Page 72 of Bittersweet

“You can’t knowthat.”

I set my pasta down. I really want to eat it, but I want to kiss this manmore.

I get up and walk over to him, then stand between him and the coffee table. He leans forward, his finger tracing the bare flesh of my thigh just above my knee. I break out in goose bumps as he leans in and presses his lips to my skin. I close my eyes and slide my hands into his thick hair. His hands glide up my thigh beneath my skirt to the waistband of my panties, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I’ve lost a lot of weight, fast, but on the inside, I’m still the girl who wasn’t good enough. The girl with stretch marks and cellulite. The girl who Marc humiliated with barbed words and passive-aggressive insults that I’ve heard before, too many times tocount.

“Wait,” Isay.

“What’swrong?”

“I . . . um. Are you sure? I mean, I’m no prize pig.”Really, Romy? God, what is the matter withyou?

“Romy, you’re beautiful. You’ve always beenbeautiful.”

I smile, but the voice inside my head tells me he’s just being nice, that he doesn’t really mean it. How canhe?

Elio frowns. “You don’t believeme?”

“No, it’s not that . . . it’sjust. . .”

“Jesus, my brother really fucked with your head, didn’the?”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t justhim.”

“Who else do I have to beat the shit outof?”

“Um . . . well, let’s see . . .” I trail off with a sigh. “There’s my parents, and my ex Jeremy, all of society, and then there’s . . . me. So . . . that could take awhile.”

“You’re right. Why don’t I just prove it toyou?”

“Prove it to mehow?”

An immoral smile tips the corner of his mouth. “By showingyou.”

He runs his hands around to my ass and grabs my cheeks, squeezing hard. I gasp, startled by the ferocity. He hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down my legs. They fall to my ankles and I step out ofthem.

Elio pulls me closer and lifts the hem of my dress. It’s made of a soft jersey so of course, it doesn’t stay, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him once his head is under there and his hot breath washes over mythighs.

He doesn’t touch me, but teases instead with his warm breath. It’s too much, too cruel, too arousing. He slides his hands between my legs and separates my thighs. My breath catches in the back of my throat as he finally brings his mouth to my hot, aching flesh. It’s nothing more than the sweetest of kisses right over the hood of my clit, but he deepens the kiss, parting me with his tongue. My ability to breathe, to think, to protest and beg is gone, and I pull my skirt out of the way so I can see him and drive my hands into his hair, bringing himcloser.

When I’m weak in the knees and desperate to come, he pulls away. He looks up at me with those dark eyes, and I lick mylips.

Elio opens his mouth to speak. “Weshouldn’t—”

“Do this? You’re right. That would be a big mistake because you’re um . . . you’re Marc’s brother, and he and I . . . that is . . . we’re . . . broken up. Or I planned on breaking up with him right afterdinner—”

“Romy, I was going to say we shouldn’t do this here where Coco can findus.”

“Oh.” I exhaleloudly.

Elio’s brow creases. “You think we shouldn’t dothis?”

“No, that’s not it at all. I just meant if you think we shouldn’t do it, then I understand and I . . . I’m rambling, aren’tI?”

“You really are,” he says, standing so that I’m forced to take a step back. He doesn’t let me go far though. Instead, he takes my face in his hands and leans down to kissme.

It’s not an open-mouthed kiss, but a soft meeting of our lips. I can taste myself on him, and it’s as shocking as it is enticing. He deepens the kiss until his tongue is slipping inside to tangle with my own. We take several stumbling steps back, knocking the bowls of pasta off the coffee table. I break from his lips and turn to look at the mess, but Elio captures my mouth again with his own and threads his hands through my hair. I kiss him back, wanting more, needingmore.

When he pulls away, I whimper. God help me, I actually whimper like a sadpuppy.

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