Page 87 of Is This for Real?
“More revealing than the red lingerie?” he asks.
“Was the red lingerie revealing?” I ask innocently.
He laughs. “I brought condoms, too. You know, thought this was the last chance.” He stands to take off his pants, and it’s just him in his black boxers.
“Eyes up here, Curls,” he says.
I groan. “Must I?” Apparently, I am his type.
He lies down next to me, and I can feel the heat of his body. He smells of laundry.
He slowly and intently unbuttons the top button of my shirt. And another button. And another. Each touch of his hands against my skin is like a spark. His hand pushes my blouse off my shoulders, and he traces my collarbone. We gaze into each other’s eyes, and it’s just us, together. I brush back his hair tenderly and swallow.
His fingers trace the curve of my breast where the lace ends on my bra, leaving a fiery wake. I am transfixed by the sight of his hand touching my skin.
“The red lingerie was not revealing enough.” He unbuttons another button. Our glances hold. Another button. His fingers brush my skin. Butterflies dance.
I touch my lips to his, running my fingers through his hair.
Rory unbuttons the last button, and I slip my blouse off. At least I’m wearing a black, lacy bra.
He looks at me like he can’t get enough.
My breath catches.
He interlaces his fingers with mine. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“You can’t.” I want to sayI love you. But I’m afraid. Maybe that will scare him off. I kiss him instead, wrapping my arms around him. We are skin to skin, softness against hard muscle, each exploring, discovering our unseen selves. I can’t sayI love youfirst. Even if we’ve known each other for years. Instead, I try to show him through touch, trying to give back to him what he gives to me.
Chapter thirty-one
Roryismovingaboutin the bathroom. The bed still feels warm from his body, and I bury my nose in his pillow to breathe in his scent. But I’m almost relieved that he’s not there to watch me wake up. It gives me time to center myself. Last night, I was so open and vulnerable, and I’m not sure if I can do that again in the daylight. Either of us. We can’t walk around that emotionally bare.
He unlocks the door and smiles at me. His smile is open, unshadowed. I feel my mouth responding in kind. A big grin is bursting forth.
Mmm. Freshly showered Rory is wearing a crisply ironed shirt and underwear. I can’t believe he has to go to work today.
He jumps back into the bed.
“I wish I didn’t have to work.”
He runs his hands through my curls, kissing me again. I pull him down, and he’s lying on top of me, enveloping me. My body feels languid and warm. “I’d much rather spend the day here with you.” He kisses the side of my neck—my weak spot.
I run my fingers through his hair. “Me, too.”
We kiss again, firmly, yet also tentatively, as if confirming that last night’s magic is still there. It is.
“Okay, must get up.” He disentangles himself and stands. At a slight disadvantage.
I stretch, like a satiated cat. His gaze slowly slides over my body, as if tracing where his hands touched, fanning flames of longing. I swallow. He sort of limps over to a chair at a safe distance by the window and pulls on his pants.
I decide to go easy on him. He does have to go to work. “Should we discuss logistics?”
“Logistics for what?” He looks intrigued.
“Dinner tonight?”
He looks disappointed. “Oh.” He says he booked us dinner at another rooftop restaurant bar.
