Page 28 of Escape Girl
I had to laugh at him then. “Bobby, for the past month, I’ve been dry humping you every time you drop me at my front door.”
His lips parted, and he flashed a huge white smile. “I may have noticed that. I sure as hell enjoyed it.”
“Well then.” I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to the side of his neck, right under his jaw. “Let me be evenmore clear. One bedroom—correction: one bed—is all we need tonight.”
All sorts of further corrections immediately ran through my mind: we didn’t even need a bed. The couch, the floor, against the wall. All viable options.
In fact, we didn’t even needtonight. For the first time since we’d met, I had Bobby March completely alone. There were no dinner party guests or baristas or neighbors or fathers or ushers or picnickers in sight. We were in our own private space. With a locked door and a mountain of time.
In the silence, Bobby raised one eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I am?”
Oh God. Probably not. He was probably about to ask if I also wanted pizza for lunch. I raised one eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”
He shifted his weight and grinned down at me, a nervous wolf. “That I have lost all inclination to leave this bungalow.”
I let out a high-pitched sigh of glee and relief. “I love it when we’re on the exact same page.”
Bobby slid my purse strap off my shoulder, placed the bag on a table next to his sunglasses, and pulled me to him. I wrapped myself around him, tucked my head under his chin, and breathed him in, savoring this sweet moment,the before.
“I haven’t ever been this nervous in my life,” he said. I drew back, looked up at him, and blinked. When I’d imagined our first time together, clothes had been ripped off and everything had been rather fierce and feral. Nerves hadn’t really entered into the equation.
“We make each other moan when we kiss,” I whispered. “I melt inside when you look at me over a dinner table.” I pressed myself against him again. “You shake when I bite your neck. I don’t think we need to worry.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “I know. But sex is different. No matter how much electricity is between us, it can still be awkward. And there’s been a hell of a lot of buildup here.” I moved my face so that my nose brushed lightly against his neck and I could inhale his scent. He shuddered. “I just want this to be perfect, and first times are never perfect.”
Unbidden, a phrase my mom always used to say popped right through my lips. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.” I gripped the back of his neck and pulled his lips to mine. “I already know that it’ll be wonderful because it’s us.”
We were both right, it turned out.
As Bobby predicted, there was a little awkwardness: Frantically kissing, we fumbled with each other’s clothes for long minutes before we gave up and undressed ourselves. The strong sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows was merciless in its reveal of every imperfection on my body. It was too warm in the small bedroom, and we were both sweating in seconds. But the moments of awkwardness didn’t make us shy or self-conscious as I would have feared. Instead, they highlighted our growing intimacy, the new way we were knowing one another.
Oh my God, was it wonderful. The moment I felt the entire length of his naked body against mine. The way he stared at me with single-minded worship when he finally slid inside me. The way we both cried out as our bodies learned to move together to get the rhythm and friction we both needed.
So no, it wasn’t a movie love scene. There weren’t choreographed moves or romantic music or camera-ready hair and bodies. We were a little clumsy and really sweaty and very loud; I was almost shocked at the ferocity of the sounds we made, the slapping of our bodies, the groans and grunts. I loved the taste of the salt on his skin, how he gasped when I dug my nails into his ass. He panted with wonder as he rode me even harder. “Jesus, Em. You. Feel. So. Fucking. Good.”
We came together, fast and so hard I saw starbursts in the corners of my eyes.
Dazed, I let the universe take its sweet time to settle back into some semblance of normalcy before I even lifted my head. When I finally came all the way back to myself, Bobby handed me a glass of cold sparkling wine—and then yanked me to his chest before I could even take a sip.
“Remember on our first date how you asked me about my favorite place in the world?” He kissed me, feather-soft, on my lips. “This is it. The place I first made love to you.”
If any other man had used the phrase “made love,” I would have cringed. I’d always hated it. But when Bobby said it, I felt honest-to-goodness tears prick at my eyelids. Because the sex—as carnal and lusty and earthy as it was—had felt exactly like love.
I kissed him back, partly to busy my mouth so that any too-sappy sentiment couldn’t burst right out. Sure, Bobby seemed as infatuated as I was, but I couldn’t tell him that I was in love with him. Could I? Was it too soon? I’d never been in love before. Was six weeks a long enough time to know? How long were most couples together before they confessed their love? I had no idea.
Bobby took a sip of champagne. “You know,” he said in a confessional tone, “I found an old picture of your family on the internet the other day.”
I suppressed a satisfied little smirk at the thought of him Googling me. But then he said, “You used to have red hair.” I almost jerked in surprise, although it was true. Until I was twenty-six, my hair was a bright auburn.
I attempted a casual laugh and shrug. “Natural red hair often fades to a blonde or brown.” I shook my tousled light brown hair self-consciously.
Bobby ran a warm hand over my scalp, fingers parting my tresses. I suddenly realized that I’d missed my lasthair appointment, which meant my fiery roots were probably just becoming visible. “Yours didn’t though,” he said softly, confirming my fear. There was a hint of a question in his voice.
I pulled away from his chest to take a long pull of my own bubbles. Bobby’s gaze went straight to my naked breasts. I started to pull up the sheet. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, yanking the expensive thread count out of my hand. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to see those?” he teased.
Fine, then. I lifted my chin, arched my back, and gave him a good, long look. I did have pretty nice boobs. “I know exactly how long,” I purred. I let my gaze rake over his sculpted torso and then lower. “I’ve been waiting to see some things too.”
His breath quickened in time with my pulse. I set my glass on the nightstand. “About those plans to walk to tasting rooms and go out for a steak dinner…”
