I place my hand on his flat stomach and I feel a slight reaction. I move higher and his chest vibrates with a deep groan. I let my fingernails blaze a trail across his pecs and Tyler squeezes me closer to him.
My hand travels across his body and then down, skimming the waistband of his boxer shorts.
Again, I drag my hand up his stomach and revel in his reaction. I reach the place I’ve been curious about for so long—his pierced nipple—and my finger traces a lazy path an inch from the silver bar with balls on either side.
This is me asking for permission.
Tyler stills, but I take it as consent, and I let my finger touch the hard nub of his nipple. He draws a sharp breath and pulls my mouth to his, plunging us into a deep kiss as my fingers continue exploring.
When we break, I have to ask the question that’s intrigued me ever since I first saw the piercing. “This. It’s not just for show, right?”
Tyler’s lip twitches. “Right. It’s pretty much a direct connection to my, uh, groin.”
I raise my eyebrows, emboldened by this admission, letting my hand trail down his stomach again but this time not stopping at the waistband on his boxers. Through the thin material I feel him hard and thick, and his breath hitches as I stroke him.
“Seems to work,” I say, bringing playfulness into our connection. I work my fingers through the hole in the front of his underwear and feel his skin and hair. Soft and hard, smooth and rough, his body is a delicious contradiction.
Tyler stills my hand with his. “Stella, wait.”
Oh, shit. Not this again.
“I’m—I need to take this slow.”
His hand is on my hand, and my hand is on his dick, so I’d say we’re not exactly going slow. But he hasn’t pushed me away, either. “How slow is slow?”
Tyler lowers his chin to look at me, his dark eyes open and trusting. Pleading, even. “Let me hold you. Tonight, please, let’s just have this moment.” His hand releases mine and runs up my arm. A caress.
He’s not pushing me away and I’m confused. I release him and move my hand back up to his stomach and he seems to sigh, as if relieved I’m not touching him there. OK. This is weird. I’ve never met a guy who didn’t want to be touched there.
We stroke each other but it’s not a hormonal frenzy, just closeness. It’s—intimate. Even more intimate than some sex I’ve had.
Lie. It’s more intimate than most sex I’ve had. That thought is sad and telling. It’s why I wanted so desperately for someone to hold me last night as I wallowed in self-pity and loneliness.
I wish I could have asked for that, just flat-out told Tyler what I needed then, and let him hold me the way he gives me everything else so freely.
And this thought strikes me: I can. I can ask him for what I need the same way he just asked me.
“Tyler? Can I make you a deal?”
“Sure, Stella. Anything.”
“You haven’t heard my deal yet.”
“You’ve already convinced me.”
I swallow with that new information. Maybe he does like me. But I can’t wrap my head around the promise and possibility of what that means. “Let’s say sometime I just want you to hold me. Can you do that?”
“Always.”
“Promise?”
“Just say the word.”
“Even when I suck? Because sometimes I really do.”
“Especially then. Because I’ll squeeze the suckiness right out of you.”
I laugh and Tyler rolls toward me, smiling.
“So, I’m OK with going slow. If that’s what you want,” I say. He nods. Crap. He’s not giving me anything to work with here. “So, um, I’m curious. Why do you want to go slow?”
Tyler shakes his head and he won’t look at me.
“Hey, I’m still holding you. I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me, Tyler.”
“I can’t. I mean, I don’t want you to see the ugly side of what’s happening.”
I snort with laughter. “Seriously? The ugly side? Tyler, you’ve seen me at my absolute worst and you’re still here. Don’t you think I’d do the same for you?”
His mouth falls open. “Yeah, Stella, I believe you will.” I wait as he works his jaw with concentration, trying to find the right words to spit out what’s bothering him.
“There’s something happening and I don’t know what’s real or a lie yet. It could be a setup but I’m afraid there might be truth to it and I’m worried.”
I don’t follow his train of thought, but he looks scared so I stay quiet.
“I’m supposed to just shut up about it and let the lawyers work. And I can’t tell you any more. Gavin and Dave don’t know yet—only Jayce. So I really can’t tell you, at least not until they know. Can you handle that?”
“Yes.” I plant a gentle kiss on his shoulder and squeeze him tightly even though our bodies are still slick with sweat. “So that’s why you wanted us to go slow?”
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” He traces a line from the hollow of my throat down between my breasts. “But you wreck me, Stella. When I’m close to you, I can’t not touch you.”
This admission floors me, and instantly I recognize that he’s right. So many small gestures since I met him add up—holding my hand to lead me through the restaurant, sitting thigh to thigh in the cab, the piggyback rides, massaging my feet.
Each of these touches was a spark, a hum of current that tapped into my body’s energy until I couldn’t not touch Tyler either. He’s created a magnetic pull over me.
But something else is pulling him away.
EIGHTEEN
I escape the apartment early to avoid weirdness between me and Tyler. I hate the walk of shame and morning-after small talk, so I rarely stay with a guy until morning.
Hell, I rarely talk to them again.
But it’s impossible to avoid that special brand of awkward when the guy who gives you a toe-curling orgasm also happens to be your roommate. Like a coward, I put it off.
At work, I call the photographer Heath forwarded to me and her name seems familiar. We chat a few minutes as I explain my story. Then I realize that Violet is Neil’s roommate and he forwarded her name to Heath.
“What musicians have you photographed? Any story I’d recognize?”
“I haven’t really shot musicians,” Violet says. OK. Weird. “I usually do fine art photography. Not photojournalism.”
Yikes. This could be a one-way trip to disaster. But since Heath told me to use her, I’m not going to question his judgment. “What made you switch?”
“Oh, a bunch of reasons,” she answers vaguely. “Anyway, when do you want to do this shoot? You said there’s lots of natural light?”
We plan to meet at The Indie Voice in the afternoon and go to Tyler’s loft together. Considering she didn’t recognize Gavin when he helped pick up my stuff, I’m pretty sure she won’t go fangirl on the band and expose the location of Tyler’s loft, but I make her promise anyway.
As we climb the steps to Tyler’s loft, I can hear the band above us rocking an intense, fast-paced song with a catchy melody. I haven’t heard it before.
Violet follows, towering over me but rail-thin. An enormous bag of camera equipment bounces on her hip and she has a tripod slung over one shoulder. We’re both soaked with sweat by the time we hit the top stair landing.
I unlock the front door, immediately disappointed by the heat. The air conditioning is still toast and I apologize to Violet, who shrugs. The band ignores us, even though I catch Dave’s eye and he nods. The other girls aren’t here yet and I relax slightly, leading Violet to the couches to wait until the band takes a break.