Page 59 of Mister Mom

I force myself to walk at a normal pace down the stairs, even though anticipation has my legs wanting to sprint back to rejoin Vance.

“Trouble?” he asks, one arm across the back of the couch and a beer in his other hand. The television is tuned to the sports channel.

I can’t help the way that my chest warms at seeing Vance so comfortable in my home—as if he belongs here.

“I opened you a bottle of white. That okay?” he asks as I round the coffee table to take a seat on the couch.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

I sit there with my feet resting on my coffee table, watching the rundown of the day’s sporting events that I care nothing about.

After a few minutes Vance leans forward, taking the wine glass from my hands and placing it on the table. “You into Oregon Ducks football?” he asks as he leans his weight on my body until my back is on the couch.

I glance at the TV screen which is showing some clips of a college football game. “Not at all.” I shake my head.

“Good, because you’re going to be my entertainment tonight.” His lips descend and my body loses all the pent-up tension, relaxing into the soft cushions of my couch and melting into his body. His knee spreads my legs apart, and he fits himself between them.

“Vance?” I almost whisper.

“Yeah?” he murmurs as his tongue flicks at my earlobe.

“Can we go upstairs?” For some reason I can’t stand the thought about having sex on the couch for our first time. I am not in high school.

He stands, holds out his hand. “I was hoping you’d say that, but I didn’t want to assume.”

I accept his offering and he pulls me up off the couch, then holds me steady at my hips.

“We don’t have to sleep together,” he says. “I’d be happy just to make out.”

I fist his t-shirt in my hands. “I wouldn’t.” I pull him forward and he chuckles, letting me wield the power for a moment.

Once we reach the stairs, he lifts me up, throwing me over his shoulder and quietly walking up the stairs.

My bedroom is dark and I’m glad I took a few minutes this morning to tidy up my room and make my bed this morning. Not that I think that would deter either of us at this point. He shuts the door and flicks the lock.

“Just in case.” We share a smile as I slide down his front until my feet reach to the floor.

“Remember when I was trying to tell you something earlier?” he asks, his two hands interlocked with mine.

I unhook one hand and place a finger over his lips. “Not now. I don’t want to think about anything else tonight… just this.”

“But…”

“No.” I rise up on my tiptoes and place my lips to his, hoping he’ll listen to me and kiss me back. I’m not usually a seize-the-moment person and I don’t want this moment to pass me by because I began to retreat into my head with what if’s.

He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and my hands wrap around his neck, running through his soft, chestnut hair.

He pulls me flush against him and our lips touch, my eyes falling closed as we explore each other’s mouth. Step by step, he guides us to the bed, his lips never leaving mine, where he lies on top of me. Half of his weight is pressed against me and it feels like heaven. His hands run down my sides, sneaking under the hem of my blouse and exploring my curves.

My nipples peak, ready to be played with. Just like the other night, his fingers pull down the cup of my bra to expose my breast, which fits perfectly in his palm. He massages my flesh, tweaking my nipple, and my head falls back to the mattress with a moan.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, undoing the buttons on my shirt, slowly, like he’s savouring every moment.

My blouse falls to the sides of my body and he runs his knuckles up and down the center of my stomach, spurring goose bumps to skitter along his path. His hand stops and I inhale a breath, waiting for him to undo my bra.

“Relax, Layla.” He unclips the clasp between my breasts and bends down, kissing my skin while he brushes the fabric away so that my bra now lies with my blouse. “I knew you were perfect.” He moves to my right breast, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling the puckered tip around in his mouth like a cherry from a sundae.

“Far from perfect.” My two hands run through his hair as he moves to my left breast, mimicking the same motion.

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