Page 24 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Just like that, I relaxed. Turned around and pulled her down on the blanket with me, tucking one leg over hers. “You’re right. I’m being my stupid neurotic self.”

“You’re being sweet. And neurotic. But that’s why I love you.”

Groovy beats played from my iPod. The setting sun from outside spilled through the barn slats, softening the light from butter bright to caramel mellow. I tugged her closer. “You love me because I overthink simple moments until I’m a frantic mess?”

“I love you because you care so much. Your heart’s so big you worry about the details other people ignore. Makes you a bit high strung at times, but we both deal with each other’s shit.”

I give you exhibit B.

I stretched out longer, flattened my palm on the soft dip of her belly. “You also love me because of my six-pack, right?”

She snorted. “You don’t have a six-pack, babe.”

“I have an almost six-pack.” In my dreams. The ones where I was a super smooth lover who didn’t sometimes get neurotic.

“We’ll call it a two-pack, but maybe I should count to be sure.” She slid her hand under my shirt, traced my stomach. “I’m having trouble checking. I need a visual display.”

“Your wish is my command, Mars.”

“Shut it with that name, goof.”

I sat up, grabbed my shirt by the back of my neck, and pulled it over my head. Delilah did the same, both our shirts landing in a wrinkled pile, her little blue flowers on top of my faded X-wing fighter. We lay back down, her fingers feathering across my contracting two-pack while I traced the edges of her lace bra, the contours of her hardening nipples. My skin tightened with need, as did my heart. A sharp squeeze that had my throat feeling thick. Too much. I suddenly wasn’t sure my chest was capable of holding this much love.

Swiftly, she rolled on top of me, straddled my hips, and did that rocking thing where she rubbed herself just right, the fly of my cargo shorts pressing against her thick denim, pressure that had her eyelids falling heavy.

Anticipation pulsed through my body, gave my too-full heart another breath-stealing squeeze. Delilah kissed her way down my chest, got her busy hands on my fly, pulled down my shorts and boxers. Took everything off and flung my clothes to the side.

I tensed my thighs, terrified I’d come before she touched me.

She bit her lip. “I love looking at you naked.”

Was she trying to murder me? “I’m feeling slightly underdressed. We need to do something about your clothes.”

“Oh, this?” She cupped her lace-covered breasts. “Or these?” She placed her hands on the front of her jean shorts and did a little swivel.

I made a garbled grunting sound. Or was that a pathetic whine? Desmond was right. No amount of cologne could hide my desperation.

Getting to her feet, she swayed her hips and proceeded to striptease to “Pillow Talk” because Delilah Moon was the best girl of girls.

Bra, gone.

Jean shorts, dropped.

Her white underwear with the cute little bow, adios.

She grabbed a condom from my pile, but I took it from her, placed it behind me. “Let me touch you first.” Make sure this was so good for her.

“Yeah, okay.” Trust beamed from her as she lay next to me. She lifted her knee, giving me the access I craved, letting me work her up until she was panting. “Now,” she said, sounding as desperate as I felt, gripping my forearm to make me stop.

Right. Yeah. The Sex.

I knelt between her legs, fumbled with the condom until she took it from my trembling hands.

She ripped the package with her teeth, held the latex circle in place, and rolled it on. “Like this? Does it feel okay?”

Riding shotgun in Jake’s Charger felt okay. Cannonballing into Bear Lake on a scorcher of a day was okay. This? Everything felt enhanced, like I was a superhero with heightened senses, all my nerve endings sparking with the faintest brush. “Yeah, it’s good.”

She lifted her knees, pulled me closer. I lowered my hips and her eyes flared, then I pushed in, just a bit. Her breath stuttered.