Page 47 of Not Your Valentine
Ugh, there are more weird feelings in my chest as I imagine this “someone great” giving him a heart-shaped box of cinnamon hearts, as I imagine how he’d smile at her in response.
Kind of like how he’s smiling at me now.
Not that he feels that way about me, of course. He’s just developed an attraction to me.
“Have you slept with anyone else?” I ask. “Since your last relationship ended, I mean.”
He shakes his head.
I’m conflicted. On one hand, I can’t help feeling rather pleased. I’m special! I want to smack myself over the head for that thought.
On the other hand, maybe that’s why we're in bed together right now. Because, like me, he hasn’t had sex in a long time, and I’m convenient.
Which is…fine.
Ugh, I don’t like these stupid feelings.
Fortunately, Taylor—in his painfully cute flannel pajamas—pins my hands over my head and kisses me, and in just a few seconds, my desire is back. Turns out, I wasn’t sated after all. I take his hand and slip it inside my pajama pants.
“You know,” I say, “I’ve been having dreams about you.”
“Yeah?” He slides a finger inside me. “These kinds of dreams?”
I nod. “Sometimes, you wear bowling shoes and nothing else.”
What is wrong with me? I appear to have lost control of my mouth. Well, I suppose I can’t be expected to think straight when he’s touching me like this.
He laughs. “Does that turn you on? Should I put on some bowling shoes?”
“Did you bring a pair with you?”
“I would have, if I’d known you were into it.”
I smack his arm. His finger shifts inside me, and I shudder. “Only in my dreams. Not in real life. You were even wearing bowling shoes in bed, and I didn’t ask you to take them off.”
“How shocking.”
“But even when I was awake, I was thinking about doing this.” I pause. “With you.”
The only sound in the room is that of his finger moving in and out of my moisture, but my words seem to linger in the air.
He leans down, his lips so close to my own. “And you touched yourself?”
My skin heats. “Yeah. Do you mind?”
“What do you think?” he murmurs, then kisses me. “I did the same thing, you know.”
I imagine him alone in bed or maybe in the shower. Hand on his cock, head tipped back in pleasure.
I make a strangled sound as I push myself against his hand.
He pulls back, then removes my pants and underwear.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, looking directly between my legs.
I turn my head to face the wall. “Stop it.”
“What? You’re gorgeous, Helen.”
