Page 113 of Battle of the Bookstores

“I know.” His smile disappears, lips dipping in a frown. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You better.”

He kisses my forehead, then my lips, moving down—neck, chest, stomach, hip. I need no encouragement to let my thighs fall open, and I gasp when I feel his wet, warm tongue as he tastes me, sucking, sliding two fingers to stroke inside me. It feels as wonderful as it did the other day in the bookstore—but now there’s nothing between us, no holding back, no unwilling deception. He was right; this is infinitely better, and I’m so damn grateful for him, grateful that he was patient when I wasn’t ready…and grateful that he made us wait until we could be fully open with each other.

He’s still going slow, and I shift myself to guide him where I want him. When he hits the right spot, I suck in a breath. I’m about to say, “Do that again,” but he’s apparently gotten the message, because he repeats the same motion, circling and stroking, and the rhythm is perfect, the friction exquisite.

Somehow, he manages to continue exactly the way I want.Time stretches and twists until I have no idea how long we’ve been here, but I’m squirming and my legs are trembling and I’m making the kind of noises I’ve mocked in the past, gasping and groaning, pleading for him to keep going, don’t stop, just like that,oh my god oh my god yes yes yes.He’s relentless, holding me in place as the intensity builds and builds, waves on a stormy sea, until I crest the highest peak and tumble down, head over heels, crying out over and over again.

I’m shaking when I open my eyes to see his face over mine, blurry.

He’s smirking down at me. “I seem to remember someone suggesting that women don’t make noises like that in real life.”

“Apparently that’s because I’ve only had mediocre sex.”

He chuckles. “Not anymore. Only the best for BookshopGirl.”

I laugh, shaking my head in amazement. “I still can’t believe you’re RJ. That I’ve been talking toyouall this time. It’s going to take me a while to get used to it.”

“But it’s a good thing? You’re sure it’s good?” The vulnerability in his voice surprises me, and I put my hand on his cheek, gazing into his dark-honey eyes. All the times he confided in me that he felt like he didn’t measure up, that he was the participation trophy kid—I want to erase it all, every doubt in his mind that he is anything but extraordinary.

“So good,” I say. “The absolute best.”

He exhales and settles next to me on the pillow, putting one arm around me so my head is on his chest, my cheek resting on his unbuttoned shirt. “I didn’t know how to handle this when I first found out,” he says, his voice a quiet hum.

He’s still fully clothed, just his shirt open, and when his hand rests on my bare stomach, I feel suddenly exposed.

“You probably didn’t think it was such a good thing, huh?” Now it’smyvoice that sounds vulnerable.

“Not at first. But it didn’t take long before I knew I had to do whatever it took to convince you to give us a chance.”

“I didn’t make it easy on you.”

He trails his fingers across my stomach. “Someone once told me that the effort is what makes it worth it—like mining for jewels. If they were out in the open, they wouldn’t be so precious.”

He’s repeating my words about my favorite books, but he’s saying them aboutme.It makes me feel, for the first time ever, that my protective shell isn’t a character flaw; maybe I’m not too difficult to get to know. Maybe I’ve just been waiting for someone who’s willing to put in the work.

Before I can respond, he slides his hand down between my legs, where I’m still sensitive. My breath catches. His fingers start drawing a slow, whisper-light circle that feels so good I can’t help sighing again.

Still, I feel like I should tell him. “Just so you know, I never have more than one orgasm during sex.”

“That’s fine.” But he doesn’t stop, and it does feel great, so I try to relax and enjoy it.

“Just don’t want you to be disappointed,” I murmur.

“Never.”

But as the minutes tick by, I start to worry. He’s used to romance-reading, sex-positive partners, not an aloof ice queen. Plus, he’s already given me a top-notch orgasm, and I don’t want to be greedy. What if he’s getting impatient? Or bored? This is why women fake it. But if I tried that, he’d know—he just saw the real thing.

“We really can do something else,” I say after a while.

He presses a kiss to my temple. “Josie. If it doesn’t feel good, just tell me.”

My breath hitches as he increases the pressure. “It feels good. So good. I just…”

“What?”

“I feel bad taking so much time and…and effort.”

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