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Deanna bursts into a fit of laughter.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer.
She sinks into me, her chest against my chest, her head in the crook of my neck, her joy filling every inch of my body.
She feels good. This feels good.
Nothing else matters. Only this.
“The curtains have to match the drapes.” She wraps her arm around my neck. “You really said that.”
“You don’t know about my kink?” I ask.
“That’s why you couldn’t make things work with Alice,” she says. “But not good for me.” She pulls back and motions to her dark hair.
It’s messy. I never see it messy.
There’s something unbearably sexy about it.
I bring my lips to her ear. “Do you want to get out of here before the peanut gallery notices us?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
…
“Do you trust me?” Deanna asks as she slides into the passenger seat of my rental car.
“Why?” I start the engine.
She buckles her seat belt and reaches for me. For my thigh. “Your phone.” She laughs. “Unlock it for me.”
“Are you going to check my texts?”
“Your folder of nudes.”
“I can send those to you.”
Her smile is wicked. “The music. You’re streaming it.”
I pull my cell from my pocket and use Face ID to unlock it.
Her hand brushes mine as she takes it. She taps the screen a few times and a sultry jazz song fills the car. Something familiar. An old standard that fits Deanna like a glove.
“This isn’t real jazz,” she says. “Real jazz skips around. It requires focus. Or it steals it. I can’t listen to it in the background. My brain keeps going back to the music, trying to find the pattern. But this kind of thing—a jazz-inspired slow jam—it gives the same feel without taking all the attention.” She leans into the back seat with a sigh of pleasure. “And it’s still sexy.”
Very. The thought fills my head as I pull out of the parking lot and turn onto the street. We’re twenty minutes from the house. Fifteen maybe, if we get all green lights. I don’t want to wait. I want to be alone with her. I don’t care about anything else.
“I trust you,” she says. “About some things. Not everything.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“Do you really believe that?”
In some ways. Not in others.
“I think we know each other pretty well. You’ve seen me naked after all.”
“Is that the definition?”
