Page 60 of Merry Me
For a long beat, neither of us moved.
Thank fuck I was on birth control…because that was definitelya lotof cum dripping down my thighs. Holy hell.
We were still wrapped around each other, skin slick with sweat, breath coming in uneven pants. I trembled in his arms, the aftershocks pulsing through me as if my body were unwilling to let the moment go.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up against his chest, his mouth finding my shoulder…soft, reverent kisses that stole the last bit of fight I had left.
“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” he whispered, and this time, it wasn’t teasing. It was quiet. It was vulnerable. Hekissed my shoulder again. And again. Like he couldwillthe answer out of my skin.
I didn’t reply.
I couldn’t.
Because the truth was already unraveling inside me, slipping through the cracks in my denial like light through a broken window.
He pressed a kiss to my temple, then murmured almost to himself, “No one else could ever come close.”
The words didn’t register at first—just a quiet rumble in the haze of the afterglow.
But then my brain snagged on them, turning them over, examining them under a light that was far too bright.
I blinked. My stomach did a slow, swoopy somersault, one of those queasy-giddy-nauseous flips that only came when you were in serious, serious trouble. Emotionally compromised. Teetering on the edge of falling all the way back in.
I stared at the ceiling. Willed the words to leave me alone.
But then I did the worst thing imaginable.
I opened my mouth.
“So…” I said, my voice raspy.
He loosened his arms, enough for me to roll and face him. His green eyes were heavy-lidded but alert, his brows raised in anticipation.
“Yes, Natalie,” he said patiently, like he already knew I was about to be annoying.
I cleared my throat, trying for breezy. “I mean, it kind of just sounded like I’m…still number one on your list. Which—don’t get me wrong—isn’t surprising. I’m excellent. Like, if I were a Yelp review, I’d be five stars. With photos. And a waiting list.”
His mouth twitched.
“But,” I added quickly, “it’s maybe…slightlysurprising. I imagine all those Hollywood girls are pretty good in bed.” The last part of the sentence came out in a whisper, barely audible over my mortification. I stared at the wall behind him,pretending to be fascinated by a festive garland that was definitely not worth dying over.
His mouth did an amused smirking thing that I personally did not like, but which my lady parts did like. A lot.
Ugh.
“Hmm. I wouldn’t know,” he finally said.
I blinked again. “What does that mean?” I asked slowly, like maybe I’d misheard him. Like maybe the post-orgasmic fog had translated it all wrong.
He hesitated, his expression shifting. That teasing glint in his eye dimmed, replaced by something unreadable—guarded, but not cold. Something almost too sincere. He shook his head a second later, shrugging it off. “Forget it.”
Because clearly, he was messing with me. That had to be it. Right? It was just some flirty post-sex nonsense. A joke. A throwaway comment to keep the mood light.
Except…
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as thrown as I felt. “It kind of sounds like you’re trying to say you haven’t been with anyone else.” I rolled my eyes and added, “You can tell me the truth, you know. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
There was a pause. A long one.
