Page 27 of Beautiful Life
But I forge ahead. “Um … we need to talk about something.”
I feel him tense, which really isn’t hard to feel since he’s wrapped around me with barely any clothes on. “Why doesn’t that sound good?”
Mustering up all the bravery I can, which isn’t much, I pursue, “No, it’s not, not good. I mean, it’s not bad. At least I don’t think it is. I’m just worried about something.”
It’s then he scooches down and pulls me up at the same time to bring us eye to eye. His face is full of concern. “What are you worried about?”
“Well,” I keep on, thinking more bravery would be useful at this point. “I’m just worried about you. And well … me. This is strange, weird really, and you’re being really sweet with me…”
He looks at me now, not with concern but with curiosity, waiting for me to complete a sentence I can’t seem to manage. “Leigh, what are you trying to say?”
Bravery depleted, I scooch down further and stuff my face in his neck, a place I’ve come to love but also won’t let myself think about. I mutter into his throat as quick and as quiet as I can, “I’m just not ready for anything else and I’m worried about that for you, waiting on me to be ready, if I’ll ever be ready. I guess I’m worried about not being enough for you … if you know what I mean.”
There.
It’s done.
That’s when I feel his arms tighten around me. Then I feel his thigh that’s wedged in tight between my legs (another thing I have come to love but will ab-so-lute-ly not let myself think about for obvious reasons) press to scooch me back up. That scooch totally giving me tingles in between my legs, but I try really hard not to think about that either. When I finally drag my eyes up to his, I see something I wasn’t expecting.
He’s grinning. Big. But it isn’t really a grin, more like a private smile, like he has a secret he’s excited about. And through his private smile comes the words, “That’s the last thing I’m worried about.”
I feel my brows draw together, because again, that’s weird. “You’re not?”
He doesn’t answer. He pulls me in with his arms and presses his thigh even tighter in between my legs, making me wet, not to mention gasp, and he kisses me.
Intensely.
His intense kiss in addition to his big strong thigh pressing between my legs intensifies my tingles and I feel my nipples go hard. And effing hell, since I am pressed up against him with only his old thread bare t-shirt on with his thigh between my legs, I’m sure he felt my nipples and my wetness. But I can’t help it, my hands go to his hair and I hang on, kissing him back with everything I have. He’s the one that finally pulls back and when he does, my heart is racing and I feel his breath has quickened.
“No, I’m not worried, sweetheart and you shouldn’t be, either. Although,” he pulls in air before finishing, “it is fun to think about.” He smiles the same smile at me, but this time it doesn’t seem so secret.
Needing my heart to slow down and completely out of bravery for the decade, I stuff my face back in his neck. “I’m tired.”
Tony has the nerve to chuckle and kisses my hair while saying, “Then you should go to sleep.”
Oh, hell.
That was not the way I thought that would go.
But it’s done. One less thing to stress about.
“What do you want to do now?” Tony asks, pulling me out of my Tony memory I tell myself not think about, but I do. He’s grinning at me. “Since you’re free and all.”
I fall back into the chair across from Tony’s desk in his office. This is something else new I’m trying to get used to. Preston was always controlling—my brain always has to do a double take when I get to make little choices like how I get to spend my day. I look over at Tony, who has moved in back of his desk now, arranging more papers and shutting down his computer. He’s wearing another great suit, this one dark navy, a periwinkle blue shirt with cuff links and a pale gold tie.
“Well, I think I want to go car shopping.”
Tony’s head jerks up. “Car shopping?”
“Yeah, you know, since I’m free and all,” I say sarcastically.
“Can I come with you?”
This is another sweet thing Tony does. Although he’s made himself a fixture in my life, he goes out of his way to not be controlling over me. Other than the sleeping together thing, that is. He’s never seems to give me a choice about that, but I’m not complaining.
Pressing my lips together, I shrug. He asks further, “What? You don’t want me to come?”
“No, it’s not that.” I look out his office window. “I just don’t want you to … um,” I look back at him to finish, “throw a fit.”
