Page 101 of PS: I Hate You

He hooks his arms around my torso, pulling me flush against his chest as he claims my mouth in a searing kiss.

Meanwhile I laugh and moan. “No!” I wail when he finally moveshis kisses to my chin and neck. “You made us a cum sandwich! The evidence is smashed all over me now!”

“I want the evidence on your tits,” he mumbles against my pounding pulse.

And damn the man, he gets his wish.

Eventually we shower—together—and find lunch in the kitchen—together—and settle in the sitting room by the fire. The snow is too heavy to even consider making a run at North Dakota today. Sandra says we can book our room for another night, and we take her up on the offer.

Unfortunately, this isn’t technically a vacation for me. I get comfy on the floor with my laptop and an old bird-themed puzzle Sandra dug out for me. I log into my work email and try not to balk at the number I have waiting for me.For every five I answer, I get to put a piece in the puzzle,I promise myself.

I spread the pieces on the coffee table, then get to clearing out my inbox. Dom sits behind me on the fainting couch, his legs on either side of my body, with yesterday’s newspaper loosely held in hands that I now know much better—but refuse to think about because I might accidentally type dirty thoughts into a response to the marketing department.

Dom isn’t helping matters, doing what has been widely established as one of the sluttiest things a man can do: wearing gray sweatpants. I can’t stop listing to the side to lean against his calf, reveling in the warm, soft fabric. Every time I do, his muscle tenses, then relaxes, and I swear I feel a featherlight tug on my hair.

When my email Everest is temporarily summited and the puzzle is done, I help Dom figure out the last few answers to the crossword in the paper before we sneak back upstairs. Dom asks what other positions are best for my breathing and generously practices every one of them with me.

In between rounds of decadent sex, we talk about small thingsthat don’t matter but make us smile. My fantasy fan fiction. His baseball leagues. The thrift stores where I find the best sweaters. The pigeon that stares at him whenever he grills on his back porch.

I tease him and kiss him and promise myself I won’t fall for him again.

It’s perfect.

But it’s also fragile. Neither of us brings up the past, as if worried this new development might shatter under the weight of memories. We make a silent pact to live in our snowy sex bubble and forget the rest of the world for as long as we can.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

“Maddie, did you hear anything I just said?”

I stare at Pamela’s face on my computer screen and realize that at some point in the last ten minutes, my brain automatically tuned my boss out. Not that what she was saying wasn’t important. I honestly have no idea if it was or if she was reciting her grocery list. The problem is, I’ve been having trouble concentrating ever since getting back from South Dakota last week.

“I’m sorry. My internet seems spotty today. Your audio and video are going in and out.” Okay, yeah, so I’m a liar. But to be honest, I would say seventy-five percent of the information that she tells me in these meetings could have been written in a single email.

“Fine.” Pamela sighs. “I guess I’ll send it to you in an email.”

And my point is proven.

“Thank you so much. And I’ll be sure to follow up on the market dashboards we talked about. “

“Oh good. Yes, that needs to happen. And can you also consolidate the team’s quarterly performance reviews?”

“Sure. I’m on it.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have agreed to take on extra tasks that aren’t in my job description. Sometimes there’s so much additional work I feel like I have another full-time job.

But the idea of saying no to Pamela gives me hives.

She appreciates my work. Considers me an invaluable part of the company. And I got an impressive holiday bonus, plus a raise.

Do not ruin a good thing!

We log off our meeting and for a stretch I just stare at my blank screen and hype myself up to do my job. Normally, it’s not like this. Normally, I am in work mode practically twenty-four seven.

But other things have been crowding my mind.

Mainly the mental image of a naked Dom.

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