“Not even close,” I murmur.
He leans in and tugs one of the buttons on my blazer. “Good. ’Cause I’m not sure I’ll ever be done with you.”
The air shifts a little as we gather our things. I glance at the spot on the bed where we went at it and my fear about what happened gives way to a strange mix of vulnerability and awe.
He chose me.
Despite everything—our age difference, my plump body, the roadblocks I’ve thrown at him, and this lawsuit, we’re here. Together.
He opens the door and holds it for me. As we step into the quiet hallway he takes my hand and our fingers lace together like it’s natural.
“I’ll drive.” I glance up at him. “So, yes. You can come over.”
I wait for the distance—the exit, the cold change I’ve come to expect.
It doesn’t come.
A grin spreads across his face so bright it makes my heart skedaddle all over the place. He looks at me like I’meverything.
Like this isn’t the time when it ends.
Like maybe this is how we begin.
twenty-two
Seamus
Two Mornings Later
Jesus.God.
I’m so glad I waited for her.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Not books. Not theories. Not every stairwell encounter I thought would protect me from experiencing something real.
We’re sprawled across Marcella’s bed, limbs tangled and sheets rumpled around us. The only light in the room comes from her bedside lamp, dim and golden, casting flickering shadows every time one of us moves.
Her head rests on my chest and her hand absently trails over my ribs. I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve done the deed this weekend. It doesn’t matter. It’s never enough and never the same. We’ve fucked. Made love. Screwed. Melded. Banged. Tangled. Humped. Railed. Merged.
Every time with her feels like a new discovery, like my body has been waiting my whole life to learn hers.
She shifts slightly, brushing her lips against my shoulder, then turns her face up to look at me. Her hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and bright with mischief.
“You know,” she murmurs, “you really need to illuminate how you’re this good.”
I grin. “Good at what? Cuddling?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” She arches a brow, and I can see she’s fighting a smile. “No matter how much you explained it to me, there’s no way to comprehend your skill until…I mean, I can’t fathom how you were a virgin before this weekend.”
I kiss her temple. “Maybe it’s less about the clinical stuff and more about wanting to give pleasure. Or, it’s instinct. Who knows.”
Her laugh is soft and low. “It’snotinstinct, Seamus. It’s practice. Technique. Clinical-level knowledge. You know what you’re doing and you know exactly how to do it.” Her fingers press lightly into my side. “Tell me.”
I trace a lazy circle on her bare hip, thinking.
“It’s not magic,” I say eventually. “I studied.”
Marcella lifts herself onto her elbow, fully interested. “I know, I know. I’ve heard the cliff notes. Give me the deep dive. Studied how?”
