Chase Me If You Can(45)
With a hum of agreement, Wes tangles his hand in my hair and holds me in place while his mouth caresses mine. Not the insistent demand that exploded out of him at that gas station, but a gentle, beckoning thing that’s in no rush. He kisses me like he’s savoring a fine wine, the unhurried sweep of his lips and brush of his tongue so gentle in contrast to the way his fingers dig into my hip.
“Clear now?” he breathes against my mouth in a barely audible rasp.
“Maybe.” I run my palms up his chest and slide my leg over his thighs so I can press closer. “I think you might need to show me one more time.”
Wes drags his hands down my back, lower and lower, until they settle on the fleshy part of my ass. There’s something wicked in the curve of his mouth when our gazes lock. “If you insist,” he murmurs, accent thickening.
“I do.” I shift my weight, our hips not quite touching, and curl my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer as anticipation floods my veins.
“Well, then, yes, ma’am.” Wes tightens his grip and yanks me the last bit of the way to being pressed together from hip to shoulder, playfulness giving way to raw desire.
His lips demand and soothe with soft nips and tantalizing licks while one hand slides under my clothes to press against my spine, fingers splayed wide. I drink in the pleasured-filled rumble I draw out of him, scratching lightly along the back of his neck and up into his hair. He’s breathing hard when he breaks the kiss to nuzzle into me, then sucks in a sharp breath when I lightly scrape my teeth over his throat and kiss a path back to his mouth.
The last bits of himself he was holding back come loose, need tangling with emotion in the sweep of his tongue and the press of his palm on my bare skin. Wes holds me like I’m a prize he’s finally won and can’t fathom letting go.
A tornado could drop in the hotel parking lot. I wouldn’t notice. I’ve lost myself in the smell of his soap and the taste of his skin, the crisp hair on his chest as I explore under his shirt, the flex of muscle in his abdomen when my touch dances lower.
Lungs burning, I break the kiss and gulp in air, my cheek on his shoulder. Wes’s breath is far from steady, his chest rising and falling beneath me as he runs a hand up and down my spine in a soothing stroke. His other hand returns to my hair, sifting through the tangles.
“I hope that clears things up for you.”
His voice is wrecked, but the satisfied purr is what sinks into my skin. It’s hard not to think of all the little excuses he’s found to touch me over the last two weeks, the casual brushes that I’m beginning to think were anything but. I laugh into his throat, press another light kiss to his erratic pulse, and then reluctantly shift my weight back so the tempting ridge of his arousal is no longer against my hip.
“I think I’ve got it now,” I tell him, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Might need a reminder in the morning.”
Wes laughs, head thrown back into the pillows, and stretches to kiss the tip of my nose before easing out from under me. “That’s a much nicer way to tell me to get out than I expected.”
“Hey.” I snag his wrist before he gets any farther than standing next to the bed. “You don’t have to go right this second. I’d…like it if you stayed. At least for a little while. If you want.”
Wes gives me a long, indecipherable look. “Are you sure I won’t be in your way? I don’t want to keep you from resting.”
“You’re not in my way.” Without knowing how long this is going to last, I’m going to make the most of whatever time we have together. “Migraine isn’t gone completely, but I feel a lot better.”
His expression turns playful. “Sloane, if you want me to kiss you again, you can just say that.”
My instinct to protest dies before the words get out. I do want Wes to kiss me again—I want way more than kissing, if I’m honest with myself.
He settles next to me and opens his arms in invitation, waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous, exaggerated leer. It takes some of the tension out of the room, leaving me laughing as I snuggle into his chest. The soothing brush of his fingers combing through my hair and the steady thud of his heartbeat have me melting into him before long.
“Is there anything other than meds that helps with the pain? Hot washcloth? Ice?” His touch sweeps lower to rest on the back of my neck, massaging the sore muscles that haven’t quite unlocked.
“Nah.” I sigh into his chest and bury my nose in his T-shirt. “It’s not that bad anymore. Should be gone by the time I wake up. This helps,” I mumble with a yawn. Clean, fed, and well kissed, sleepiness settles over me. “You make a decent pillow.”
With the low rumble of his laugh under my ear, Wes’s languid touch lulls me into a light doze. His heartbeat slows into a steady thump, chest rising and falling in deep breaths as he relaxes deeper into the pillows. Contentment washes over me, cocooning us in a dark, warm bubble where I lose all track of time.
It’s comfortable and surprisingly easy being with him like this. But when Wes brushes his lips against my hair in an intimate gesture filled with far more affection than lust, the soft glow of my thoughts turns sharp.
This is too easy. Dangerously easy.
I pick my head up and blink a few times to test the level of pain. An ache lingers behind my eyes, the kind I can ignore if I want to. The kind I can be distracted from.