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The bookshelf in this office is, compared to the one in her bedroom, neatly stacked with spines from edge to edge, like they were trying to cram as many into the space as possible. The ones in her bedroom looked mostly like fantasy, with crowns and swords and vines on the covers. In the living room, the shelves were filled with nonfiction titles about fashion, culture - even a few car ones, I’d noticed the night I stayed over. It looked more like my own shelves, littered with introspective titles on leadership, historical pieces on various wars.
But as I trail my fingers over the spines on this shelf, they’re all so incredibly different. Some dark, with skulls and weapons. Others, bright and cheerful with little cartoons on the front. I pick one at random - something orange and about bodyguards.
The uncomfortableness I’m feeling below the belt instantly becomes a raging hard-on as I sift through the pages I randomly opened to, where not two, but at least four people are engaged in things that involve moaning and licking and coming. Heat rises in my cheeks as I flip to the next page.
“A far cry from Twilight, huh?”
Piper
Fitz nearly jumps a foot in the air when I speak, leaning against the doorframe, and the look on his face when he whirls around to see me, slamming the book in his hands closed, is priceless. Flushed skin, wide eyes. And as I scan over his body, which is covered in a somewhat tight gray tee shirt and black sweatpants, I can’t help but notice the bulge between his legs. I feel the smirk on my face as he speaks.
“Uh, yeah,” he starts, holding the book up a few inches. “What’s this?” I snort.
“Why choose romance with a bodyguard trope.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I watch him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing. “A girl with multiple guys, in this case, her bodyguards.”
“You couldn’t just watch porn?” he asks, and I can’t help but to laugh again, coming forward and taking the book from his hands.
“I don’t watch porn,” I explain, and then hold the book up. “I read it like a fucking lady.” I pause as Fitz lets out a surprised laugh. “I think I have that on a shirt somewhere.” He takes the book back, and gingerly places it on the shelf where he pulled it from, and I notice him adjust himself in the process. He scans over more of the books on the shelf.
I nearly bite my cheek to keep myself from saying what I want to say. But damn, an embarrassed Fitz? A turned on Fitz?
The power that courses through my veins is the same as the time he spent the night. Knowing that you are, partially at least, the cause of some else’s arousal?
“If you think that’s spicy,” I start, trying to keep the other thoughts from coming out of my mouth. “There are some dark fae fantasies in my room that would probably turn your hair white.” He freezes, hand on the spine of a particularly fun hockey romance. “But if you want real-world spice, might I suggest that white one on the bottom shelf?”
He is, as I guessed, as curious as I am power hungry today, because even as I say the words I’d been biting back, he shoots me a glance, and then promptly picks out the book I mentioned. This time, he starts at the beginning, and with his body turned halfway toward me, I can watch as he flips through the pages.
First, confusion. Then, shock. And I swear I see his cock twitch as he finds some of the more scandalous pictures.
“I did that last year, mostly to model some of my own pieces,” I muse, crossing my arms over my chest and peering at him over the glasses I’d thrown on when I changed. Finally, he closes the book, and sets it on the corner of the desk. Maybe so he can steal it? One can hope. Smiling lazily down at me, his eyes nearly glazed over, he slips his hands over my hips, touching the soft fabric of the leggings I changed into.
“I never pegged you for someone who would do boudoir,” he says softly, and reaches one hand up to touch the string of pearls around my neck. My Nona’s pearls. The same woman whose ring I wear, that Mickey proposed to me with in that dreary hospital.
I shake the memories out of my mind, and wrap my arms around Fitz’s neck.
“I don’t think you would have pegged me for a woman you would have talked to, much less anything else.”
“I would have talked to you,” he says, his voice small, and I realize I’ve hurt him, just a little, as he stares down at me, his brow furrowed.
“We’ve probably passed each other a dozen times on the street, at the store, the dog park.” I shrug, playing with the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know what changed, but I’m not complaining.”
“I’ve changed.” His voice is still soft, but his gaze is fierce as he brings that hand up, under my chin, and tilts my head up. “As much as you’ve changed in the last ten years, so have I.” He tucks a stray curl behind my ear, and if he wasn’t holding me up, I’d probably buckle to the floor.
“I believe you.” I reach up, pressing my lips to his in a chaste kiss - though the feeling of his still present hard-on is anything but chaste. It makes me smile against his mouth, and when I pull back, he’s smiling faintly too.
“GooutwithmeSaturday.” It all comes out as one word, but I’m pretty sure I understand what he says.
“Like, a date?” He nods, flushing slightly, and absently plays with the end of the strand of hair he’s holding. His eyes slide over the shirt I’m wearing, which says “Sober AF,” and I swear, his lips turn up at the corners.
“Yes, like a date. I want to take you out, before this goes too far.” He gives a pointed glance between us, where he’s still pressed against my stomach, and I choke out a laugh.
“That’s fair, I guess. Though, I thought you might want to have your wicked way with me after seeing those pictures.” He lets out a soft groan, and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Trust me, I do. But, I’m trying to have more self-restraint than that.” He leans back, and holds my head between both of his hands. In this moment, with the way he’s looking at me, I feel precious. Not in a cute, baby precious kind of way. A cherished, wanted kind of precious. Important. Seen. “Besides, when I have my wicked way with you, I want you in the privacy of my home.” He brushes a kiss along my cheek, his mouth close to my ear. “And I want to peel you out of something you designed, if that’s possible.” I shudder as his breath caresses my ear, and when he faces me again, I can feel the flush in my face as I nod. It’s in agreement to a lot of things - the date, the outfit, the idea of sleeping with Fitz, which truthfully, has been on my mind for a while.
But the feral look that washed over his face, flipping through that book of my boudoir photos, where I was someone very different from the girl who stood before him - I like that look. And I also worry about that look. That girl was boob taped and professionally made up and, while, I’m confident that I can do a pretty good job of those two things myself - is that what he’s expecting? The girl who managed to bag his douche of a playboy best friend?
Or did he see past all of that, all the way to the glasses and the sassy shirts and the shelves of worlds I like to slip into?
