Page 18 of The Couch Where It Happens
“Really?” He nailed the impression with a startled enthusiasm and a tiny voice-cracking bray.
She was supposed to say no to keep the movie bit going, but fuck that.
“Yes.” She yanked his polo out of the back of his pants and wiggled her hand underneath to reach his skin.
He was burning under her palm, but so firm and taut and smooth. Her mouth was all over his neck, kissing from his ear to those columns of tendon, and she couldn’t believe how good he smelled. She wanted to smell like him before this night ended.
“Yes.” She said it again, lost in him while he thrust his erection against her center and his pants scraped her bare thighs and his buckle was probably scratching lines on her stomach through the bunched fabric of her dress. They had to get naked.
“Yes.” She sucked deeply on his lower lip and whispered into his mouth, “And in the morning, I’m making—”
“Waffles.”
This man who could finish every one of her Shrek quotes was hers. Definitely hers.
