@MalcolmSaint is it true you have a girlfriend? #imsad #pleasesayno

I lower my phone and turn in bed two hours later to stare at the sleeping man beside me.

I reach out and touch his jaw. I stare at his sexy mouth, completely still as he sleeps. I just slept over after wild, hot sex sessions. Me. My entire life, my fear of rejection and of being hurt by a man has made me focus solely on things I can control. My studies, my career. My body and its needs have been overpowered by my brain for years, it’s true. But not now, not tonight, not with this male.

The way he wants me . . . it takes my breath away.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I stroke my fingers over his face, tracing the contours of his jaw first, marveling over the abrading feel of his night stubble.

His lips are plush, firm, and so pink, my pulse accelerates as my own lips tingle in complete envy of my fingertips.

Without even thinking, I hold my breath and try to be as quiet as possible as I bend my head. You’re making my world spin so hard and so fast. The words shudder in my heart as I cup his jaw in both hands and press my lips as softly as I can to his without waking him up.

Something gooey and warm washes over me. Oh god, Malcolm . . .

I press my body closer to his, feeling him, looking at him. I never thought I’d see him like this, asleep with me, after sex. I’ve been admiring his smiles, the twinkle he gets when he teases me or amuses himself at my expense, and how protective he gets when his friends want to horse around with me. I never thought I’d connect with a man like this.

I love that he is centered and logical, but that with his friends, he is sometimes just a teenager—a very big, very handsome teenage boy with very expensive, very powerful toys. I love to work on him and interview him because I feel hungry for every bone he throws me. I love to be just a little bit part of his life, and right now, seeing him in a way I never thought I would, naked, in bed, sleeping, I’m so much more into him than I ever thought possible.

So when his arms come around me, and his mouth opens under my lips, and he slides his warm, damp tongue inside me, and a thousand flutters of pleasure race to my nerve endings, the only thing I can do—the only thing I want to do—is let both it, and him, take me.

22

EXCITEMENT, ECSTASY, AND EXPOS

We spend Sunday with the guys watching another White Sox game.

I fully intended to write notes on my phone to keep adding to my file, but I’m so relaxed, I’m letting myself chill out for a while.

I’m starting to feel comfortable with them—they’re like the noisy big brothers I never had. They both seem to have gone to some sort of function because they’re in suits, their ties discarded on the side, one’s jacket slung over the chair, the other’s over a sofa.

The announcer’s voice is saying something about a goal, or maybe it was a touchdown or whatever, and the boys are glued to the television screen. I’m sitting next to Malcolm, who is wearing a light blue cotton T-shirt that clings to his shoulders and light-wash jeans. He looks comfortable and commanding, sprawled on his couch. Callan and Tahoe are saying something about some player and Malcolm still has his eyes on the TV, occasionally taking a sip of his wine. That’s right, no beer for these boys. They watch their games with Pinot Noir.

A day in the life of Malcolm Saint. I laugh inwardly and try to focus on the game, but all I can think about is Malcolm’s arm behind my back. He looks so inviting in that T-shirt, all I want to do is cuddle up closer to him and bury my face in his chest and have him hold me to him with his strong arms. Instead, there’s about three inches of couch between us, which I deliberately put there for the same reason that I want to crawl into his lap. I need to calm down.

Just then, Malcolm drops his arm around my hips, and he draws me to him in one swift motion. I end up with my thigh touching his, and his arm around me.

“That’s better,” he says, satisfied with himself as he leans back again and keeps watching the game. Another sip of Pinot Noir.

Tahoe seems to have seen Malcolm’s little move, because he starts laughing. Malcolm shoots him a glare and draws me closer to him.

Men. I roll my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I turn to see Malcolm staring at my lips, which are pursed and lightly twisted in a barely controlled smile.

“This mouth,” he says, reaching down and using the pad of his thumb to pull my lips apart. He’s still looking at my lips as he withdraws his hand. He leans down to kiss me, and I freak and turn my head away. He just chuckles and places a big kiss on my cheek.

“Damn, I’ve never seen that before,” says Callan.

“What?” I ask.

He motions to Malcolm. “The king being rejected by a woman.”

“I didn’t reject him!” I say quickly. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I turn to look at Malcolm, and he has a slight scowl on his face. I’m sure he’s making a mental note to kick Callan’s ass later.

“You did,” insists Callan. “You’re gonna have to nurse that wound later.” He winks at me, and I feel Malcolm grow tense next to me.

“What? What did I miss?” says Tahoe, with his eyes still glued to the TV.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that our boy here just got—”

“OOH!! FUCK YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT!!!” Tahoe shoots up from his chair and claps his hands together. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!!”

I think something good just happened. Callan and Malcolm look back to the screen and join Tahoe’s little celebration. I feel Malcolm’s chest vibrate with his deep voice, and I feel my head instinctively sink a little closer to him.

He leans his head down to my ear and explains what happened. I nod, but all I can think about is how his voice sounds. Deep and manly. And I just want to crawl into his lap again.

He plants a kiss on my temple and looks back up at the screen.

This is too much. I try to move away from him, but he just tightens his arm around me. Fuck.

I hadn’t really been into baseball so much until now, and even though I’m so relaxed that I could tune out, Malcolm keeps reminding me that he knows I’m here with his stupid little touches. Sometimes it’s a kiss on the top of my head, or his hand on my thigh, or his thumb rubbing across the inside of my wrist. Each and every touch makes me dissolve and dissolve and dissolve. They’re little, insignificant touches, but they make my head swirl and my stomach flip.

I promised myself I wouldn’t, but by the end of the game my head is on his chest and his arm is holding me against him. Callan and Tahoe keep staring at us A) like we’re some kind of dinosaur/extinct animal they can’t believe is actually there before their eyes, and B) like we’re some kind of magical sight that might disappear in a blink of an eye. I can tell they’re not used to seeing Malcolm like this. And I feel like I’m playing with fire. I feel like the closer I cuddle into him, the more I relax into him, the more I let my head settle into the crook of his shoulder, the harder I’ll burn later.