Page 84 of Wrapped with a Beau

She’s still okay with that, isn’t she? No, she can’t think about the future right now. She’ll just enjoy the moment, where they’re both in the same place at the same time, and, if she can rouse him fully awake, maybe they’ll join as one before she overthinks this.

“Not too long,” she says, rolling her thumb over the curve of his ear. She can tell he likes it when he makes a purring sort of noise deep in the back of his throat. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

One eye blearily opens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, tracing her tongue over his lobe. He cranks the other eye open now, but she still doesn’t have his full attention. “When I first met you, I thought you had an unfriendly jawline. Now I just want to kiss it all the time. What’s up with that?”

He laughs and snuggles deeper into his pillow. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real, Elisha Rowe. Every single time I say your name like that, first and last, I’m reminding myself that you aren’t some snow angel fueled purely by coffee and good cheer, sent to un-Grinch me.”

She giggles and nips at his bare shoulder. He growls and hugs her tighter. “You’re only, like, two-fifths Grinch,” she says, studying him intently. “Pre-me, though? You were a solid one-quarter.”

“It’s too early to be discussing your bad math.” His hand weaves between them, touching her exactly where she needs to be touched.

She grinds against his questing fingers, seeking more, but he keeps his caress intentionally light. Grazing her outer lips with a finger that feels like a feather, then flicking her clit with some preternatural ability at knowing exactly when she’s grown impatient.

He works one finger inside her, giving her leisurely strokes until she whines for a second. “I’d much rather you focus on this two-fifths,” he says, kissing the corner of her mouth at the exact moment that two of his five fingers scissor inside her.

Does he really think that she’s thinking about anything but that right now? Maybe some people go limp as a dead fish for a five-minute fumble, but Elisha believes in being proactive in all areas of life. To that end, there’s still something she wants to talk about, and in about a second, he’s going to make her forget her own name.

She clamps her legs shut, keeping his wrist in a stranglehold. “I liked meeting your friends last night,” she says, squeezing her thighs in warning when he tries to pump in and out.

He seems to realize this is important to her, because he goes still, even though his eyes remain wary. “Glad to hear it. Arun was afraid he’d never get to meet you.”

“Does he usually meet the people you date?”

“No. Not because I don’t want him to. There’s just no point when it’s not going to go anywhere.” He wiggles his fingers inside her and she’s so wet that she can actually hear it. When he grins with a look of what she can only describe as exceedingly lustful pride, she hides her face in his shoulder.

“Hate you,” she mumbles against his warm biceps.

“Lies,” he announces. “You love me.”

Before she’s humiliated further, before he reads the truth of his flippant comment on her face, before she blurts it out when she comes, she hurtles out of bed. “Oh my god, I have that meeting with my boss! My old boss! Erm, I mean, former boss. Okay, I have to—Where’s my underwear—Is that my, no, wait, that’s yours—Actually do you mind if I just—” She whisks the sheet off to drape around herself as she lunges for the bathroom.

“Elisha!” he bellows, scrambling for the comforter discarded at the foot of the bed.

“Sorry, sorry!” she calls back through the door.

“I thought it was a lunch meeting! It’s only seven a.m.!”

“Traffic!” she screeches back, twisting the shower’s hot water tap.

When there’s only silence, she’s relieved. Ves has probably drifted back to sleep, comfily cocooned and dreaming about whatever he dreams about, which is probably not what she dreams about, and anyway, it was her idea to keep this casual, so why is she staring at herself in the mirror, pathetically watching two fat tears roll down her cheeks?

There’s a soft tap at the door. “Elisha, I find you exasperating at the best of times, but by some kind of magic, you manage to charm me despite my best intentions. And right now, you’re not charming me.”

She gulps back a sob, clutching the sheet tighter.

“You’re scaring me,” he finishes softly.

What? She opens the door to find him standing there in his briefs. He’s holding himself close, like he’s cold from dashing after her without taking the time to even pull on a sweater, and pillow creases are still etched on his face. Immediately, she feels bad for making him worry. “It wasn’t locked.”

“Considering you ran in here, I didn’t even try to open it. In case you wanted space from me.”

How can she tell him she doesn’t want more space, but less? As in, miles less space between them. Preferably the most she can handle is across the street. None of this bus and multiple subways business.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

He tangles his hand into her messy, unbrushed hair, fingers massaging her scalp. It’s comforting and she can’t help but lean into his touch. His palm cups her cheek, stays there. “Talk to me, my love.” His voice is hard, insistent, granite. But his eyes are gentle, and she wants to tell him, but a keen sense of self-preservation and an even healthier dose of fear that he won’t feel the same makes her hold back.

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