He places the afghan over my chest and grabs his shirt on the way to the front door. "Do you want any money?" I shout after him. Probably not the right moment to offer, but it’s a habit if I order food with someone.
He presses his hand against the wall and looks back at me before opening the door. "I’m not a prostitute," he says.
I meant for the food, I mutter to myself, trying not to laugh.
Brett returns with the large brown bag and places it in the kitchen on the other side of the open area.
"Do you like cold Chinese food?" I ask him.
"It’s so much better cold," he says, stalking toward me as he pulls his shirt back off.
Brett scoops me off the couch and carries me down the dark hallway, kicking a bedroom door open enough for us to walk through. He even made his bed this morning. His sheets smell like fresh linen, there’s no laundry scattered along the floor, and there are more pillows to fall into—which I do when he drops me down to his bed.
He steps out of his pants before joining me then pulls his comforter down from beneath me. "Are we moving too fast?" he asks breathlessly.
"If we are," I utter through weak sounds, "I don’t think we’d survive, moving any slower than we have."
"Ten years, and a kiss, leaving me wanting more, and not just another kiss—more of you—more of us," he says against my ear.
"I have had dreams about what could have been," I tell him.
Brett hovers over me, staring into my eyes with more than simple lust. There’s something deeper, something I feel and abundance of, but can’t describe.
"I’m not taking advantage, am I?" he asks.
"Not yet, and I wish you would start," I plead.
There aren’t any necessary words left to share. The sound of a condom wrapper being torn, the rustle of the remaining articles of clothing being tossed across the dark room, the pressure from his intense touch, and the spice of his body soap permeating my nerve endings. I’m overdrive as I run my fingertips up along the ripples of his lean body, finding the dips and curves of what I couldn’t have even imagined. My world is dark and confined within his hold, but I feel like a feather falling skating through the air, free and untamed. His lips are everywhere, his skin is my skin, and there is nothing left but the sensation of pleasurable oblivion, responding in the form of uncontrolled cries and pleas for more.
The soft touch of his sheets slides back and forth beneath me as the short hairs on his chest scratch against my balmy collarbone. His lips pull at the skin of my neck, and the heat from his lungs spill down my shoulder blade.
"This is more than I could have dreamt about," he says, hismouth uttering against my earlobe.
He presses my arms above my head, his body moves faster, his thrusts become pleasinglyaggressive, causing my cries to become moans. With torturously slow movements, his hands graze up the center of my body until they reach my cheeks. He kisses me softly, and I pull in a breath, feeling the tremors run through me like a roll of thunder—the kind of thunder that reverberates through unaffected areas.
Brett’s body becomes limp on top of mine, sweat pools between us and our breaths race to a non-existent finish line. "Ten years," he whispers. "That’s what I’ve been wondering about."
"Yet, you’re against turning back time," I remind him.
"I was wrong," he says.
"No, you weren’t," I disagree. "We were young and still had lives to live before appreciation would teach us anything about the finer things in life. You have made me believe we couldn’t have known what we were missing until we missed it."
He kisses my cheek then the tip of my nose. "Melody, I have a confession to admit," he says.
"Why do you need to confess somethingafter we—"
"No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just—" he sighs. "I lied. I—I don’t like cold Chinese food."
I take apillow from beneath my head and hit him with it. "No more confessions, please.”
"I can’t make such a promise,” he says.
26
"I gotta run.Do you need anything before I go?" Brett asks as he’s racing around the shop.
"No, no, I’m fine here. Mr. Crawley said he’d be back up in a few minutes, anyway. Go before you’re late, and don’t embarrass Parker too much," I remind him.
