Page 116 of Anyone But the Superstar

I frown, the first thing that comes to mind popping out of my mouth. ‘When I told you to go fuck yourself?’

He rolls his lips. ‘Before that.’ His finger nudges the neck of my robe wider.

‘When I told you not to use serendipitous as a pick-up…’ My thoughts scatter at his lips on my shoulder.

‘After that,’ he murmurs, making his way up my neck, his breath tickling my ear.

‘I don’t remember.’ The sleeves of my robe slide back as I raise my hands to hold on to his shoulders.

‘Sure you do.’ His hands slip under the edges of silk. ‘You said it makes perfect.’

‘Perfect…’ I rake my fingers up and into his hair, tugging, not so gently.

‘Mmmhmmm.’

The pinch to my nipple runs through me like lightning. ‘Practice.’

‘Boa rapariga, meu amor.’ He rubs over the sting with his thumb. ‘Sim, we need to practice.’

Our lips meet, our breath flowing into each other, our bodies aligning in that perfect way that sets my toes curling into the bathroom rug.

Lips, tongue, touch – it’s a great kiss. Our best yet.

If this is practice, mark me down as an A-plus student.

Fully invested in our practice, I can’t help but whimper when he pulls away before I’ve had my fill.

His eyes bore into mine, serious and hot and brimming with promised practice. ‘Eu amo-te.’

I’m too dazed from desire to be embarrassed.

‘Eu amo-te,’ he repeats, his hands cupping my cheeks, his forehead dropping to rest on mine. ‘No matter what your name. No matter Mike Hunt. No matter how many times your brothers punch me, or how many times I deserve it—’ he pulls back, once more holding my eyes with his ‘—I love you.’

I swallow. Or try to. It’s kind of hard at the moment.

As if sensing that, he kisses first one eye, ‘I love you,’ then the other, ‘I love you.’

Moving across my body, Felix kisses my skin, inch by inch, each touch of his lips followed by the words, ‘I love you.’

Until I’m physically too riled up to feel emotionally insecure. Until the dampness between my bare thighs demands action rather than words. Until my hands find his shirt and dig in, dragging his face to mine.

‘I love you too, Douchebag.’

28

FELIX

I had needed to talk to her. I had hoped to be forgiven. Even so, I hadn’t thought to acknowledge my want of being loved in return. It had seemed too much to ask. Of the universe. Of her.

So for all my waiting and rehearsing, I’m solely unprepared for the words when they come.

Taking advantage of my silence, Elizabeth pushes against my chest.

Eyes on hers, I stumble over the bathroom threshold, walking in reverse until my calves hit back into something and I trust fall on top of her bed.

Behind her, on either side of the bathroom door, are pictures. Elizabeth as a little girl, holding hands with her mother. Teen Elizabeth in between two suits – one smiling, one not. Recent Elizabeth, standing in a group surrounding Thomas and Alice in their wedding attire. Art awards, sketches – some framed, some not. Everywhere I look, there’s Elizabeth. The Elizabeth that was and the Elizabeth that is, crawling on top of me.

‘Também te amo.’ Her smile the most beautiful thing in the room. A smile Michelangelo himself could not recreate.

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