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“If I let you go, will you promise to come back to bed?”
“Cross my heart, hope to die.”
She let go. “Now your bed smells of sex.”
They both took a bathroom break, but Flick beat him back to the bed. She put her hand to his face when he climbed in.
“You washed.”
He’d considered shaving. If he was going to keep kissing her, he didn’t want to taste bad or score her skin.
“Considerate. But you didn’t have to. I like all the funk of sex, the smells, the tastes, the bruises.” She pushed him to his back and draped over him. “That was fun.”
“It was.” He was mellowed out from it.
“I could hear you thinking.”
“Ah.” He gave her hair a tug. “I wanted to be enough for you.”
She sat up. “Why would you think you wouldn’t be?”
“You like everything. I’m not built that way.”
A blunt fingernail circled his nipple. “You’re built to please, Tom. This body, what you did to me. It was enough.”
Enough. Solid score. Keep the job, but lose out on the promotion.
Again that nail, circling. “We can do better.”
She meant he’d need to. Shit. This was make-up sex anyway. Better that it was good, not great. Easier for them to continue living together if they weren’t craving each other. Easy for her to leave.
She flicked his nipple. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”
“You’re hungry. We should order in.”
“I’m not finished with you.”
He held her shoulders to sit. “I’m starving too.” And all the soreness from his nature wrestling was visiting, the
muscle-ache heavy.
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I heard you. It was fun, good enough. You like my body.” He shot his legs over the side of the bed.
“How did I not figure you’d have performance anxiety?”
“What the fuck, we both came.” He rocked forward to stand and she grabbed him with her arms and legs and held him down.
“You were thinking the whole time, right until your own orgasm hit.” As soon as he peeled an arm away, she snapped it back around him. “You wanted everything for me and took almost nothing for yourself.”
And yet she complained.
“Take everything you want from me, Tom.”
“Let me up, Flick.” A beat, two. He’d have to hurt her to get free. Enough tussling for one day.
“You can’t leave your own bed angry.”
