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The words were muffled by her skin, but she still heard them. Still felt their power all the way down to her blue polished toenails.
How long had she waited for him to say that? To know it was true?
His arms tightened around her when she didn’t answer. Goddammit. What was her problem? When it was so important for her to respond, she couldn’t coordinate her vocal cords.
She jerked him back from her, gripping his upper arms while she stared into his eyes and tried to say everything she had no voice to convey. The rigid lines of his face softened, worry giving way to a smile so bright she might’ve been blinded had she not chosen that moment to bury her face in his chest. “I love you too, with all of me. The bad, the good and everything in between.”
He stroked her hair, surrounding her with his warmth. “You’re not shaking.”
“No.” Not outwardly anyway.
“Not crying.”
“Why would I cry when I’m happy?” she asked, perplexed. Was that what most women did when moved to the heights of emotion? Maybe their ducts started up with the slightest provocation. She blinked just to be sure and shook her head. “No, eyes are dry. Sorry.”
With a laugh, he cradled her face in his palm and drew her mouth up to his. “My sweet, practical Marcia,” he said just before he swept his tongue between her lips and made her his all over again.
“Mostly practical,” she said a little breathlessly as they separated. She grasped his hand and pulled it to her stomach. “Except right here, where everything’s circling like drunk monkeys on bicycles.”
Again he laughed. “You have such a way with words. No wonder you decided to put pen to paper. Which reminds me.” He hooked an arm around her waist and jockeyed her forward so he could reach the notebook on the coffee table. “I want to read this,” he said when she opened her mouth.
“I… Okay.” She’d already climbed Mt. Everest and leapt to the ground in one jump. Sharing some words on a page was nothing in comparison. “Go ahead.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just be gentle.”
He pinched her ass. “Like you ever like it gentle.”
“I did this time, didn’t I? We went slow and didn’t even— Oh my God.” She bobbled on his lap, almost toppling backward.
Alarmed, he dropped the notebook and grabbed her wrist. “What?”
“We didn’t use any sex toys. You didn’t bind my wrists. No athletic positions.” She couldn’t talk fast enough. “No anal.”
“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” But he was laughing, his eyes dancing as he stroked the side of her face. “It’s called making love. Something new for us.”
“Yeah.” She smiled and turned her cheek into his hand. “It was wonderful.”
“Damn straight.”
She chewed on her lower lip and hoped he didn’t think she was a deviant when she asked her next question. Probably too late there. “So, um, you can’t use toys or have anal when you make love?”
This time she expected his laughter. “God, I love you. More than I can say. You’re my everything.”
Her face grew hot and her throat constricted. She wasn’t a happy crier but she damn sure was affected. “Maybe you should be writing the book, not me,” she said, exhaling a long breath. “My idea of romance is opting for silk sheets over rubber.”
“You aren’t writing romance.” He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “You’re writing sex. Something you know very well and I’d happily vouch for you.”
“You’re biased but I don’t mind.” She gave him a quick kiss and picked up the notebook. “Here, read it.”
“You’re sure?”
“If I say no, you won’t mention it again?”
“Hell no. I’ll steal the notebook and lock myself in the john.”
She laughed and playfully pressed the notebook’s metal spiral into his chest. “Here. Read. I’m going to go take a quick shower.”
