Page 109 of Elevator Pitch

His smile slowly returns, twisting like he’s fighting it. “Like a top dog?”

I laugh. “Like an alpha male.”

Ross doesn’t need a lesson in what that means because his mouth lands on mine in such a way, we’re falling back on his bed, tangling together, and kissing like I’m his omega.

+ + +

After several minutes of heavy kissing and my relief that what was on Ross’s mind was team related, and not personal, he suggests we crawl into his bed. He clicks on the television, orders us some dinner, and then asks, “Need any clarification on how it feels to have sex with you. For your writing purposes.”

Right. For research purposes.

“I think I’m good on the basics.”

“Basics?” Ross snorts. “There was nothing basic about the way you were perched on my counter, foot on the edge, open and wet for me, dripping to the granite.”

“Ross,” I moan.

“That pretty pussy on display and my hard cock slipping into you, getting deep.”

“Jesus,” I hiss, stirrings within me coming to life again. I swish my thighs together beneath the blankets over my lap.

Ross doesn’t miss the movement and arches a brow. “Need more?”

There’s no doubt I could go again but I don’t want to be greedy.

For research purposes.

Saved by the doorbell, our food is delivered, and Ross asks me to stay in his bed. “We’ll picnic.” He disappears and returns quickly with the salad and pasta he ordered for us on a tray, plus a bottle of wine underneath his arm.

For the next hour we watch bad television and laugh, until Ross says, “Come to Philly next week.”

The statement comes out of nowhere, and I snortle as a means to brush it off. “I can’t just whisk off to Philadelphia.”

With Ross perched up on his side, elbow supporting him, he gazes at me. “Yes, you can. I’ll pay for your ticket.”

“I don’t need you to buy my ticket,” I say a bit disgruntled. What I need is to understand where this invitation is coming from? Just like what happened earlier in his kitchen, this request feels sudden and a bit suspicious.

“What would I do in Philadelphia besides hang out in a hotel room?”

Ross frowns. “Why would you be in a hotel room?”

I huff. “Because we don’t do this.” Frustration builds. “We don’t go out.” While Ross said we can be public, I still don’t know what that entails. Once again, we’re hiding out in a bedroom. Mine. His. A hotel room. A rental. Does any of it make a difference? It’s only us in seclusion. And it isn’t that I don’t want Ross all to myself, it’s that I’m worried he’s keeping me only for him. He doesn’t want others to know I exist.

“We went to Harley’s play.”

He’s right. His kid’s play. And I’m not complaining. I actually think it was sweet he brought me to something so personal to him. I’m honored.

“We went to Hole in the Rock,” he adds.

Now he’s just being silly. So we’ve had two official dates.

“Aren’t you worried the superstition whisperer will be revealed, though?” When people eventually ask who I am and how he met me, and then wonder what he’s doing with someone like me compared to everyone else he’s been with over the years.

A few years back a rather famous silver fox actor suddenly had a girlfriend who was closer to his age, and showed it with her gray hair, don’t care, attitude. Jealousy prevailed in every negative comment about her while I cheered her on. Hail to the older gal snagging such a hot man. Or rather, praise to him, latching onto such a smart, accomplished, strong-minded woman.

I can’t seem to apply the same principle to myself, for some reason.

“Our secret will be revealed.”