Page 88 of Them Bones

“Tried,” he said, “but… I can’t.”

Do you want me to read to you?

Yes.

She hopped onto his bed, ignoring the flush in his cheeks, and flipped to the last third or so, trying to find where they’d left off.

She’d expected him to sit on the floor, or something equally stupid. But he didn’t. He had crawled onto the bed with her, pressed his left hand against her lower belly, and laid his head down on her ribs where he could hear her heart pounding so fast it hurt.

She’d cleared her throat and started to read, her voice coming out shaky at first, but it wasn’t until he’d started tracing patterns with his fingers – patterns that were dipping dangerously low on her tummy – that her breath started hitching.

“Shane,” she said, “this is very distracting.”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed.

“Can you… stop, please?”

“No.”

“Shane, either stop orget me off, I’m not in the mood for torture tonight,” she spat.

She had expected him to stop. To roll away, embarrassed, and leave. Instead, his fingers dipped lower, running over the fly of her jeans.

“Well… we can’t have you beingtortured…” he murmured.

Laney froze. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “what did you just say?”

His hand had fully made its way between her legs, tracing the seam in the crotch of her jeans. He’d turned his face into her belly, his free hand pushing up her shirt, his lips finding the skin of her abdomen and working upwards towards her navel.

When his tongue had darted out and flicked her belly button ring, she’d convulsed, her body bowing off the bed.

That day was like a record that skipped, playing parts of a song. She couldn’t remember it, not in a straight line, not all at once. Just snippets of pleasure unlike anything she’d ever felt before as he took over her body, walked her right up to the edge of oblivion and pushed her over.

It had been slow, in that excruciating way that only Shane could make it slow. The memory of it came to her in pieces, like a dream – the colour of his ceiling, his teeth on her neck, the feel of his comforter, his fingers popping the button of her jeans, the smell of his sheets, his hand drifting slowly into herpanties, his tongue sliding into her mouth at the same time as he slid two fingers inside of her, the feel of his erection pressed to her jean-clad thigh through his pants, the picture on his dresser, his groan as he felt her wetness, and always –always –the unending stream of consciousness he whispered to her…

He told her she was beautiful. He told her he’d never smelled anything as good as her. He told her how wet she was, and how much it turned him on. He told her she couldn’t even imagine all the things he wanted to do to her.

She’d come so hard she’d cried, tears leaking out of her eyes, her hips held down by his other hand to steady the bucking, her muscles screaming and her knuckles white from fisting the blanket.

She still blushed whenever she thought about it. Which wasevery goddamn second.

He hadn’t let her touch him that day. In fact, he hadn’t let her touch him formonthsafter that.He’d just done up the button of her pants, pulled her shirt gently back down, and with a lazy, feline smile put his head back down on her ribs and held up the damn book.

Laney had thrown it across the room, Shane shaking with silent laughter.

“I hate that book,” she said.

“Awe, come on Laney… I still don’t know how it ends…”

“Well, whose fault is that?” she’d sniped, crossing her arms.

Shane had lifted his head and crawled up her body, hovering over her, stroking her hair with his hand.

“Laney, I fucked up last time. Like,monumentally.But I’m not going anywhere, okay? I –” he’d cut himself off.

“You what?”

He’d dropped a kiss on her throat but didn’t say anything else.

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