Page 62 of American Beauty

“What else?”

I bounce again, and the bedsprings protest with an unmistakable squeak. I wrinkle my nose. “Loud. Guests don’t want to feel like the whole floor can hear them rolling over—or doing anything else, for that matter.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. “Good point. What else?”

A checklist spins through my head, but nothing feels wrong. Lifting my gaze, I meet his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

He watches me for a moment, then exhales, shaking his head with something that looks a lot like disappointment. “Let me show you.”

He lowers himself to his knees in front of me, the movement slow and deliberate. My breath catches, every muscle in my body going rigid.

“Imagine this room, this bed… and the way your lover would worship every part of you until you forgot your own name.”

A warning bell chimes in my head, but I don’t move. I can’t speak.

His hands ghost over my knees. “May I?”

I blink, my brain cells scrambling. “May you what?”

His lips curl at the corner. “Show you the problem with the bed.”

I hesitate, uncertain of where this is going, but nod.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low and maddeningly calm. His hands slide from the tops of my knees to the insides of my thighs, coaxing my legs apart with a touch that’s too careful to be truly innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking, but stay with me so I can show you what I mean.”

“You’ve got about ten seconds to make your case before my better judgment shows up.”

“I’m being serious here.” He leans in closer, his eyes pinning me in place. “Imagine me as your lover and I’m going down on you.”

What the actual hell?

Every rational part of me screams to be offended, to shut this shit down.

But betrayal simmers low in my gut because his words send a flash of heat straight through me.

God, I hate that my body responds to him before my mind can.

“Do you see the problem with this?”

There’s a whole lot of problems with this. Not just one.

His grip is firm, his palms warm against my skin. The space between us smaller than it should be, the air charged with something I don’t want to name.

“Let me be more specific.”

He lowers his head and places a kiss on the inside of my thigh, his eyes locked on mine, looking up at me as he does it.

Oh fuck.

“Now do you see the problem?”

I swallow hard, pulse hammering in my ears. “The bed is too low. It makes positioning… difficult.” My voice comes out embarrassingly breathless, like it belongs to a woman who hasn’t had a man go down on her in months.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Bingo.”

“You realize that not all of your guests will be on their knees, right?”

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