“Laura will be here in an hour,” Leon informs me.
“Perfect timing.” I lift the pile of letters I’ve written to each wedding guest, asking for forgiveness and informing them that their wedding gifts will be returned.
“You didn’t need to do that, you know?” He points to the envelopes as he takes a seat on one of his larger-than-life curved sectional sofas. His living room is so big, he has two matching cream sofas in the softest leather. They mirror one another, making them look like a complete circle, with a huge circular wooden coffee table at the heart of them. My house is cool, but Leon’s is on a different level altogether.
“I know I didn’t, but it’s made me feel better.” I bang the pile of letters on the coffee table to stack them neatly, then wrap an elastic band around them.
“We can mail them before we fly on Monday,” Leon suggests before taking a sip of his wine.
I take a seat opposite him, and tuck my legs under myself on the comfortable sofa that feels like I’m sitting on a giant marshmallow.
“I want to buy a couple of books at the airport before we go if we have time,” I request. I love my Kindle, but there’s nothing better than reading a physical book. The smell of the print, the texture of the paper. And if it has sprayed edges, then I’m in book heaven.
“Have you seen the bookstores recently? Romance books, fucking spicy ones specifically, are like fucking gremlins; they’re multiplying by the day. There’s no space for the classics anymore.”
Amused, I try to keep the entertainment out of my tone, but I fail. “Heathens, the lot of us.”
“Fucking spicy books,” he mutters.
“Those spicy books are amazing. They have great plots, and there is always a happy ending.” I laugh at the double entendre.
“Happy ending? Are you referring to what I think you are?” Leon sounds exasperated.
“I will never yuck someone’s yum. I like what I like,” I reply confidently.
“You love clit literature way more than the classics, that’s what you’re saying. And I thought you had a brilliant mind. I take it all back.”
On the edge of laughter, I blurt out, “Clit literature?”
“Just telling you how it is.”
“Just so you know,” I begin, “those books are my escape from a job that drains the hope out of me some days. There’ssomething magical about a good romance: boy meets girl, they fall in love. They allow me to disconnect from the chaos around me. And for the record, they get me off, which is something no man has ever been able to do.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I clear my throat, heat rushing to my cheeks. They’re most probably redder than the strawberry I ate at lunch. “Forget I said that.”
His mouth drops open, and he stills as if stunned. “Let’snotforget that. Let’s fucking talk all aboutthat.”
“No,” I punch out.
Without warning, he stands and strides confidently over to me. “Yes.”
“No,” I reply, much louder now, lifting myself from my seat to run away, but I’m too late. Leon wraps his hand around my wrist, stopping me from leaving the awkward conversation I only have myself to blame for.
“You’re a fucking flight risk lately. Don’t ever run away from me.” His voice is firm, but his actions are gentle. He always is with me. Sitting back down on the sofa, he coaxes me to do the same, only this time he pats his lap. “Sit.” The commanding tone he’s using is one I am growing to love.
How can I say no to that?
Reluctantly, I perch on his knee, which we’ve done a million times before in nightclubs and on nights out, but now this feels different. Intimate.
“Explain.”
“Explain what?” I play dumb.
Somehow his chest widens, and his pupils shimmer with intrigue. “Explain to me why a man has never been able to make you come.”
Damn, that was blunt, and this is all new territory for us. I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss this with him. It’s embarrassing, and we don’t talk about sex, ever. That is, until recently.
I suddenly find the cream shaggy rug interesting.
I deal with people and their bodily functions all day, every day, so why can’t I talk about my uncooperative body?
