“Good point,” he said. Hartley stretched an arm toward the floor, where he found one of his crutches. He swung his legs onto the floor. As I began to slide off of him, his other arm caught me under my butt. “Hang on,” he said. And then, as his torso rose into the air, I realized that he’d meant it literally. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he stood, holding all my weight in one arm. Before I knew what was happening, Hartley was carrying me, using just one crutch and one leg, hopping towards my bedroom.
The bed was only about fifteen feet away, but even so, it was an outrageous risk. “Oh my God,” I squeaked. “We’re going to die.”
Hartley paused to hitch me up even higher on his body. “That makes you the first girl ever to say that to me on our way into the bedroom.”
Chapter Thirteen: You Say That Like It's a Bad Thing
— Corey Oh, HELL yes, my hope fairy yelled as Hartley deposited me on my bed and shut the door. Then, even though I could still hear him puffing from exertion, he wrapped his powerful arms around me and picked up where he’d left off, his kiss deep and urgent.
My heart skated around my chest as he curled his hands in my T-shirt and pulled it up, over my head. Then, with exactly the sort of dexterity I’d expect from Hartley, he removed my bra with one hand.
I pulled back. “What are you doing?” I breathed.
“You have a question that needs answering,” he said. “And there will never be a better time to answer it.”
While I considered this idea, he leaned me gently back onto the bed. There will never be a better time, he’d said. Was that because we’d just drunk an entire bottle of champagne? Or because Stacia was coming back?
I was afraid I knew the answer.
“Also…” Hartley’s thumbs grazed my breasts, and I sucked in my breath. “I’m a specialist on this topic,” he mumbled. Then his tongue landed on my nipple. He circled it once, before putting his warm mouth over my breast and sucking gently.
Oh my God.
I heard a groan escape my own lips, and all reason went out the window.
“That’s a girl,” he said.
This time, when his hand slipped down my body and into my pants, I forgot to freak out. He kissed me deeply while his fingers slid toward places that had rarely been touched before. When you spend much of your senior year in a hospital, there isn’t a lot of time for dating and fooling around. His hand curved, fitting between my legs. I registered the sensation of his fingers there.
He chuckled against my lips. “Callahan,” he whispered. “Give me your hand.”
He dragged my hand down my torso and into my panties. They were wet, and so was my own body where his hand led my fingers.
“Game on,” he whispered.
Then he pulled our hands back into the air, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “That’s…” my brain didn’t seem to function.
“That’s encouraging,” he finished for me. “But that’s not all you need to know, is it?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he gave my yoga pants a good yank.
“Whoa,” I said. “Not so fast.” I rolled onto my side, moving away from him.
He dropped his hands immediately. But then he said, “Chicken much?”
I pushed myself up on an elbow. “What? Just because I don’t want you groping me makes me a chicken? That’s bullshit, Harley. Just because nobody else ever said no to you doesn’t make it impossible.”
His eyes flashed with amusement, and something else that I couldn’t read. “Fine. If you can tell me to my face that you don’t want my talented hands on you,” he dragged the pads of two of his fingers across my breast, “then I won’t call you a chicken.” He scooted closer to me, giving me a tiny kiss, with soft lips. “I’ll take it back.” Another kiss. “I will say, ‘Callahan is not a chicken.’” He punctuated the statement with a slow kiss. He teased my nipple with his thumb, and I felt lightheaded. “Say it,” he whispered between kisses. “Tell me you don’t want just a little more of this. In the name of research.”
I dropped my head onto the pillow, taking a shaky breath. “This is the weirdest night ever.”
He chuckled, and then there was a tug. I saw my panties in his hand. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He threw them on the floor, which is pretty much exactly what I’d been fantasizing about since September. But in my fantasies, we were making passionate love — it wasn’t just a random hookup, and it sure wasn’t a science experiment.
I felt his hand cup my hip. “Can you feel this, Callahan?”
I nodded, my mouth dry.
He slid a hand down my quad, which I felt, until it dipped below my knees. “How about this?”
I shook my head.
“Interesting,” he said, as if he might whip out a clipboard and begin taking notes. In fact, he sounded exactly like the doctors I saw at every visit. Can you feel this? How about this?
And suddenly it was all wrong. I pushed his hand away. “You’re making me feel like a lab rat.”
He withdrew his hand. “Sorry. Wrong approach.” He reached for me then, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me. That was better. But things were still off balance. I was sinking under the weight of my own vulnerability. If this were a championship hockey game, I’d know what to do. I’d lash out with some bold maneuver to win back the moment.