Picking her up like she weighed nothing, he strode to the bed, their mouths barely separating through the movement. With gentleness like she couldn’t have dreamed, he laid her head on the pillows and straddled her knees—still clothed from the waist down.
Which was a real bummer.
“Too many clothes,” she said softly.
His pupils seemed to liquify, and he reached over to the nightstand, flicking on the lamp.
The lamp had warm white bulbs that cast a nice—dare she say, romantic—glow about the room.
But.
She hadn’t had sex with the lights on since the boys were born, so even though she was A-OK with getting the nice warm glow over his abs, hers were…well… “Shit,” she said—not in a whisper.
“What?” He stilled the kisses he pressed to her neck, his heated breath against the tender skin just under her earlobe.
Sonofabitch, she was wearing a spandex shaper that was not of the sexy variety. Not like the ones she’d seen at one of the shops downtown with the corset and the lace.
No, she was wearing the full coverage granny panty variety that were decidedly not sexy—unless covered by a kick-ass dress.
“I’m—” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is so embarrassing.”
Unfortunately, but also fortunately, he dismounted, lying on the mattress beside her, propping his head in his hand.
She should probably just give him a blow job or something for his trouble.
“Say again?” he asked, eyebrows totally furrowed.
“Say what?” She slid her gaze to him.
He didn’t look very happy, at all. “The blow thing.” Fuck a duck, had she said that out loud? Like out loud? Her cheeks immediately heated.
“Oh my God.” She pulled her hands down over her eyes.
“Rach.” He settled against her, his front to her side. His abs right freaking there, ready to touch. His…holy crap, he had a total hard-on happening, tenting his slacks and…
“I’m wearing a shaper thing. It’s not sexy. I’m totally unprepared. I don’t even have condoms in here and…I should just do the blow job thing. Then we can both go back to work.”
Now, that? That he didn’t seem to like. What with the way his eyes turned stormy, and he abruptly sat up.
“What do you think we’re doing here?” he asked, louder than she’d expected. “I think we’re in two entirely different mindsets. Because it felt like I wanted your body and you wanted my body, and we were going with that.”
“I don’t know,” she said, the truth tipping right out of her lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing. The lights are on and you’re”—she gestured to the tent pitched at his fly—“and I’m”—she gestured to herself.
“This is because you have a shaper? What the hell even is a shaper?” His forehead creased with clear confusion.
“It’s underwear that keeps me all…” She considered the best word for the situation. “Contained.”
He stared at her one, two, three, and then four beats, the creases growing deeper.
“I need to ask you a question. I need you to be honest with me.” He moved his palm to her neck, turning her head so their eyes met. “Can you be honest with me?”
“I just told you I’m wearing super unsexy underwear right now, so I’m being more honest than I’d like to be.” She sat up, her hair falling over her shoulder in a total wreck that was an echo of what the afternoon had become.
“Do you want to do this? With me?” he asked.
Yes, of course she did. She wanted to do this. Her body wanted it and even her mind was on board.
“I mean sex where we both…pop our toaster tarts,” he said seriously.
