Page 4 of No Place Like You

“Not what?” I’m inches from her now, and I stroke her hand with my finger. I can feel her grow nervous, more fidgety and tense, but she doesn’t lean away. Instead, she loops her finger through mine, making her thumb and my pinky the only parts of our bodies touching.

“Confident. Or flirty.”

I lift an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” I argue. When I talk, a little low and drawn out, her gaze flicks to my lips. “That drinking game was pretty flirty. I believe you were the one who suggested the round of strip beer pong. Is that the usual impression you give people when you meet them for the first time?” Itskmy tongue against the roof of my mouth, working hard to hold back my smile.

“I was drunk, Dexter,” she responds flatly. “And I’m on vacation. Visiting my sisters, who I haven’t seen in ages.”

“So…”

She huffs, annoyed, pinching my pinky as if to inflict pain while giving it a light tug. “So I was celebrating. Or just…having fun, I guess.”

“And what was the excuse for the text messages last night?” Both of my eyebrows shoot up now, one joining the other. It’s more suggestive than anything out of curiosity, but honestly, she started all of this with her inhibitions thrown out the window and her infectious laughter.

She opens her mouth, probably to throw some jab at me or to discouragethis, but then shuts it. There’s a moment that lingers between us. It’s long enough for her to back out. To leave here and pretend like she wasn’t the one who texted me back this morning after I suggested a game of strip Twister, claiming she would need a good twenty-minute warning to stretch.

Would right now be a good time to tell her I don’t actuallyownthe board game? Maybe not. Because I don’t care if I have to paint the colorful dots directly onto my wood floor. All that matters is that she’s here. Not across the bridge at her sisters’ apartment, ignoring my messages or shutting me down with close-ended answers to my suggestive questions like,What other games can you add the word “strip” to?

“I’m going back home tomorrow,” she blurts suddenly. She says it like she’s trying to convince me to talk her out of this. To tell her us living thousands of miles apart is going to somehow wipe away my nagging curiosity of what she’d feel like when her bare skin is flush against my own.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

She nods again. Third time, but who’s counting. “So this…”

“Are you suggesting we start an LDR based on a shared interest in naked drinking games and tequila?”

“L…?”

“Long distance relationship,” I answer when her voice trails, and her face scrunches intothe cutest scowl.

“And here I thought only kids in junior high spoke in acronymic code.” She finally laughs. Whatever nerves are apparent in the tight set of her jaw and her too round eyes dissolve for just a second.

I close the last inches of space between us and reach for her cheek, running my thumb across her lower lip. “I’m not expecting anything,” I say close to her skin, feeling her warm breath meet mine.

I see her lashes flutter, fanning the skin I now know feels like silk, and a shallow exhale slips through her lips. “Good.”

“So…I can kiss you now?” I say lowly, my gaze on her plump bottom lip, tracing the curves at the corners and enjoying too much the small recoiling bounce her lip has when I pull at it with my thumb and let go.

Her chin tilts downward in the slightest of nods, the act so subtle it feels hesitant. My arms wrap around her waist at the same time hers hook around my neck, and our lips collide. I don’t mean to, but a low, desperate growl grumbles in my throat, right when her lips part and her tongue dips inside my mouth. She whimpers and runs her teeth along my bottom lip, taking a healthy nibble, and that sensation travels all the way down to my groin.

“You really wanted to kiss me,” she says breathlessly against my ridiculously greedy mouth.

“You have no idea.”

I turn toward my room, my feet stumbling over hers. My hand travels down to her thigh. And I take the moment to thank the saint of a human being who invented sundresses. Those thank you cards are piling up fast.

She hooks her knee over my hip, making her legs part open, and I rock into her, causing her to press herself against me. I start to see bits and pieces of her unravel. Those wound-up knots holding the remains of her reserve are unfurling, and I could spend all day watching her come apart like this. How her hands are no longer guarded and move with intent and motive.Or how she doesn’t care that I can hear her moans and whimpers, making them leave her lips more often.

My thumb tucks into the single string of her thong, and it slips, snapping against her tight skin.

She pulls away. “Ow,” she comments, not an ounce of pain in her voice.

“Sorry,” I respond, my voice all gravely and rough. “It’s in the way.”

“You can ask nicely, and I’ll take it off.”

I bunch her dress around her hips and tug at the string again, but this time with two hands. When the rip of fabric fills the air, Lucy’s eyes widen.

“Like I said,” I say casually to her stunned face, dipping my lips to her jaw. “In.” A kiss under her chin. “The.” Another kiss on her pulse point. “Way.”

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