Page 17 of Bottle Rocket
She squirmed again, and his smile went wolf-like. She enjoyed hearing him talk about it, but more than that, she wanted toseehim give up control.
“I haven’t had sex that was freeing since … damn, not since you.” She laughed at the realization. They’d been awkward and fumbling, but it had been so sweet.
Leo grunted. “That just makes me mad at your ex-husband. You deserve good sex, Rosie. You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted.”
She’d heard her sister talk about what sex could be, what it could mean, and Rosie had always felt as if she was missing something. She liked sex. Orgasms were great. But sex with Landon had been fraught for so long.
“He cheated, and I knew he was doing it.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Talking exes has to be the biggest mood killer ever. Unless we’re talking about your stacked Air Force pilot.”
“You’re lying there in the hottest sheer lace bra known to man. You could be talking about taxidermy, and I’d still be drooling. I was hard before you started talking. I’m harder now.”
Huh. Taxidermy? She’d add it to her list of potential hobbies.
“He said I was frigid. During one of our fights he called me a cold fish.”
“Oh, Rosie. That’s not true.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I have eyes. Because I don’t think the same girl that kissed me until our lips bled when we were eighteen could ever be frigid. Because you stripped off your top like a fucking rock star earlier. Because, if I’m being perfectly honest, I have no doubt that you could take control of any and every situation you were put in, and I find that incredibly sexy.”
“I’m not so sure.” Rosie wanted to believe him, but her confidence had taken major hits in the last few years.
“I am.” He stopped drawing and met her eye.
“I want to get off with someone who cares about me. Landon didn’t.”
“I care about you.”
Rosie’s heart hammered in her chest. This was the direction she’d been hoping this would go, but she couldn’t quite believe it was happening.
“I know you do.”
“Ball’s in your court, Rosie. What happens next?”
She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. She was wet … really wet.
She let the sound of Leo’s sketching wash over her. She squeezed her legs together, trying to relieve the ache there. It didn’t work.
She opened her eyes. “Keep drawing me,” she said and popped open the buttons of her jean shorts. “And watch.”
* * *
Leo had never usedhis eraser with such glee. He rubbed out the whole area between Rosie’s belly button and the top of her thighs in order to redraw it with her hand in her panties.
Leo’d had his fair share of sex. He’d been to sex parties. He’d been more than one couple’s third. He’d painted himself having sex, then presented it to the world. He liked sex. He liked it when it was a fun release of tension. He liked it when it was art. He liked it when it was meaningful and moving.
Watching Rosie open her shorts and slip her hand into her panties was one of the most erotic moments of his life. To see her claim control of her own pleasure—it made his whole body flush.
She wasn’t sitting still, but he wasn’t complaining. His hands were shaking as he sketched the knob of her wrist and the outline of knuckles under the stretched cotton.
She licked her lips. “I want … uh.” A misty pink blush crawled up her neck. That was one of his favorite colors—pale pink—but it was a trillion times better on her skin than on his canvas.
“You can tell me.”
