“As long as you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Hell no. We can save that for California. Sleeping on the couch has been the hardest mission of my entire life.”
“Oh, really?” Gabby’s face was starting to hurt from smiling. “Tell me more.”
“It’s harder than that time I went undercover in the drug cartel. It’s more torture than the time I was actually tortured.”
“Oh no!”
Markus didn’t pause to explain the whole torture thing. “Gabby, I can’t stand knowing you are in that big bed all alone just on the other side of the wall when I have been dying for this moment since we met.”
At the cottage, butterflies erupted in her stomach. Operation One Bed was about to commence. The anticipation had risen to a fever pitch. She looked to Markus. “Are we—?”
He smiled and gave her a nod. “You ready?”
Her heart racing, she nodded.
“Let’s do this.” And he unceremoniously rolled his travel bag into the main bedroom. For some reason, it felt like they were really moving in together. That intimate moment when you’ve chosen to share your space with someone, to split a closet, to brushyour teeth at the sink together. To be in your pajamas in front of him without makeup. At the very beginning, before it becomes old hat.
It was after midnight, but Gabby was wired.
“Which side of the bed do you want?” she asked. “I put my stuff on this nightstand, but I don’t care. It’s not like I have a phone to plug in.” Not since she threw it into the ocean. It felt like that had happened a lifetime ago. “Did I tell you I accidentally dropped my phone into the ocean?”
While unbuttoning his shirt, Markus began walking slowly toward her. “By the time I’m done with you, I don’t think you’re going to know which end is up, Gabby.”
“Oh—” Her jaw dropped, leaving her staring, gape-mouthed.
He dropped his pants, leaving him standing in a pair of boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. She’d seen him without his shirt before. Now he was giving his body to her. For a flash, her own stupid body spiked with anxiety. What was she going to do with it? Did she remember what to do?
With heavy-lidded eyes and full lips, he angled his gaze down at her. “How did I get so lucky?” he said.
“Um, actually, I’m the lucky one. You’re—”
He slipped his hands around her waist and slid them up under her shirt.
“Markus, I’m not very good at this.” She was so round and imperfect compared to this man. Cellulite on her thighs, a stomach pooch, stretch marks. She knew she was strong, but she mostly looked lumpy. “Do you want to turn out the lights?”
“I want to see you.” Huskily, he breathed out the words, “All of you.” With hypnotizing slowness, he was rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the sensitive skin of her waist, her ribs, that soft secretpart of her tucked under her breasts, slipping under the rubber band of her bra, teasing. He tugged at her shirt, a suggestion, and when she nodded, he helped lift it up over her head.
“Um…”
“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispered while trailing kisses from the sensitive skin of her neck down to her collarbone.
“You haven’t seen me without my clothes, Markus.”
“Gabby.” The way he said her name almost broke her. “Feel what you do to me.” He pressed his hardness against her, and she gasped. If anything could convince her that he wanted her, it was that steel rod in his pants.
“That’s for you.”
“For my big, lumpy butt?”
“Definitelyfor your absolutely perfect butt.” He let his hands skim her bottom.
She exhaled her insecurities. If he could love her big mom butt, maybe she could too. “Those pants are soft, aren’t they?” Jasmine’s refined loungewear pants felt like a cloud.
“Shhhh,” he whispered.
“Are you sure you’re not just really horny?”
