Page 128 of Facing Off
There’s another break. He needs to clear his throat.
“Next is the collarbone,” he says, speaking out loud as if giving me a chance to say something. To stop this.
My chest comes forward an inch. His hand stays hovering over the neckline of my top. One pause. Two pauses. Three.
“What?” I ask.
He swallows. “Sonya.”
There is unmistakable anguish in his voice.
“Why do you have to feel so soft?”
“Moisturizer.”
He struggles, ducking his head until it’s pushed against his shoulder as he huffs out a laugh.
At the same time, his hand makes contact. My collarbonezings. It’s never been an erogenous zone for me, but now it’s full of all these joyful nerve endings.
I swallow a gasp. “Is that it?”
“There’s one more spot. But we don’t have to?—”
“Where?”
“Under your arm.”
I’m wearing a tank top. It’s utilitarian. Black. The fabric is this thin camisole material. Lifting my arm showsoff how it dips on the sides to reveal the lacework of my bra. Also black.
The tendons in his neck are visible in sudden relief.
Adrian sweeps his finger across the scalloped edge.
“That’s not tapping,” I breathe out.
“Baby, I can see your nipples.”
Hecan. They’ve pebbled hard enough to poke through my top.
For what feels like minutes, nothing more is said. Adrian uses both hands to scrub at his face.
My lower back digs more into the armrest. “Is that it? Is the therapy over?”
“No.”
“What’s next?”
“Give me a minute.” He draws in a deliberate breath. “Would you—? Can I have some water?”
I get up, even though my legs have become noodles. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this distance will give my nipples a chance to calm themselves down.
Now,that’swildly optimistic. Especially considering I go to the doorway of my kitchen, and turn right around because I also have sparkling water, and which does Adrian want? Bubbles or no bubbles? I don’t have a chance to ask him. He must think I’m still in the kitchen and doesn’t sense me standing there, gawking at him.
His shirt has risen up. Just an inch, so the waistband of boxer briefs is visible.
That’s not what reinvigorates my nipples…dries my mouth…makes me want to swear a million swear words…
It’s his hand. Down there. It’s cupping a bulge.
