“Okay, pop it in. I’m going to go brush my teeth.”
He tossed me the case and I caught it easily. “I’m on it.”
I put the DVD in and settled on his bed and began watching the previews. I scooted over to my side, the side of the bed farthest from the door, remembering his notion that he’d protect me if anyone broke in. I scolded myself thinking a side of his bed was mine.
Just when I was starting to wonder what was taking him so long, I heard the sound of water running and a shower curtain being pulled back. Dirty thoughts flashed through my mind. Was that an open invitation to join him in the shower? Other than the odd lingering glance, Cohen hadn’t indicated he wanted to be anything more than friends. I had never really had a close guy friend, so this was sort of new territory for me, but I liked it.
A few minutes later, just as the previews were wrapping up, Cohen came back in the room, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts and a white V-neck T-shirt. He settled onto the bed next to me, folding the pillow in half under his head and punching it into place. “Sorry, I decided to take a shower too.”
“No problem.” I looked over at him and smiled. His tan skin was delicious against the white cotton shirt. And he smelled like crisp, clean soap and a hint of spicy cologne.
I shifted closer and breathed him in.
“What?” He smirked.
“You smell good.”
“I do?”
I nodded. “Like soap…and…” I leaned in again to try and identify it.
He smiled. “Come here.” He held out his arm until I scooted against his side. He was warm and the firm muscles of his body felt amazing pressed against mine. It was times like this I couldn’t decipher his motivations.
The movie started but I was too distracted to concentrate on it, instead noticing Cohen’s bare feet which were long and tan, with fine light hair sprinkled on the top. Why had I never noticed before how sexy a man’s bare feet could be?
Cohen absently traced a slow pattern on the inside of my forearm, dragging his thumbnail down to my palm, and back up, over the inside of my wrist. I wondered if he could feel my pulse jump at the simple touches, if he realized the effect he was having on me. I snuck a glance up at his face, and he seemed to be oblivious, absorbed into the movie. Despite my body’s urgings I didn’t want to be the aggressor with Cohen. I may have had no problem in the past taking what I wanted, but I wanted him to choose me. And I wouldn’t do anything to interfere, as much as I might be tempted to.
I swallowed and lay completely immobile, waiting for his hand to make a more daring move, but he continued right on skimming his fingertips softly along my skin, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was turning me on. I decided upon conducting an experiment to see what kind of response I could provoke from him. I placed my hand flat on his stomach and waited for several minutes for him to get used to the contact. Then, I let my fingertips drift along his washboard abs, slowly gliding over his ribs, and then back down, stopping just above the waistband of his shorts. His hand stilled on my skin, resting at my pulse point and I knew he could feel its insistent thrumming.
He lifted up on his elbow to look down at me. I knew I was flushed and pink like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. He placed a hand against my cheek, as if checking my temperature.
“You’re warm. Are you feeling okay?” His eyes met mine, narrowing with confusion and worry.
No I’m not okay, I’m horny as hell and you’re driving me crazy! “Fine, why?”
He shook his head, like he was clearing a thought. “Okay. I’ll just get you some water.” He stood from the bed and crossed the room.
I don’t want any damn water, I want some cock! I fell back onto the pillow with a huff. This boy was going to be the death of me.
When Cohen returned with the water, I dutifully swallowed the big gulp he insisted I have before he would join me on the bed again.
Once that was done, he nestled me in against his body and placed his arm around me, his fingertips absently skimming along my shoulder. My skin tingled all over. I was hyperaware of each tiny movement of his fingers, wanting him to touch me elsewhere, to explore more of my body. But this time when he picked up my hand once again and began rubbing my knuckles with his thumb, I tried not to read anything into it.
“Enjoying the movie?” he whispered.
“Mm-hmm.” I didn’t trust myself enough to form actual coherent words just then. The room around us had grown dark except for the faint glow of the TV, and the air buzzed with sexual attraction.
He turned my hand over and held it in his, continuing to massage my palms with the pad of his thumb. It was simple and innocent, yet completely f**king turning me on.
Cohen held my palm up and looked at it. “Your hands are tiny.”
My breathing turned shallow and I waited in anticipation for what was building between us, hoping it would advance beyond the just-friends stage.
“This is your life line.” He traced his thumb along the center of my palm, sending a ticklish rush through me. He brought my hand closer to inspect it in the dim light. “And your love line. But it stops abruptly right here.” He tapped near my thumb.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Yeah, I swore off the whole commitment thing years ago.”
“Bad experience?” He set my hand down between us.
“Something like that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I never talked about him. Ever. Not even with Ashlyn. Cohen smiled at me sadly, like I was broken. I didn’t want him to feel pity for me. I didn’t want him to feel anything for me, except maybe desire. That wouldn’t be so bad. He picked up my hand again and laced his fingers with mine.