Page 97 of Fun Together
I lift his face up to look at me. “I need to know something.” He moves so that he’s at eye level with me. “You helping me with the sex stuff . . . it isn’t like a pity thing, is it?” I don’t think I could stand to know he’s only interested in that just because he feels sorry for me after failing twice to find someone to sleep with.
“Pity?” He shakes his head as if he can’t comprehend the question. “If anything, you’d be taking pity onmefor all the things I’ve wanted to do with you.”
Oh. “What kinds of things?” I ask. I’m greedy now and I want to hear him say it.
He licks his lips. “The first day I saw you again in the elevator, I thoughtdamn, how is she more gorgeous than I remembered? Then, I thought about that fucking vibrator and if you used it that entire weekend.” He runs his hands along my waist, sliding his fingertips under the band of my bathing suit top. “Then, I thought about you coming in my lap so many times, it’s a wonder I’ve been able to function at all.” He grinds against me, and I can feel his hardness so close to where I want him to be. “I want this with you, not because of your list, but because I—because you’re all I think about.”
I lift my hips to meet his and move that we’re pressed together as close as we can possibly be. “Want to know a secret?”
He uses his fingertip to follow a drop of water down my chest, tracing a circle over my heart. “I want to know all your secrets.”
And I’m starting to want to tell him every single one.
“I may or may not have accidentally fantasized about you the first time I used that vibrator.”
“Accidentally?”
“Yeah, I sort of just let my mind wander. You were some type of ranch-hand and we were having a rendezvous in the barn.”
He bursts out laughing at this. “Farm fantasy? I’m banking that one for later.”
“So you don’t want this to be a one-time thing?”
“I have a feeling one time won’t be enough for me. What about you?”
I swallow down a lump that forms in my throat, not knowing what to say. My thoughts want to spiral, thinking of all the reasons we shouldn’t make this a one-time thing, much less a many-times thing. I’m scared to express these thoughts out loud, like it’ll burst the bubble we’re in right now. Instead, I kiss him, hoping that’s answer enough.
He pulls back. “I’m starting to get a little pruny. You want to see upstairs?”
“You’re not showing me the basement? I wanted to meet your roomie, Santa.”
Another sheepish smile. “Since my parents are gone, I get to sleep in the office that’s also a guest room.” He pulls me closer and his deep voice rumbles in my ear. “Santa doesn’t need to see what we’re about to do.”
An expectant shiver runs through me. “In that case, I’d love to see upstairs.”
30
Faye
We stopto dry off before going inside, so we don’t track water through the house. It’s a quiet walk up the stairs, anticipation buzzing in the air along with the steady blast of the air conditioning. Goosebumps break out over my skin from the sudden chill.
He leads me into a gorgeous room that looks so cozy, it could be the set of a Nancy Meyers movie. A walnut desk covered in stacks of books and papers sits on one side of the room, and an antique bed with blue floral bedding is on the other.
“This is lovely,” I say.
He clicks the door shut behind him and he leans back against it. “My mom loves interior design.”
I tighten the towel wrapped around my chest. “Is that what she does for a living?”
He shakes his head. “No, she was a teacher, but now she works part-time at a bookstore downtown.”
I walk over to the desk and idly flip through one of the books on the top of a stack,Field Guide to the Birds of North America. “And what does your dad do?” I’m stalling, unsure of what to do, where to stand, how to act.
I feel him step up behind me. “Accountant.” He slides his arms around my waist, reaching through my arms to remove the book from my hand and place it back on the desk. “And amateur bird-watcher.”
“Do you ever go bird-watching with him?”
He puts his mouth against the nape of my neck and speaks against my skin. “Sometimes.” He moves his hands down my hips to graze the bottom edge of the towel, skimming his fingertips over the tops of my thighs.
