“You want to go to bed?”
“With you?” I ask, a tingle running up my body at the thought. He’s so fucking handsome in this gray suit. His tie is loose around his neck, probably from the frustration of my drink demands, because it was tight before he left for the store. I bite my lip as he stares at me, that tingle turning into something more urgent as I stare back.
“Why not? We could make it fun. Turn this day around. End it on a high note.”
I have dreamed about sex with Mr. Mysterious for years. Since I was a kid, actually. And I know we’ve fucked three times already, but that was different. That was the other me. This is the real me. And now that my plans are all falling into place, it feels… fake. Like I forced this.
“I wouldn’t want to force you,” I say, that word stuck in my mind.
He laughs. Maybe a real one. “You’re the most striking girl I’ve ever dated. You’re not forcing me to do anything.”
He has no idea how well-planned this relationship was. “Are we dating?” I ask, suddenly sad.
I know he’s looking at me. And I know I’m being weird. I also know that I should make a decision right now and then never look back. Either stay here, sleep with him, and tell him the truth tomorrow—since we’ve decided not to talk about it tonight—or walk out and never look back.
I’m on the verge of option two when I feel his hand slip around my waist. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, can it wait until tomorrow? Or is it urgent?”
I like the feel of his hand over the thin fabric of my dress. It’s large, and warm, and when he pulls me closer, I feel weak with want.
“That was a lot of information to take in. From your mother. Don’t you think?” I chance a look up at him and regret it immediately. He’s somber. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him somber.
“Are we talking about it?” he whispers. “I don’t mind talking about it. If that’s what you want.”
I lean up and kiss him. Softly. Right on the mouth. He doesn’t kiss me back and when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me. He takes the drink from my hand, sets both glasses down on a nearby table and then wraps his arms around me and holds me close. His lips are on my neck, and that urgent feeling I had turns into unquenchable desire.
He holds my face, turning me towards him, and then his lips find mine and we are kissing again, only this time it’s him leading the way. It starts slow, his hands dropping back to my waist. My hands reaching up for his shoulders. His kiss remains soft. Such a contradiction between the man on the outside I’ve come to know and the one I stalked all these years.
But I don’t know him, do I? Not one bit.
He frightens me a little. His perfectly planned childhood, his unplanned past, and his unorthodox present. Like he’s drifting through life, just waiting for something to happen as he takes bad opportunity after bad opportunity and tries to make something good out of them.
“Let’s go to bed,” Pax says again.
I don’t challenge him in any way this time. I don’t care what the meaning is behind his words.
He takes my hand, leading me back into the house and towards the stairs, taking those two at a time so my much shorter legs have to struggle to keep up. A shoe falls off my foot halfway up, the other follows a second later. The floor is cool and feels good as I follow him across a long catwalk that overlooks the living room and into a dark bedroom.
He doesn’t turn on the lights and he wastes no time touching me. His fingertips are lifting up my dress, feather-light touches across the bare skin of my outer thigh. Kissing me, fisting my hair, finding the wetness between my legs as the tingle becomes urge, becomes starvation and hunger for more.
“Take off my clothes,” he says. “Start with the tie.”
COMING UP NEXT – MR. MATCH!
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