Page 77 of Risky Pucking Play
“Of course. Do you think I’d pick out white bed covers on my own?” I say, picking up one of the pillows. “And these? Not in a million years. But, I have to admit—I do kind of like them.”
We both stand there for an awkward moment and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am. I’m dying to feel her body against mine again, but we agreed to take it slowly and I’ll be damned if I’m going to push. If she wants to change her mind, that’s one thing, but I’m not going there unless she’s leading.
Elena's cheeks flush slightly, and I'm sure mine are doing the same.
I run a hand through my still-damp hair. "Maybe we should head back to the living room? I've got some wine waiting, and I bought some snacks."
She nods, somehow looking relieved and disappointed at the same time.
I show her where the remote is. "Pick out a movie? I'll be right back."
When I return to the living room, she's curled up on one end of the sectional, scrolling through movie options.
"Action? Comedy? Horror?" she asks, looking up.
I place the wine and snacks down on the leather ottoman, and I settle beside her, close but not touching. "I'm good with anything."
She selects a psychological thriller that's been getting buzz and sets the remote down. As the opening credits roll, I stretchmy arm along the back of the couch, an invitation without pressure.
Elena shifts closer, tucking herself against my side like she belongs there. Her hair smells amazing and I take a deep whiff and hope she doesn’t think that’s weird.
"How was your day?" I ask, my fingers playing with the ends of her hair.
"Good. Busy." She relaxes further against me. "Had a breakthrough with one of the Steel's rookies. Kid's been struggling with some serious performance anxiety."
"That's great." I mean it, genuinely proud of her work with her new team. "They're lucky to have you."
The movie plays on, but I find my attention drifting to the points where our bodies connect—her head against my shoulder, her knee pressed against my thigh, her hand resting lightly on my leg. The casual intimacy of it feels more significant than any passionate encounter I've ever had.
Fifteen minutes into the film, Elena tilts her head up to ask me something about the plot. Our faces are suddenly inches apart, and the question dies on her lips. Her eyes drop to my mouth.
I close the distance between us, kissing her softly. She responds immediately, her hand sliding up to cup my jaw. What begins as gentle quickly deepens, her lips parting beneath mine.
We've been careful about being in these situations—limiting ourselves to goodnight kisses and brief touches. But alone in my apartment, the restraint we've practiced frays at the edges.
I pull her closer, one hand tangling in her hair. She makes a small sound that nearly undoes me. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"So much for watching the movie," she says with a laugh.
"I wasn't paying attention anyway." I brush my thumb across her lower lip. "Too distracted. And you’re extremely kissable."
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Well, I’m not the only one."
We try to focus on the movie again, but within minutes, Elena's fingers are tracing patterns on my arm, and my hand has found its way under the hem of her sweater to the warm skin of her back.
"We're doing it again," she whispers against my neck.
"Doing what?" I ask innocently, even as I press my lips to her temple.
"Getting distracted." She sighs as I trail kisses down to her jaw. "Maybe we should just admit we're not going to watch this movie."
"No, no. We’re watching it. Not watching it is definitely a bad idea," I murmur, capturing her mouth again.
This time, the kiss is slower, deeper—months of longing pouring into each touch. Her hands slide under my shirt, tracing the contours of my chest and stomach. I pull her onto my lap, needing her closer.
When her hips shift against mine, I groan, breaking the kiss to rest my forehead against hers.
"We shouldn’t be doing this," I say, though stopping is the last thing I want to do.
