“You really are a boob guy, aren’t you?”
“They’re nice,” was his response.
“Yes, but I see one problem here,” I said, perhaps a little too loudly because this was getting—I was getting—right, yep, a problem. “There is very little pleasing you in this scenario.”
The edge of his lips twitched. “Oh, who’s to say it isn’t for me, too? I am quite the selfish man when it comes down to it—”
“So, getting me off gets you off?”
“Why’s it about me at all? Why not just you? You are worthy of that.”
I swallowed the rock lodged in my throat. I was? Worthy of that kind of undivided attention? Because I never felt that way with Lee, not even as he kissed me and told me what to do, where to plant my lips.
“God,” I half laughed, “you really do read too many romance novels.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t call that a fault. Would you?”
“Depends. Where would this scene go?”
“I would ask you—”
I took a deep breath. “Then ask me.”
In the mirror, his eyes found mine. They were sharp, considering, thinking. He said this was for my pleasure, but I was terrible at being selfish. I could see it in the glint of his eyes, the swallow of his throat. He wanted nothing more—for how long? Since he first saw me? Before I ever knew his name?
I heard him take in a shaky breath. Then, “Unbutton your shirt. Slowly.”
My fingers slid down my wrinkled business shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, until they were all undone and the shirt hung loose over my bra. I relaxed my shoulders, and the shirt dropped down, puddling around my elbows, exposing what he very much considered to be very good breasts in my very best lace bra. “Like this?”
He made an agreeable noise. “You are perfect.”
“Am I?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“As often as I deem necessary.”
His fingers twitched, and he curled them tightly into fists. “You are perfect,” he said again. “I like admiring the view.” Then, “Close your eyes.”
I did.
“Imagine the scene. I would pull my fingers through your hair; I would rake my teeth across your skin—I would undo that pretty lace bra of yours and caress your nipples with my tongue. I would slip a finger inside of you—two, and you would be so wet and I would pleasure you so slowly, as slow as you wanted—”
“I would drive you crazy,” I commented.
“Florence, you already do.”
I laughed, and opened my eyes, only to find his hands over mine. I turned around, and finally looked at him—truly—for the first time, and pulled my shirt back up onto my shoulders. “It’d be a good scene,” I said, and my voice broke a little, my fingers buttoning my shirt back up. “Corny, but in a good way.”
“I like corny,” he agreed, his gaze lingering on my lips.
My alarm went off, making both of us jump. I quickly stepped away from him and hurried across the room to turn off my phone. And reality crashed back in, because today was my father’s funeral, and I still had two things to check off his will. “I—I’m sorry. I have to finish getting dressed. So much to do. So little time.”
“Can I help?”
I tilted my head, and smiled. “No, you just being here is enough.”
“Can I, then?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter, his hands curling into nervous fists. “Can I stay? Like this—with you?”