bury the other in his hair and hold him close to me while his hands roam over my sensitive body.

God, his hands feel so damn good!

Finally, he trails kisses along my jaw and over to my neck, where he pays extraspecial attention as his hand travels, oh so slowly, south.

“I knew you felt good, and I knew you’d look fantastic, but you surpass every fantasy I’ve had about you, sweetheart.”

“Hmm. I want to see you,” I mutter, but he shakes his head and chuckles.

“Not yet. This is about you, honey.”

I start to protest, but then those magical fingers slip down over my pubis and find my center, and everything in Will—those fingers, his breath, even his heart—stills.

“What is this?” He pulls back and stares down at me in awe.

Oh, that.

“It’s a piercing,” I respond and lean up to kiss him again, but he pulls back and his eyes narrow.

“Your clit is pierced?” he asks incredulously.

“No, technically, my clitoral hood is pierced.”

“Fuck, I have to see this.” He stands abruptly with me in his arms, and just when I think he’s finally going to take me up to my bedroom, he lays me gently down on the couch. He turns off the TV but flips on a soft lamp and kneels on the floor next to my head.

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” He kisses me softly, gently teasing my tongue with his, and then nibbles his way down my jaw again to my ear and down my neck to my collarbones. 

“Will.” I grip his shirt in my fists and try to pull it over his head, but he backs away.

“Honey, I can’t get naked.” He swallows and shakes his head. “I can’t. We’re going to respect your goddamn three-date rule, but I want to explore you a bit. Is that okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, and he smiles wickedly.

“Just lie back and enjoy.”

He captures a nipple in his mouth and suckles it gently at first and then a bit harder, making me moan. His hands are
everywhere
. Brushing up and down my ribs, down my thighs, and up again. Finally, after he pays special attention to the other nipple, he begins to gently bite, suck and nibble his way down my stomach as his hand glides up the inside of my thigh.

“Will…”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

He spreads my legs and sits there, just looking down at my center, and I suddenly become very shy.

“Turn the light off,” I whisper.

His eyes find mine. His face is tight with lust, his eyes bright, his jaw ticking from clenching it shut.

“Not a chance,” he growls. “I want to see you. Fuck, Meg, you’re so sexy.”

He settles on his elbows and gently brushes my piercing with his fingertip.

It makes my back arch and my breath catch. “Shit.”

“How long have you had this?” he asks.

“Five years.”

“Why?” he asks and brushes it with his thumb while his fingers slide through my wet lips and I gasp again. “God, you’re so wet.”

“I was in a band, people had piercings, I didn’t want mine to show.” The words come out superfast because of what he’s doing to me, and he chuckles.

“Does it heighten pleasure?” he asks, and I swear again as he barely brushes the little barbell, and it sets my clit on fire.

“What do you think?” Fuck, I can’t stop moving.

“It’s tiny,” he remarks.

“It’s a tiny part of my body,” I remind him ruefully and then squirm again as he brushes it one more time with his finger.

Will kisses my navel, and I push my hands into his hair. He moves down and gently wraps those amazing lips around my clit and metal, and I come undone, pushing against his mouth, raising my hips up off the cushion. His hands are cupping my ass, holding me against him, and I ride my orgasm, jerking and shuddering, and suddenly his lips move farther down, and his tongue is inside me, then licking my labia, and inside me again. It’s a full-on assault, Will-style, and it’s the most amazing fucking thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

He sinks his tongue inside me again and pulls one hand around to worry my clit some more, and another orgasm is building.

“Ah, hell, babe, I’m gonna…”

He growls against me, and I lose it, this orgasm completely eclipsing the last one, if that’s even possible.

When I surface, Will is kissing his way back up my body, caressing my skin gently, and then he’s kissing me softly, and his fingers are running gently down my face.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against my lips.

I can taste myself on him. I reach for the hem of his shirt again and push my hand under it so I can caress his back, his ribs. He sighs deeply and rests his forehead on mine, eyes closed.

“Your hands feel good,” he whispers.

“So do yours. Take your clothes off.”

He sighs again, kisses my forehead and sits back on his heels.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head and then chuckles while scrubbing his hands over his face. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think I’d better go.”

What??

He must see the alarm on my face, because he chuckles again and kisses me swiftly.

“I’m picking you up for date number two tomorrow at noon.” His eyes take one more leisurely stroll down my naked body, and he curses under his breath.

“Okay,” I respond, a bit unsure, and sit up, tug my dress over my head and stand as he also rises from the floor.

“You are incredible.” He cups my face in his hands and leans down to kiss me softly.

I lead him to the front door, punch the code into the alarm system to disarm it and open the door for him.

“Noon tomorrow,” he reminds me, as if I could ever forget.

“It’s a date.” I smile shyly at him.

“Set this alarm when I leave.” He glares down at me, daring me to defy him, and I giggle.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Seven

“How many times have you been here?” Will asks me as we stand in line waiting to purchase tickets for Seattle’s Experience Music Project Museum. It’s so much more than a music museum.

I love this place.

“Dozens.” I smile up at him—geez, he’s tall—and squeeze his hand. “It changes all the time, with new exhibits and stuff. Plus, I could just sit and stare at the guitars for days. Have you ever been?”

“No, I’ve just never taken the time.” He winks down at me. “I’m a rookie.”

“That’s okay, I’ll protect you.”

He smirks and pays for our tickets, and I lead him into the museum.

We wander up to the second floor where the exhibits are, and I get lost in Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana, The Stones, the guitar gallery. I point out interesting tidbits of information for Will and drag him from room to room.

I love sharing this with him, and I love how interested he seems. He’s not just tagging along, trying to make me happy.

Best. Date. Ever.

We head up to the third floor and stand and stare at the enormous guitar sculpture. It’s at least fifty feet tall and is made up of real guitars, of all different shapes and sizes and colors. My eyes travel up it, examining the instruments, and I feel Will’s eyes on me.

“What?” I ask without looking at him.

“You look awesome in that outfit.”

“This old thing?” I ask and smirk, still not looking away from the sculpture. I’m in a white V-neck T-shirt with a loose, brown cotton vest over skinny blue jeans.

After a few moments, he’s still watching me.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask drily.

“No, you’re just so beautiful, with your auburn hair spilling down your back and pink lips parted. I like watching you. You love this, don’t you?”

“More than almost anything,” I respond truthfully. Music saved me when I was taken from Sylvia. It was my whole life in college.

“I’ve heard there’s a place here where you can get onstage,” Will comments casually, and I grin.

“There is. No, I’m not getting on it,” I murmur before he can suggest it.

“Why?”

“Stage fright,” I reply and start to lead him away from the sculpture.

“Bullshit.” Will laughs and pulls me against him, his front to my back, and wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my head. “You’re not shy, sweetheart.”

“I just don’t want to.”

“I would love to hear you. Please?”

I sigh against him. I haven’t sung for anyone other than my patients since college. Since the band broke up and Leo left town.

“Maybe,” I mutter, and he chuckles behind me.

“Let’s go find it. Before you change your mind.”

“It’s not far.”

We turn a corner, and sure enough, there it is. There’s a room with a stage boasting instruments, lights, even a sound machine that will emit applause and crowd sounds if you really want to feel like a rock star.

Because it’s the middle of the week, there aren’t many people wandering through the museum today, and this room is empty, which is unusual, because most people love interactive exhibits.

“Go ahead. I’m dying here.”

I grin up at him and wrinkle my nose, then gaze back at the stage.

“Why not?” I shrug and climb onstage. I grab an acoustic guitar, plug it into the amp and sit on a stool in the middle of the stage.

There’s suddenly a spotlight on me, and one of the museum employees waves at me and speaks into a mic. “You’re ready to go, miss.”

I nod and strum the guitar, making sure it’s in tune, and speak to Will through the mic.