I Want It That Way. Ann Aguirre

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      “Disappointed?”

      “Why would I be?” I smiled down at him.

      “Sometimes girls romanticize the situation. ‘Poor Ty, if only he had a woman giving it to him regular and helping with Sam, his life wouldn’t be such a black hole of suck.’” He lifted one shoulder in a lazy half shrug and demanded, “Ears.”

      I was only half-sure what he wanted, so I rubbed up and down the shell, gently, with thumb and forefinger. “Like that?”

      He hissed out a breath when I scraped my fingernails behind them. “Exactly.”

      It might be wrong, but I secretly hoped this was turning him on a fraction as much as me. Even the weight of his head in my lap felt like foreplay, but I didn’t roll my hips. Ears are sensitive. Wonder what lips, teeth and tongue would do to him. I swallowed hard and went back to running my fingers through his hair. It seemed safer. The party was still going strong, and it was only eleven. I might have several good hours of Ty-petting left.

      “I hope you don’t think I see you that way,” I said.

      “Hmm?”

      “The ‘black hole of suck’ thing.”

      “Nah. You don’t give off the fix Ty vibe. If you did, I’d be avoiding you like the plague, not hanging out on a Saturday night.” He sounded relaxed, sleepy even. “Though I have no idea what’s in it for you.”

      “I like you,” I said softly.

      You have no idea how much.

      “You’re crazy. Didn’t you hear the grumpy asshole part earlier?”

      “Maybe you save that for other people.” I decided to get creative and scooped my hands beneath his head, like I’d seen masseuses do on TV. Since I had no training, I couldn’t be sure what I was supposed to be doing, but I flexed my palms and rubbed the heels of my hands against the base of his skull. Ty arched his neck, lifting his chin until I heard a faint pop.

      He groaned. “God. You’re so good, I’d pay you.”

      “First I’m a barbiturate and now—”

      “You really should’ve hit me by now.” Ty flung an arm across his face, cheeks flushed.

      “I’ll snuggle you into submission.”

      “It’s working.”

      “What else do you miss? Besides the music scene.”

      He turned his head side to side, increasing the pressure until I was worried about hurting him, and it reminded me of how he’d dug his knuckles into the back of his head. This had to be my unconscious responding to that moment, wanting to make him feel better. From the way he was smiling, it seemed to be doing the trick.

      “How honest am I supposed to be?”

      “Completely. I won’t tell.”

      “You want me to bare my soul, huh?”

      I want you to take off your pants. But I’ll settle for deep, meaningful conversation. I was only half kidding, even in my head, but Ty’s friendship felt rare and precious, a leap of faith that he didn’t offer many people. I might not be special, but he made me feel that way.

      “Yep,” I said aloud.

      “I miss sleeping in. I miss waking up with someone else and having time for slow, lazy morning sex.”

      Oh, hello. Yes. Please. The mental images his words conjured were so very tantalizing. I pictured a sleepy, horny Ty, wrapped around me, his lips on my neck, nibbling down to my shoulder while he took me from behind, his cock working in and out with infinite patience. His hands would be all over me, stroking, caressing in counterpoint to his thrusts. We’d take hours making each other come, maybe not even getting out of bed until well into the afternoon.

      I stifled a whimper.

      Oblivious to what a firestarter he was, he went on, “I miss showering after and fixing breakfast while mock-arguing about whether we should go grocery shopping or back to bed.” There was a tight, drawn cast to his mouth, as if those were memories of the girl who left him.

      Damn. Intuition whispered that he’d be a different sort of sad if she was dead, haunted instead of laced with regret. He radiated self-recrimination in the angle of his shoulders and the way his gaze turned inward when he spoke of her.

      I tried to distract him by offering an emotional snapshot of my own. “I’ve never had that. Not in high school for obvious reasons, and until this year, I lived in the dorm. Most people bitch about the lack of privacy, but...” My voice dropped to a shy whisper. “I liked it.”

      “What?” His eyes snapped open, and he stared up at me, fascinated, fully in the moment.

      I’d never told anyone this, not even Lauren. “Sometimes, when my roommate was drunk, she’d bring a guy back to our room. I always pretended like I was asleep, but I loved listening, watching the shadows under the covers, seeing them twist and move.”

      Telling him that sometimes I got off was probably too much information. So I shut up, studying his expression. At least he didn’t look sad anymore.

      “And I’m right back to wanting to fuck your brains out,” he said hoarsely. “Is this party ever going to end?”

      In his sweats, it was obvious that he was telling the truth. Tipping my head back, I implored the universe for moral fortitude. “I can go.”

      “I can take it,” he said softly. “I’m a pro at not getting what I want.”

      Like a bite of poisoned apple, I swallowed the argument that the old frustration didn’t have to apply to me. “Back to things you miss?”

      “Yeah. This will sound really specific, but...”

      “What?”

      “Little things. Like...I had a girlfriend in high school. We’d study on her bed, me lying down, her propped against the headboard reading. She had the habit of pulling my shirt up and running her nails lightly up and down my back. Drove me crazy, but I loved it.”

      “It turned you on?” Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t resist.

      He laughed. “Well, yeah. Goose bumps over my entire body. But I was sixteen. Walking to the bathroom got me hot.”

      “Fair point.” I desperately needed a change of topic, or I’d have to ask him to take a cold shower. “Is Ty short for Tyler?”

      “Yeah. But it’s my last name.”

      “What’s your first?”

      “Daniel. Your last?”

      “Conrad.”

      Glancing down, I caught him shaping the syllables with his mouth, and I was tempted to tell him that my middle СКАЧАТЬ