Page 91 of The Close-Up
“I like other things stroked too.”
I let out an exasperated chuckle and yank gently at his wrist. “You’re okay with taking things slow? No pressure, no expectations? Just whatever feels good and right at the time?”
“Absolutely.”
“We can’t let Fiona find out.”
“I’m not exactly planning on running out and telling your boss or your coworkers about us. Are you?”
“Of course not.”
“We’ll be discreet. It’s no one’s business what we do together privately anyway.”
The confidence in his tone convinces me instantly. To think I spent all this time worrying what Fiona would say if she found out about me and Simon...but she doesn’t have to.
He spreads his legs wider and pulls me closer to his body so that I’m against his crotch, which is getting harder by the second. “We’re two consenting adults, right?”
I nod.
“We like each other a lot, right?”
I nod again.
“Can we agree that if we ever hit a snag with something again, we’ll talk to each other about it? That way there’s no confusion or hurt feelings.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“We can do this on our terms, at our pace. Is that okay with you?”
His words sink in, simple and true. He’s right. As long as we’re having a good time and are considerate of each other’s feelings, there’s no reason we can’t give this a try.
Despite that, the tiniest flash of doubt hangs at the back of my mind. I want this—I wantus—to work out more than anything...but do I really have what it takes not to screw this all up?
I push away the doubt and focus on the moment. I focus on Simon, the warmth of his skin on my skin, the heat behind his eyes, the fact that he’s willing to give us a shot.
I smile down at him. “That sounds perfect to me.”
He lets go of my waist, unzips my jeans, and slowly slides them down along with my panties. And then he pulls his shirt over my head. Once again I’m naked and vulnerable to his touch. My skin tingles at just how bad I want him.
But he does more than just touch. He kisses and caresses. My belly, my thighs, my waist. Then he goes in for the kill between my legs.
I’m gasping. My hands are in his hair in an instant. I’m tugging and panting and teetering on wobbly legs, just like I was last night.
“Now for the most important question,” Simon says. It comes out muffled with his mouth pressed against me. “Do we throw out your blouse or is it salvageable?”
I gasp when he starts to swirl his tongue.
It goes on like that for a solid minute. Simon driving me mad with his tongue, and me barely capable of speech. And then he pulls away and stands up. My chest heaving, I lock eyes with him. His stare is a million times more intense now but somehow still tender.
“Is that really what you want to talk about right now? My blouse?” I ask him.
“Nope.”
He kisses me until I’m aching and throbbing from the inside out. I can’t even think straight.
“Bed. Now,” I pant.
He pulls away and has me sit on the edge of the bed, guides me to lie down with his massive, callused hands, then kneels in front of me.
