“Baby, no, you can’t worry about that,” he said, pulling me into his lap. He kissed my hair, my temple, my jaw.
“But what if somethingdidhappen,” I continued. “Would I even know?”
I watched his throat bob, and I knew I wasn’t going to like the response. “I’m sure Lo would hear.” He rubbed his chin over my shoulder and held me tighter. “Listen. We can talk about this tomorrow. The only thing happening to me tonight is death by blue balls.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” I asked. “Am I going to find any other injuries?”
I felt him smile against my neck as he pressed my hand to his cock. “I don’t know. You might need to give me a thorough inspection.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said, stroking him. “I want to know that you’re okay.”
“Peanut, everything I need is in my lap.”
Will’s hand traveled up my belly to squeeze my breast, and it stole my breath. “Owww,” I moaned. Not a good moan. “Don’t, please don’t.”
He leaned back, his hands suspended away from my body. “What did I do?”
I shifted in his lap. “My boobs hurt.”
Will peered at me with concerned eyes. “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “My boobs always hurt the week before my period.”
“Oh. Okay,” he repeated, nodding.
“Shit,” I said, noticing his pinched expression. It was the same way I looked whenever the boys talked about sweaty balls or dick chafing in my presence. “Sorry about theickfactor. Didn’t mean to over share.”
He rubbed his hands together for a long moment, and fitted his chest against my back. “There’s nothing icky about a functional uterus,” he said. “Tell me if this is all right.”
His warm hands settled on the sore undersides of my breasts, massaging with the gentlest strokes imaginable, and I couldn’t recall anyone ever touching me with such tenderness. Those hyper-hormonal tears slid down my cheeks, and I didn’t try to stop them.
“Good?” he asked. I murmured in agreement and snuggled into him. “Anything else hurt?”
I shook my head. “No, I just feel fat, and I’m irritable and tired, and I’m so hungry, but none of that matters because I haven’t seen you in forever and you’ve beenshotand I don’t want to waste any of this time because my boobs are being moody and I’m crying like a bitch. And you have to leave in twenty-nine hours.”
“You’re counting, too?” He kissed a line from my shoulder to my earlobe. “There’s something I want you to let me try.”
“If you think we’re having anal sex right now, you’ve truly misinterpreted what I’m saying.”
“You have a filthy mind, peanut. Really filthy.” Will laughed against my neck, and I smiled through my tears. “That’s not what I want. I want you to let me take care of you. You think you can handle that?”
Six months ago, the answer would have been a definitiveno. Maybe even three months ago, or last week. But that desperate need for control wasn’t clawing at me right now. I listened for it, waiting to hear the noise of all the things I should be worrying about, and I searched for it, waiting for the snap of anxious adrenaline to tighten across my shoulders, but it didn’t come to me. All I had was the heat of Will’s chest against my back, his hands on my breasts, and the bubbly pressure of feeling possessed.
“I don’t think I know how,” I said, sniffling, “to let you.”
“Let me show you,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure how long he held me, and I didn’t protest when he carried me into the bathroom like a freaking doll. The tub was gorgeous, and when he filled it with water, I tried to explain that I wasn’t a bath girl. I never felt particularly clean afterward. Most bubble bath formulas left my skin irritated. I got bored quickly. Will wasn’t interested in my opinions on the topic, and said, “Stop arguing with me. Get in the fucking tub and relax.”
But this was nice. Ididrelax, and repeatedly toed the knob for more hot water. When I emerged from the heavy steam, Will was seated on the end of the bed, watching college basketball. He was wearing the same faded jeans he wore last summer, at Matt and Lauren’s place, a dark green Killer Dana t-shirt. My heart was too full to be a single organ in my chest because what I felt for him right now couldn’t be contained with muscle and blood alone.
“Come on,” he said. “You need to eat.” He cradled my head against his chest while running his hand down my back. “And after you eat, I’m going to kiss your entire body.”
We nestled up against the headboard, drinking wine, eating cheeseburgers and cupcakes from room service, and watching a marathon ofArrested Development. Will pointed at the television and said, “I imagine this is what your office is like.”
“No,” I said, studying the dysfunctional family of real estate developers. I could see the similarities when I looked at the right angle. “Well, no, notexactly. We’re not hiding anything in a banana stand, and Patrick would die if someone called him a real estate developer.”
Will turned to me, his brow furrowed. “I never asked you how you got into this work.”
