Megan Hart - Switch

and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother

with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the

chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door

and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go

through first.

"Such a gentleman," I said.

He paused after he shut the door. "I try."

Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who

made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,

both of us looking.

"Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.

"In the kitchen."

He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a

queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons

of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,

then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in

the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-

cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-

handled spoons.

"I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his

preparations, searching for the words that would keep me

on top, but found none.

He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?

Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"

"A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice

cream. "Extra hot fudge."

"Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.

He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and

oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come

to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice

cream before he even lifted his spoon.

"Good?" he asked.

I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste

buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a

mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder

than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to

his mouth.

I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."

He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the

spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick

away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his

hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do

to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.

Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I

didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up

at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to

his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile

when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,

just barely.

just barely.

He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."

This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my

feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,

though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the

thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in

my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in

my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.

When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in

another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd

changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose

and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,

but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my

thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been

strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it

move on my shins as he exhaled.

He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up

my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees

and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem

of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his

eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and

over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to

the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

loud in the silence.

When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half

turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands

clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for

him and my head tipped back just a little.

He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the

brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked

down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers

into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric

nuzzled higher onto my thigh.

He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel

my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his

hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next

breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.

I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they

cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed

the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach

my pussy at that pace.

The only sounds had been our breathing and the squeak of

the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

heard the low but unmistakable sound of Eric's groan. I felt

it, too, in a puff of hotter air and the wetness of his kiss

higher stil but not high enough.

I looked down at his hunched shoulders and the big hands

pushing up my skirt. At his dark hair, the fringes tickling

my thighs. At the sweep of his lashes and slope of his

forehead, al I could glimpse of his face.

What the fuck was I doing?

One hand found its way to his hair and I lost my fingers in

it, relishing the springy coarseness for only a moment

before I tightened my grasp and puled his head up. His

eyes opened, blurred with lust. His lips, moist, parted as

he focused on my face.

I could not do this. Not like this. Not because I didn't love

him, or because he wasn't my boyfriend, not even because

we hadn't even had an official date. I'd done more with

men I'd never even seen again. And not because I didn't

want his face between my thighs, making me come on his

tongue, because I wanted it so much desire left me light-

headed.

"No," I said in a grinding voice, because this wasn't fair.

Not to him, and not to me.

Eric pushed away from me at once and I released my grip

on his hair. He didn't get to his feet but rocked back on his

heels, his expression stricken. "I'm sorry. Paige. I don't

know what made me think that was okay. I'm sorry."

With shaking hands, I pushed my skirt to cover my knees.

I swalowed against the lump in my throat and tried to

breathe slow and easy so I wouldn't embarrass myself by

fainting or something stupid. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Paige, I'm so sorry." Eric's voice broke on my name and

he cleared his throat but didn't say anything else.

Would he have gone to his knees for me had he not been

doing as I'd ordered?

The chair screeched on the tiles as I pushed to my feet.

None of my muscles wanted to cooperate. They wanted

me back in that chair, my legs spread wide with Eric's face

between them. I shook my head at myself, but Eric

misunderstood.

"Please…I'm realy not a jerk." He stood but didn't reach

for me. "I shouldn't have done it. But I was…" I found my

voice. "You were what?"

"I was taken by you." His curiously old-fashioned phrasing sounded just right. "I like you, and I thought…I was

stupid. I'm sorry."

I could have said it was okay, but it wasn't, and not for the

reasons he'd have assumed. "I'm going to go now."