Page 74 of Texting My Valentine

He looks at me like I’m the only partially clothed woman he’s ever seen. His gaze says he wants to worship and devour me in equal measure. He looks at me like I matter; at this moment,wematter.

He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, the fabric of his shorts showing the outline of his manhood. His muscles are tense, veins bulging as if he’s barely keeping a lid on his lust.

Slipping his hands inside my coat, he squeezes onto my bare hips, making a groaning sound I think I could get used toveryfast. He leans down, bringing his lips to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me right away. Instead, he looks into my eyes.

“You’ve got the most perfect body,” he says fiercely.

When I roll my eyes, he gently touches my face and makes me look at him.

“Don’t laugh it away or pretend it’s not true. It’s a fact, angel. You look perfect. Curves in all the right places.”

“Yeah…”

Before I finish with aright, he touches my wrist and guides my hand to the front of his shorts.

“Can’t you feel how perfect you are? I’ve been rock solid ever since you agreed to come here. I’ve been fucking pulsing with how hard I am.”

I moan as I stroke my hand up and down his length. He’s not lying. He feels like he’s ready to explode any second. As he smooths his free hand down my stomach and to my underwear, I realize I’m able to let it all go—the doubt, the fear, the poet’s curse of constantly being outside myself, watching.

No. I’minthis moment. I’mwithmy man.

“We should go somewhere private,” I murmur. “What if Elliot…”

I giggle in delight when he sweeps me off my feet. He does it with such ease as though I weigh nothing. I feel like I’m flying as he carries me through the house. He makes me feel weightless and precious when he handles me like this.

He pauses near his door. “Help me out here, will you?” he whispers.

I laugh, reaching down for the handle.

The second it’s open, he pushes inside and carries me to the bed. His body feels on fire, heat smoldering up from inside. He lays me on the bed and then stands over me, visibly trembling, staring at me as if nobody else exists, has ever existed.

I’m getting poetic. Sue me. I can’t take this casually like Cleo would. I can’t be one hundred percent pure emotion like Lily,either. I’m somewhere in between, a unique mix that exists just for me and my man.

“What are you thinking?” he says passionately, climbing onto the bed, climbing on top of me.

I wrap my arms around him as he presses his body against mine, letting me feel all the hunger inside him.

“I was thinking that I’m done fighting,” I whisper, stroking my hands up and down his bare arms, feeling the solidness of his muscles, his lust pulsing through him. “I tried to pretend I could be like Cleo, that this was simple. I tried to pretend, full stop, but something’s happening here…”

“Valentine’s magic,” he says with an ironic smirk.

“Ha ha,” I mutter.

He kisses me fervently, trailing his hand up my leg, sizzling pleasure dancing up my thigh and kissing my core. My underwear feels suddenly wet and sticky.

“Who said I was joking?” he murmurs between frantic and hungry kisses.

“Magic, fate. It’s all so…”

“Poetic?” he offers.

I raise my eyebrow, squeezing down on his arms, digging my nails into his skin. My nails bend like they might break against his solid flesh. “I was going to say cheesy.”

“It’s Valentine’s magic, my voluptuous, virgin Valentine, but perhaps not in the way people usually mean ‘magic.’ A miracle led me to a night like that, dragged along by my friend. Where I just so happened to see the most beautiful, curviest, angelicwoman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and that some jerk gave me a chance to defend you. Call it a coincidence if you want, but something changed between us that night. Texting changed us. A simple walk down the beach, for us, meant so much more. Maybe it’s cheesy, but I was starting to give up hope of finding love before I met you.”

“Love?” I whisper.

“I know.” He kisses the edge of my mouth, making me shiver. “I’m moving too fast.”

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