Page 48 of Crumbling Truth
“Because I’m practically perfect in every way?”
“I was thinking more like she was dazzled by your color-coded spreadsheets, but yes, that too.”
“Ah, yes. My spreadsheets are one of my best traits,” she mused.
I laughed, but when her fingers started trailing over my chest, leaving a tantalizing path of heat in their wake, I leaned close to her ear and said, “I can think of a few others I’d rank higher.”
“Oh? I’d like to hear all about them, but I believe you mentioned something about orgies?”
OurpreviousdiscussionsaboutThanksgiving had generally revolved around avoiding having to sit through dinner with any of our friends, but at some ungodly hour of the night—or maybe in the early morning—after we both awoke in a warm, sleepy haze and Esther rode me to a dreamlike orgasm before collapsing onto my chest, we decided we’d celebrate our own way.
“What’s your favorite Thanksgiving dish?” I asked, my voice low even though we were at no risk of disturbing anyone from her bed.
She nestled closer, her lips tickling my skin when she replied, “Sweet potatoes.”
“With marshmallows?”
“No, definitely not. I make them with brown sugar and pineapple. What about you?”
“Stuffing, definitely. And rolls.”
“A carb man,” she mused. “I dig it.”
“Turkey?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t eat a lot of meat. The texture weirds me out.”
“Right. Sidesgiving, then.”
While we debated the merits of pumpkin versus apple pie, Esther drew swirling designs across my chest and I glided my fingertips up and down her spine. I thought about how long she’d been alone, how readily she reacted to the faintest touch, how deeply she’d buried this part of her.
“You’re very quiet,” she whispered.
“I know you like keeping to yourself, but you must have been lonely.”
For a moment, she stayed silent, and I was afraid I’d crossed a line. Then she pressed her lips to my jaw and nodded in the darkness.
“I didn’t think so until I met you.”
My heart tripped on those words and my arm tightened involuntarily around her. “I don’t like the thought of you being sad.”
“Not sad,” she corrected, “just…I don’t know. Missing companionship, at times. I like my life, Theo. I’m happy with the choices I’ve made, proud of what I’ve done. Just very, very occasionally, I consider what it might be like to have someone to share it with. Then I come to my senses.”
The last bit was light, teasing, but I felt the truth underneath it.
“I’m not sad,” she reiterated, her fingers digging gently into my chest.
“I believe you.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ll be okay when you go home, Theo.”
“I know you will. But I want you to get your fill while I’m here, okay? Soak up as much as you need from me. Will you do that?”
She huffed a laugh against my skin. “Use you to fill my quota of physical affection?”
“Yes.”
Before answering, she snuggled closer into me and propped herself up to look down at my face. I’d never tire of seeing those luminous eyes shining through the darkness, of their warmth and curiosity glowing in her beautiful face.
