Page 56 of Pretend You Love Me
I bury my head in the nook between his neck and shoulder. We’re both breathing hard.
“I don’t think someone’s made me come in my pants since I was fifteen,” he says.
I laugh, still struggling for air. My whole body is buzzing. I can’t move yet. Every part of me feels like mush.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
He pulls his head back. “Do you only curse in the bedroom?”
I sit up straight and look him directly in the eye. “That’s fucking right.” I say pointing at him.
He lets out the loudest laugh. “Ginger, I can’t.”
I’m laughing now too. “And, when I’m really, really angry.”
He’s shaking his head. “I don’t think I could be with a woman if she said things likeholy moleyandheavens to Betsyin bed.”
“Shiver me timbers,” I say. We’re both laughing so hard now my stomach hurts.
“Oh god,” I say, holding my sides. “Laughing this hard is damaging my bruises.”
His hands are gripping my hips. He’s not laughing anymore. He’s just watching my face.
“What?” I say.
“That was nice.”
I blush. “Yeah. It was. Thank you.”
I lift my leg and scramble off him.
“Well, I should probably get dinner started,” I say, turning back toward the house. His hand grabs my wrist.
“I’m ordering take out, remember?”
“Right.”
“Sit,” he says.
He pulls me back down beside his body and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Oh, god, maybe no extra cuddling should be a part of our rules because I’m enjoying this way too much. I don’t say anything. I’d forgotten how nice it feels to be touched. It’s been far too long. I just soak up the warm glow of the fire, the warm glow of his body, and the warm glow of that earth-shattering orgasm. It’s been too long for that too. Far, far too long.
“What are you frowning about, Ginger?”
“Nothing,” I say. “What are we getting for dinner?”
Chapter Twelve
Brooklyn
I’m following the loose thread. The tiny breadcrumb. The only hint of information I found at the library.
“May I help you?” she says without looking away from her computer screen.
“Yes, Sheila,” I say, noting the name on her desk. She’s in charge of the property records at the courthouse. “I was needing to look at some local property records, and I heard you were the person who could help me.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she says without pulling her eyes away from the screen. She adjusts her reading glasses and continues to type. Once she’s finished, she wheels her chair back to a counter behind her and grabs a few pieces of paper.
