He starts massaging my feet and I adjust the blanket, melting deeper into the cushions with a happy sigh. As far as days go, this one might be the best I’ve ever had.
I’m saying that a lot, I get that. It doesn’t make it any less true. I’ve had so many firsts and bests in the last few days. Most of them—the good ones anyway—are because of Carter.
After the shower incident, we didn’t go back to sleep for long, though we still spent most of the morning in bed. We touched each other and talked quietly for hours, as if we were sharing secrets that someone might overhear.
One secret he told me was that he almost got engaged when he was around my age. She’d been a good friend and all his buddies were getting married or having children. But when he picked up the ring and imagined his future, he realized he wanted something different. Someone different. So instead of proposing, they spent the entire night talking. He told her he was pretty sure he was gay, and that it wouldn’t be fair to her, or anyone else, to try and pretend otherwise. She told him she was proud of him.
They still talk once a year and send each other Christmas cards. I can’t even be jealous of the woman retroactively. I’m too grateful she’d been there for him.
But for each bit of information I struggle to collect on him, he manages to get reams more from me. I’m starting to get the suspicion that Carter likes hearing me ramble, because every time I try to rein it in or focus on him instead, he asks me another question about a favorite movie or childhood memory.
He even brought me my phone and picked things for me to read from my own advice column. Most of the questions were about sex, of course. He assured me he was taking notes for later.
The one thing he isn’t remotely curious about? The Dry Spell Diaries. He shut down both times I brought it up. And I get it. Naked in bed with a guy is not the right time to talk about dates with other men. No matter how bad they were.
We were starving by the time we finally left the bed to put on shorts and t-shirts and make lunch, moving our private party to the couch. But he didn’t turn on the television and ignore me. Not Carter. He still wants to talk.
And while he’s been keeping me chatting for the last few hours, I’ve been finding every excuse I can to touch him. I’m feeling the need for another Zeus fix right now.
I tug my foot away from his hand and crawl toward him, all my attention on his perfect, upturned lips.
“I just fed you,” he rumbles. “Are you hungry again?”
“Always.”
I climb on top of him and his arms wrap around me, arousing and already familiar. I shouldn’t get used to it. But damn, do I want to.
His mouth is a drug that makes me lose all track of time. It drowns my senses until all I can think is, “More.” When I hear his husky moan and feel the erection that’s lying like a hot iron against my hip, I slip my hand between our bodies, desperate to touch him. But he stops me before I reach my goal, pulling back to caress my swollen lips with his fingers.
“Either we need to take a break or I need to take up shaving. I’m giving you beard burn.”
He manages to sound concerned and proud at the same time.
I prop my arms on his chest, still breathless. “I vote no on shaving. I have a recently acquired beard fetish I want to explore.”
He smiles at that, but he looks distracted. As the silence lingers, it dawns on me that he pulled away right when things were getting good. Again. We’ve been naked or close to it for hours, but he hasn’t moved beyond second base since the shower.
If he was feeling as insatiable as I was, I should have beard burn everywhere by now. Is he not interested anymore? Did I misread his earlier request? Or is he trying to tell me he needs a break, but he asked me to spend the day with him so he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like an ass?
I try to move off him but his arms tighten around me. Trapping me. “A break might be a good idea,” I say firmly. “Fiona sent me a text a half an hour ago, seeing if I wanted to grab some coffee at the bookstore. I think she wants to talk.”
That’s not a lie. What I don’t tell him is that she didn’t ask so much as order, complete with all caps and exclamation points. I hadn’t answered yet because I’m being selfish. I didn’t want to leave this cocoon of sexual bliss long enough to find out what she wanted. But it might be the smart thing to do.