Soren’s head was beside mine, his breath warming my cheek as he spoke. With his chest firm against my back, I could feel it moving, hard and hurried. Or was that my chest moving quickly?
His arm didn’t untie from around me. His head didn’t pull away when he was done talking. I didn’t want him to pull back either. I wanted him to come closer. I wanted his other arm around me, his mouth warming my skin with more than just his breath. Inside, I felt a match being lit, a flicker of light as it struck. I knew I’d explode in a ball of fire when that match dropped—from weeks of fuel being spread inside me, waiting to be ignited.
Behind me, his body moved. Even, methodical waves rolled against me.
“What are you doing?” My voice wasn’t my own.
“It’s a party. I’m dancing.” His other hand slid into the bend of my hip, no hesitation in his touch.
“Where did you take your dance lessons?” I tipped my head back at him, trying to look unimpressed when I was feeling very much the opposite. The man could move. His body. His hips. He could really move his hips. “The School of Bump and Grind?”
He huffed, moving against me in true bump-and-grind fashion. Having his body moving against mine the way it was, feeling the way it seemed to fit into the bends and dips of mine had my mind drifting to other ways our bodies might fit together.
Roommate.
Obnoxious.
Short Fuse.
I listed off as many discredits as I could. Then I repeated the list. But it wasn’t working. Thinking about Soren’s shortcomings while his body was moving against me so closely I could feel his heartbeat thumping against my back, was about as effective as throwing a thimble of water at a forest fire.
Useless.
That’s what my attempts to confine my feelings for him felt like right then.
“You giving me the brush-off, girlie?”
Soren turned me around so I was facing him. At this proximity, I could smell the minty sweetness on his breath. I could see the silver shards in his light eyes. I could see the three light freckles scattered at the bridge of his nose, probably from playing baseball every summer since he was five.
“I thought you loved to dance?”
“I used to,” I said, avoiding eye contact.
Up until this moment, when I felt like every feeling I shouldn’t have was about to detonate through the room for everyone to see.
“You used to?” He spun his ball cap around like he usually wore it.
“Now I hate it.”
“You hate dancing now?”
“Things change.”
“How can you hate dancing with me as a dance partner? I mean, I paid attention during Magic Mike. I might have even taken a few notes.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “You watched Magic Mike?”
“I went with my mom. I was the only male Decker secure enough in his manhood to go with her.” His hip movements became a little more “obvious” as his back arched back a bit. “There’s this one move I’ve been working on—it takes about a half hour of stretching first, but it makes the ladies go crazy.” His brows bounced, something flashing in his eyes.
“What move is that? Putting the toilet seat down when you’re done using it?” My arms folded in front of my body, having nowhere else to go. “Because, yeah, I do go crazy when you, on occasion, remember to do that back at the apartment.”
“Hey, Ball Buster, time to give them a break for one night—before they fall off. What fun would you have if that happened? Got to remember to take care of my proverbial balls you like to crush in the palm of your hand.”
“Your balls, proverbial ones included, will never get anywhere close to the palm of my hand.”
“You’re saying that to convince yourself, right? Because you sure as hell didn’t convince me.”
Even though I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could see his grin from the corner of my eye.
“Because my balls are fantastic. A masterpiece. A real testament to manhood. Symmetrical, grandiose, soft yet firm. They’re a damn sight to behold, my balls.”
My teeth were still working at my lip to keep me from snorting at his confidence or laughing at his antics. “How do you think they’d like the caress of my knee joisting into them?”
“Your proverbial knee?”
Lifting my leg, I skimmed my knee up his thigh. The steady movement of his dance hiccupped then stalled. A moment later, he’d recovered, but now I was wondering if he felt the same kind of “something” I did when our bodies were this close.
“This knee. My literal one.”
“Well, I was referring to my proverbial balls. So if you want to caress them with your knee or the palm of your hand”—his grin stretched wider—“you’re going to have to do so with your proverbial ones.”
My teeth released my lip, and I let myself smile. I was tired of holding back my feelings for him. A smile wasn’t going to set off some avalanche that led to the two of us becoming more than just roommates.
“Why are you scared?” Soren asked, his hands slipping down my back until they fell onto the shelf of my backside. The pads of his fingers were just barely touching what was roughly butt territory, the rest of his hands resting securely in lower back land.
“I’m not scared,” I answered, glancing around the room. The scariest thing around was that ratty, old sofa that had clearly seen its share of action. All kinds.
“You’re scared of me.”
My forehead creased as my eyes met his. “If I was scared of you, I sure wouldn’t be sharing a closet with you.”
His head shook. “You’re scared of something about me.”
“Well, if you want to break it down to micro, yeah, there’s a lot about you that scares me. I can put together a list if you want. I can section it off by category and subcategory if it would be helpful.”
Instead of smiling from me teasing him, his face got all serious. That was never good. “You’re scared to touch me.” His eyes dropped to where my arms were still crossed. “Why?”
“I touch you all of the time,” I argued, my voice a few notes too high.
“Yeah, when I’m at arm’s length, but not when I’m close.” He moved closer, his chest pressing against mine causing a chain reaction of sensations spiraling through my body. His expression was still frozen in seriousness. “Why?”
We were connected at the chest, hips, and thighs. I could feel his energy breaking over me, siphoning into my depths. I could feel my own dispersing into him, burrowing deep. I’d been close to other guys before, at least in physical proximity, but I’d never felt this.