Page 97 of You're The One
Either that, or my body is tensing up now that the orgasm high is fading.
Shit. I’ve also stopped the slow drag of my fingers through his hair and down his back.
“Good.”
He lifts his head, easing some of his weight off me and propping himself up on one elbow. His finger nudges my chin until I’m looking at him.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a shit liar?”
He’s wrong about that. I’ve actually been told I’m a great liar. Or at least emotionally distant and hard to read. Which is basically the same thing.
It’s just him. He’s the only one who seems to have X-ray vision when it comes to me.
“Actually, no.”
He huffs a laugh. “Of course not,la mia fiamma.”
I was starting to think he forgot about that nickname. I’d never admit it, but I’m kind of glad he didn’t.
He steps back and pulls me with him. Then grabs a towel, wets it and walks back over, completely unbothered by the fact that his softening dick is still just out.
Which, for the record, is still pretty. Even flaccid.
He wipes me up gently, then adjusts my panties, pulls up the neckline of my dress, and smooths the skirt.
Only once I’m put back together does he finally tuck himself away.
Then his hands find my waist, steadying me as he helps me off the counter.
“I should probably—” I gesture toward the back door with my thumb. “Ryan’s expecting me.”
He catches the hand still dangling at my side. “I thought we were going to talk.” His voice is soft. Patient.
I take a long inhale. And an even longer exhale.
He chuckles.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Afraid so.” He smiles like I’m cute instead of a complete pain in the ass.
“All right.” I cross one arm under my chest, but he keeps hold of the other, tugging me gently through the kitchen and dining room, into the living room.
In front of the couch, he sits, and I plop. Which is maybe the wrong approach because this couch has zero give and I basically bounce.
“You weren’t kidding about needing new decor. This couch is not comfortable.”
“I know.” He leans into his corner, putting some space between us but keeping his eyes locked on me.
“So.” I clear my throat. “What did you want to talk about?”
I tug the hem of my dress again, even though it’s already back in place.
His brow lifts slightly. “You know what.”
I shrug. “You want a post-game analysis? Should I have been more vocal? Thrown in a few compliments?”
“Mia.”
