Page 75 of Kisses and Paperclips

Further back was the bedroom. There were no doors, and no line was drawn between public and private. Just open space and a clean design.

A king-sized bed sat low against a deep gray rug. The sheets were crisp, tucked so tight it looked like you’d have to earn your way in. The kind of bed that said he didn’t just care about how things looked but cared how they felt.

He went to the wet bar, pouring himself a drink and pouring me a Coke. I looked out his window, and the city lights lit up the room.

He turned with the two glasses and gave me one.

I loved how he never forgot that I didn’t drink. The glass was cold to the touch, and my finger felt the slickness of the moisture as I held it. I brought it to my lips for a quick drink. The coolness calmed me, or maybe I just wanted it to.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on me like he hadn’t looked away since I sat down.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

“I already said what I needed to say.”

He smiled at that, low and knowing, and took another sip, finishing half the glass.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, voice rough, almost amused.

I leaned back, letting the tension rise between us like steam. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

He set the glass down and sank into the couch, like he owned the night. Legs wide, shoulders loose, claiming every inch of space like it was owed to him.

“You talk a big game,” he said, gaze trailing over me slow and heavy. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

“You already know I can.”

He set the glass down with a soft clink and sank into the couch, taking up space as only men like him could without apologizing. “I think you’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

I didn’t flinch or smile. Only slid onto the seat beside him, my back hitting the cushion with a quiet thud that felt louder than anything either of us had said.

He didn’t move. Just looked at me…jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

But I knew that look.

He was already undressing me with it.

Not just my body. My intention.

And I let him.

Because right now, there was nothing left to hide.

The silence stretched between us, and my pulse stuttered in the space where words should’ve been.

Then, without warning, without asking, his hand moved. Up my dress, and

between my thighs. Warm fingers brushing my skin like he knew the map by memory.

He cupped the inside of my thigh first, his thumb grazing slow, lazy circles, testing, teasing, and claiming. Then he shifted, pushing the fabric up inch by inch, his eyes dropping as if waiting to see the color. Guessing.

“With the things I’m about to do… and how hard.”

His voice was lower now. Rougher.

“Yeah. You should be.”

---