Page 86 of Dear Pink

I open my eyes. Did she catch me daydreaming of our future? I’ve fallen off the deep end. Envisioning us as a couple scared her off the last time.

“He married Demi Moore the previous year,” I say, hoping to distract her from my weird behavior.

“Demi Moore?”

I jerk my head. “What? You don't know Demi Moore?”

“Ha! Got you. I know who she is. Even I sawA Beautiful Mind.”

I swallow my chuckle. I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s picturing Jennifer Connelly.

“Yep.” I kiss the top of her head. “We will be a force to reckon with on trivia nights.”

She removes her legs from my lap, and my stomach lurches. Did I make another wrong move? Should I take it back? I’m close to apologizing when she climbs over and straddles me, tracing a finger down my chest. I remain still, barely breathing. She is full of surprises tonight. I admit her unpredictability excites me.

While Bruce Willis pontificates on screen, her hand gets bolder, moving lower until her fingers sneak between my legs. My pants grow instantly tight. Does this mean we can fool around? I hesitate to move, though she must see how ready I am. She unzips my khakis and yanks the waistband of my boxers, exposing me. I stop her hand.

“Hannah.” My voice sounds strained, even to me. “I thought you said to slow our roll?”

“Yes, and have fun. Don’t you enjoy playing with me, Mr. Fancy?” Her hand wraps around my hardness, and the air leaves my body in a wave. I ache to touch her in return.

“I love how ready you always are,” she says.

She plans to kill me with her seduction routine. I can’t take it. I spin around and roll us onto the sofa. I plank above her.

“I love you touching me, but is this behavior casual? I thought you wanted to . . .” I stop mid-sentence, afraid to kill the mood with my overly concerned questions. If this is slow enough for her, it should be for me too. This woman has turned me into a wavering mess. I don’t even recognize my uncertainty.

“If you prefer, we can play checkers instead,” she says, nipping my ear lobe.

“Nah,” I gulp. “This is good.”

I’m completely exposed, but she has every inch of her clothes on. If I want her naked, I need to give up figuring her out. Before I make another idiotic move by asking more questions, I unbutton her shirt.

She wears a sexy sheer bra and her hard nipples poke through the thin fabric. She’s gorgeous, bared to me. I take a peeked nipple in my mouth and grin when she moans.

“I love your sounds,” I say.

She opens her eyes, and they glitter, telling me she’s into this. Will she regret it afterward?

“Tell me what you want.”

“This.” She arches her neck. “And you inside me.”

Sex is far from casual in my mind, but maybe she doesn’t care for labels. Calling her my girlfriend was too serious . . . too fast. A million questions rattle in my brain, but she said tonight was a serious talk-free zone.

She places light kisses on my chest, and the gesture wakes me from further introspection. Get out of your head, Gabe. I refocus on Hannah, sexy Hannah. I want to make her moan, scream my name, and watch her come apart.

I jump off the sofa and shed my clothes. Hannah giggles at me, and the sound is music.

“What now?” she asks, a wicked grin on her face.

“Your turn, Pink.” I watch her peel off her shorts. She steps out of her barely there panties, spins, and lets me unclip her bra. When she turns, I gasp. “You’re so beautiful.”

Hannah hides her face with her hands.

“Don’t do that,” I say, pushing them away. “I don’t mean how you look, I mean your heart, all of you. Sorry, I came on too strong at the diner. I had to tell you—”

“Shh, no serious talk. Fun, remember?” She bites her bottom lip and uses her pointer finger to draw me to her.

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