Page 46 of On the Line

“Good?” I ask her, taking a mouthful from my own bowl while I lean against the counter.

“I could get used to this.” Her eyes crinkle in delight.

I smile down into my pasta.

Me too.

After we finish eating,I dump the dirty dishes in the sink and show her to my bedroom. She stands in the doorway, a shy smile on her lips. While she surveys the space, I busy myself with picking up some clothes off the floor, stuffing them in the closet, and then de-wrinkle the duvet with a quick snap of my wrists. I give her a thin-lipped smile when I’m done, suddenly—and somewhat painfully—awkward as I wait for her to say something.

“I’m just going to go to the bathroom first,” she says softly, pointing her thumb behind her.

“Sure, it’s the door before the living room on your left.” In my head, it feels like I’m babbling, and I cringe. Something about James makes me horrifyingly self-aware and I’m struggling to keep up the casual fun-time Ozzy that usually comes so naturally to me. “Anyway, I’ll be here,” I tell her while she turns into the hallway.

I close my eyes, my head falling back toward the ceiling.

Just shut the fuck up.

For a second, I’m paralyzed, not knowing if I should just stand here until she comes back. After a quick mental flogging, I tug my shirt over my head and take off my jeans. I climb into bed in just my boxers and wait. After realizing that just sitting there, staring at the door makes me look fucking crazy, I quickly snatch my phone from my jeans pocket and resume a casual pose, forcing myself just to scroll online until she returns.

When she does, I notice she’s washed her makeup off. There are a few strands of her hair stuck to her temples as if she splashed some water on her face before pulling her hair into a ponytail.

“Classic boys’ bathroom you got there, salad boy,” she says with a sardonic smile.

I grunt a laugh, my nerves less prickly now that she’s back. The slightly degrading dig, paired with that nickname, shoots a shiver up my spine but I ignore it when I realize she’s toying with the hem of her summer dress.

“Do you want a shirt to sleep in?”

Idiot, should have thought of that earlier.

“Those crop tops you wear won’t fit me,” she says with a taunting curl of her lip, one eyebrow raised while she waits for me to answer.

“I doownfull-length shirts, Jimbo,” I shoot back while I scramble out of bed. I riffle through the middle drawer ofmy dresser and find an old band shirt for her to wear. “Here.”

She takes it, muttering a small thanks. I realize that her hesitation might have to do with me watching her undress. “Sorry,” I blurt out. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Before I have time to turn around, her steady voice reaches my ear. “I don’t want you to.”

I freeze in place, swallowing hard. My eyes flash to hers, studying her face as if trying to solidify that what I heard her say was not just me imagining things. Her smile is vulnerable but the hesitation I saw earlier is gone, replaced by a serious but hungry gaze.

Slowly, she tugs on the stringed bow on her chest. Her dress gaps open, the full curve of her breasts revealing a purple lace bra. My balls tighten and I lick my lips, ravenous. One by one, she pushes the straps off her shoulder, pushing the fabric down over her full hips. The dress falls to her feet, leaving her in only a bra and flower-patterned cotton panties.

I’m losing my fucking mind just looking at her. My gaze roves down her body, to her soft stomach that I’m desperate to feel and grip under my hands. I pause on her left thigh, my eyes flitting back up to her face. “A secret tattoo, princess?” I ask with a side grin.

“Not secret,” she answers while tugging my shirt over her bra. “Just hidden.”

The hem falls just below her hips, the material stretching over her tits, panties still peeking out. I take a step toward her. My hand curls around her neck, tilting her chin up with my thumb while I caress her thigh with the other. “I like it,” I rasp before I kiss her gently on the lips.

I like you.

She pushes a soft hum into my mouth and I swallow itwhole, starving for more. But I hold back, coaxing her to bed and under the covers instead. The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured after what she confessed to me earlier.

All I want is for her to feel safe.

Inmyarms, andmybed.

I turn off the light, the city glow still peeking through the half-open curtain, and pad over, joining her under the duvet.

I find her curled on her side, her hands in loose fists near her chest, facing me. I pull her leg over mine, our bodies tangling together, my arm snaking around her waist. The smooth silk of her skin against mine is everything I’ve ever asked for and more.

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