Page 62 of Smith

I was lying there thinking about Smith and all that he’d shared about his family. No, not what he shared, how he shared it. He lacked emotion when he delivered his family history. It was more like he was telling me a story about someone else’s life. No sadness. No anger. Nothing. As strange as it was, I got the impression he felt like he didn’t think he’d deserved a good family. I couldn’t articulate why I felt that coming from him. He simply accepted his parents’ horrible behavior and neglect. He was either so well-adjusted he’d processed all he’d lived through and came to the right conclusion—he wasn’t responsible for their abuse—and he’d dealt with that knowledge in healthy ways, not allowing it to affect his life.

Or he’d twisted it into his fault.

For some reason I thought it was the latter. I couldn’t say why I thought this, I just did. maybe because my heart hurt for the little boy who witnessed heinous acts of violence. My heart hurt for the sweet, strong, beautiful man who’d shown me kindness and care.

I couldn’t imagine growing up like he had and honestly I didn’t want to. Last night we’d moved the conversation from heavy to light. We’d talked about cooking, my life in Japan, all the countries I’d traveled to with my parents. Surfing, parasailing, easy get-to-know-you conversation.

But in the back of my mind I was stewing. I couldn’t stop myself from getting angrier and angrier. For the little boy and for the man. My mother had once told me that hate was poison and once you let it in, it took over. I never forgot that and I could honestly say there were very few things in life I hated. Last night, I added Smith’s parents to that list. I figured my mom wouldn’t only agree his parents were worthy of hating but she’d hate them, too.

Behind me, Smith shifted ever so slightly, giving me more of his weight. His arm tightened over my body and his hand squeezed mine.

I didn’t need to think about how good it felt—Smith cocooning me in his warmth, even in his sleep giving me his strength, protecting me. And since I didn’t need to think about it, I closed my eyes and soaked it up.

The next timemy eyes opened, Smith’s lips were on the side of my neck, his tongue making magic as I came awake.

“Good morning,” I sleepily whispered.

“It’s about to be,” he not-so-sleepily returned, and pressed his erection against my backside.

I returned the favor and wiggled back.

That was all he needed to roll away. The cool air of the room immediately washed over my naked body. I looked over my shoulder and saw him tearing open a foil packet with his teeth. Total hot guy maneuver made hotter when the side of his mouth tipped up into a smile.

He spit the top of the wrapper off to the side, giving me an unobstructed view of this lazy smile. I was so enthralled with his grin I missed him rolling the condom on.

I wasn’t so enthralled I missed his rough command, “Roll, baby, hands and knees.”

Good morning, indeed.

It became abundantly clear Smith was feeling extra bossy when he continued to issue orders.

“Scoot forward, up on your knees, hands on the top of the headboard.”

My hands had barely touched the headboard when Smith’s hand snaked around me, then went down and he cupped between my legs.

“Spread wider.”

I walked my knees wider and a finger slid through my wet, gathering my excitement before that same finger grazed my clit.

“God,” I blew out.

“Do you know how sexy you are?”

I shook my head but said, “You make me feel sexy.”

With an unintelligible growl, Smith’s finger circled faster. The faster he worked my clit the faster my breath came until I was panting.

“Mm,” he hummed. “That’s my girl.”

Was I his girl?

I wanted to be, with a desperation that was building as quickly as my climax.

“You ready for me?”

Yes!

God yes.

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