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Did I mention the now part?
“You, um…” Oh, damn. What was I talking about?
“I wondered,” he whispers into my ear, mouth on my neck, tongue teasing various soft sections of skin. “I wondered what you were like underneath that shell.”
“Shell?”
“You were quiet. Nice. Almost too nice. I didn’t think I knew how to be part of your world.” A soulful kiss, then he looks at me, heartfelt and true. “I also didn’t have the courage then to break out of my own shell and see what you were really like. And when you rejected Harvard, you set off a cyclone inside me.”
“I did? Me?”
“Yes. You. I’ve thought about you all these years. Not the same way you described your crush on me,” he explains, pausing.
Our openness surprises me. Pleases me. The sensation is more than intellectual, way more than nostalgic. It’s rooted here in the present, the clock ticking and marking this moment, a sentry watching out for me.
Watching out for my heart.
And then Will adds, “More like the feeling that you were the one who got away.”
“Really?” This is turning me on more than it should.
No. Scratch that.
This is turning me on exactly the way it should.
“I came back to manage the company for Mom and Dad and planned to look you up. I’ve never been able to get that day in the high school parking lot out of my mind.”
“You – what?”
“I almost kissed you then.”
My heart stops.
“I wish I had.” A quick kiss, a brush of lips against lips, and then he continues, as if his recap of that day during finals week didn’t just come careening into the present, wheels peeling on asphalt, racing ten years at lightning speed.
Minus the magenta glitter paint.
“I assumed you’d married long ago. That some lucky guy got you.” He pauses to consider. “Or lucky woman.” This time, the kiss is long and slow, his hands all over me, moving to the tender, swollen spot between my legs. He stops, stretching over me, our bodies pinned to the sofa, my mind a whirl. “Looks like I’m the one who got lucky.”
“You mean finding me on a porn set?” I blink, returning us to banter, because his telling of that moment has all the selves inside me colliding in a mad rush to be fully present, right here, right now.
“That’s… not what I was thinking.” He laughs. “But I wasn’t upset to find you there.”
“I’m not sure how to take that statement, Will.”
“Then how about I stop talking and show you what I mean.”
Closing the space between us, he leads with his mouth, the soft press of his lips against mine extraordinary. This isn’t our first kiss and it certainly won’t be our last, but it is special. It is special because the gap’s been bridged, the question’s been answered, the border between my body and his has been crossed. Now it’s all about logistics.
And other words that begin with L.
Working the hem of my shirt loose, Will’s warm hands are on my belly, moving up to cup my breasts. Once he takes that step, I figure it’s my turn.
Oh, my. The bare skin of his back is so hot to the touch, the ridged line of muscles riding up his spine like steel under flesh. Migrating up, I feel his ribs, then shoulder blades, roiling as he moves, my mind transfixed by what my fingers feel. Decoding it as he kisses me puts my body into a state of circuit overload, especially when his fingertips slip under my bra line and I moan.
“The sofa is nice, Mallory,” he whispers as we kiss, “but do you have a bed?”
“A bed?”
