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I slid under the sheets without saying a word, and she turned around and smiled. She wore the heavy sweatpants and the same T-shirt I’d given her when she first moved in upstairs. The same ones she wore every night. “I’m going to need to get you some new PJs, woman. Aren’t you tired of wearing those?”
She laughed. “No. I like wearing your clothes.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been wearing the same ones for two months now.”
“Well, I do wash them every couple of days.”
“But it’s getting warmer now, and we have this heavy comforter on here. You’re going to roast in those.” I got out of bed and walked to the dresser, pulled out a new T-shirt, one that had a picture of a guitar on it and printed underneath, the words, Guitarists Finger Faster. Realizing what it said, I shoved it back in the drawer and pulled out another plain white one, along with a pair of purple, yes purple, silk boxers.
“Purple?”
“What, you don’t like purple?”
“Yeah, I like purple.” She smiled. “What was wrong with the other shirt with the picture of the guitar?” She reached into the drawer for the other shirt and held it up to read. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she wadded the shirt up into a ball, shoving it back in. “The plain white one will do fine, thanks.”
I closed the drawer and took her hand, leading her away before she discovered some other things in my dresser that might make her change her mind about sleeping with me in my bed. I never claimed to be a virgin or a saint.
“Go change.”
I got back in bed and waited. She came out looking a little fresher and cooler, turned off the light next to the bed and got in beside me. I’d left the small night light on in the outlet on the wall, and it glowed, giving the room a nice warm golden ambiance, the perfect amount of light for drinking champagne or for kissing.
We sat up with our backs propped up against the headboard and sipped some more of the bubbly stuff. It was good, cool, and refreshing. Lena giggled a little and wiped her finger under her nose. “The bubbles got me,” she admitted.
I took the glass from her and placed it on the table beside me along with mine, then took her face in my hands. “You are so beautiful.”
She opened her mouth slightly as if she was about to object, or maybe she didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t give her a chance as I covered her lips with mine. Taking full advantage of her open mouth, I slipped my tongue inside, tasting the wine and her, reveling in her willingness to allow me to kiss her. Her hand slid up my back, and I moved mine down to her waist and under the shirt. I skimmed my finger along her stomach, waiting for her to stop me. Instead of stopping me, she pressed her fingers against my chest and slowly rubbed them over my nipples, lingering there, teasing me. I thought I would explode. I’d been thinking about this woman being under me for so long; it had almost become—no, not almost; it had become a fantasy, one I’d thought about every night. It was difficult for me to control my excitement, kissing her while lying in my bed, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. I wanted her, and I didn’t know if I could contain myself any longer. Sleeping with her upstairs in that tiny bed fully clothed was so much easier. I swore that I wouldn’t be the one to make the move, but man, this was killing me.
