Page 16 of Hung Up

“How does a session tonight sound?” I offered.

“I’ll take you up on that, dear. Give me few hours?”

“Perfect, call me at 8.”

“Talk soon,” he said affectionately.

I hung up and tossed it onto the bed before faceplanting on top of it. “Ugh, I can’t believe I fucked up like that.”

“Harper, love, you heard him. He’s fine. One missed appointment is nothing,” Pierce offered, however unhelpful.

Lifting my gaze, I pinned him with a stare that told him to hush up. “It’s still bad for business, Pierce.”

Pierce’s hands raised placatingly. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not. If you really wanted to help, you’d get over here and hold me.” The last few words wobbled out of me. My hands clenched the sheets below me as I waited for him to mock my vulnerability. For all I knew, Pierce had no emotional depth to him. He was effectively a walking, talking sex machine, though I hated reducing him to such qualities. But here he was, flesh and bone that I could touch and feel. . .

Pierce stood and sauntered over to the bed before jumping into it and rolling next to me, effectively messing up the duvet once again. I pretended to grumble, but I was glad he was closer.

Strong arms wrapped around my body, curling me to his chest. I laid my head on his firm chest, breathing in the scent of my shampoo and body wash.

“Just . . . just gently pet my hair.”

A tentative hand rested atop my head, before slowly brushing downwards. My eyes shut of their own accord, and I let myself succumb to the peaceful motion. Several minutes later, once I’d calmed my breathing and racing thoughts, I rested my chin on his chest and met his gaze.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Of course, love.”

His face seemed earnest, and while there was still some lingering heat behind his eyes, I didn’t feel like he wanted to pounce on me—right now, at least.

As the afternoon bled into the evening, Pierce and I laid together as we fell into easy conversation. It seemed he was a fairly blank slate. He knew what most words meant but he didn’t always understand context. Many times we laughed until one, or both, of us had a stitch in our sides from going over the variances and inconsistencies of the English language, especially how context can change meaning.

Teaching him what “Netflix and chill” meant was probably the highlight of our conversation for me. As soon as I told him what it meant, a light sparked behind his eyes, one that he kept only partially hidden as the day wore on.

We spent the day avoiding the elephant in the room, the one that made me question my sanity: How is Pierce here?

And even with my supersized bed, some parts of our bodies were always touching, whether our legs twisting together, or my head resting on his chest. My favorite was when he’d twirl my hair around his fingers.

Sometimes he’d tug on it.

That was when the butterflies started up again.

The longer we stared at each other, the hotter the flames nestled deep in my belly blazed. Before I needed his comfort, not his heat, but now. . .

Maybe I wanted his fire now.

Maybe I wanted to burn now.

“You know I’d do whatever I could for you, right?”

My eyes stung before I shook off the emotion I didn’t want to name. Safety.

“I can see that, Pierce,” I whispered, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull his face down. The kiss started off tame, but quickly devolved into frantic scrapes of teeth and lips and tongue.

Pierce trailed a hand down my frame before grabbing my ass and squeezing. I moaned as his fingers kneaded my flesh.

“One day I’m going to fuck this ass,” Pierce growled with one final squeeze.

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