Page 82 of Wedding or Not

“Is it still bad?” I ask, checking his face.

“No, it’s better. Whenever it hits, I have to come home and shut myself in a dark, silent room and try not to puke my guts out. But I do have rescue meds, and I took them soon enough not to get hit with the worst. But they knock me out for most of the day.”

“Well, I’d sympathize more with you if you didn’t give me a very bad day too, but I’m sorry you had to go through that. So it’s gone now?”

“Mostly. Just a little right behind my eye.”

“How strange. Can I get anything for you? Are you hungry?”

“A little. But I can’t eat much.”

“I could serve you tea and toast.” My mouth quivers.

He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

We might have been joking, but I can’t think of anything that would sit better on a churny stomach, so I go downstairs and, with Jake’s help, fix him hot tea and toast with butter.

I bring it upstairs and get on the other side of the bed from him as he eats. We turn on the television and find an old movie to watch.

So it might not have been a great day, but the evening definitely makes up for it.

CHAPTER 27

Ten days later, I’m sprawled out naked in bed, and Wes is doing something breathtaking with his mouth on my nipple.

When I say breathtaking, I mean it. I literally can’t breathe for a few seconds from the building need as I writhe and toss my head.

After a minute of working on the one breast, he lets the nipple slip from his lips as he lifts his head. “Good?”

“Good? Is that a joke? I’m losing my mind here.”

“Okay. Glad to hear it.” He chuckles as he gazes at me fondly. “I’m used to you making more noise than this, so I wanted to be sure.”

“It was more a case of me not being able to get my breath.” Then I pick my head up from the pillow and frown at him. “Were you implying that I’m loud in bed?”

“Certainly not.”

His expression belies his words, so I turn my frown into a scowl. “I’m not that loud.”

“You’re not loud at all. Not obnoxiously loud anyway. I’ve got no complaints about you expressing how good I make you feel.”

“Oh my goodness. You’re getting some sort of clichéd ego boost out of this, aren’t you?”

“Nothing of the kind.” He’s propping himself up on his forearms above me. His hair is mussed, and he hasn’t shaved in three days.

He looks like sex, and he’s absolutely adorable—at the same time.

“Yes, you are. You’re taking my natural talent for sex and deciding it has something to do with you.”

“Never. I’d hoped your enjoyment might have a very small part to do with me, but I’d never credit myself for your sexual excellence.”

I can’t help but snicker at his choice of words, and my pose of righteous indignation dissipates completely. “It actually has a lot to do with you. And the truth is I have no natural talent for sex.”

“What does that mean?” He looks almost offended even though my words were light and wry.

“Nothing. I’m just saying. No one has really thought about me as sexy before. I’ve always been as uptight and shy as you expected me to be. I’ve only had sex with three men other than you, but none of them were blown away by my performance.”

“That’s because it’s not supposed to be a performance. If those guys were expecting you to conjure sexiness out of the barest gestures of appreciation, they didn’t deserve a good time with you.”