“I’m thinking what we need is to reset our reset. Where we can go back to doing what we enjoy.” He put his hand on her thigh.
“Cocktails?” she asked. “Snowman races? Wearing ugly Christmas sweaters?”
“And other things. Maybe it would help us think. But someplace else.”
This idea was fast gaining traction with her. “What about Hillary?”
“Hillary who?” he murmured, and his lips grazed her temple. “She’ll be in good hands with the Posse. What about your painting?” His lips moved to her neck.
“What painting?” she murmured. “The idea behind being a real artist is that you should be able to do it anywhere at any time. It’s supposed to be sort of like breathing.”
He kissed her mouth. “Do you trust me?”
She caressed his cheek. “No.”
Harrison smiled. “Smart girl.” He put his arm around her waist and maneuvered her onto her back. “How daring are you?”
“On a scale of one to ten, about a three. Fear and shame share apenthouse apartment in my head. But I can throw caution to the wind and be persuaded all the way up to ten in certain circumstances.”
“Good to know,” he said. He got up from the cot and, this time, locked the door. He pulled the blinds closed and came back, climbing on top of Amy.
“Do you think we’ll be safe from, you know, prying eyes?” she asked. “Because I think we’ve learned you never know when someone in the fam is going to pop up.”
“When I left the house, there was a big fight brewing, so yeah, I think we’re good for the time being.”
She curled her arms around his neck. “Let’s go then.”
From the moment she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, she was lost. Sex was sogoodat this age.
His hands roamed her body, his lips traced paths across her skin. He moved up to her mouth, his tongue slipping between her lips. A moment later, he lifted his head and caressed her head. “Tell me what you like.”
What a foolish question. “Everything.”
His hand slipped between her legs. “Everything?”
Amy dug her fingers into his arms. “Everything. And don’t leave a single thing out.”
“You are reading my mind,” he said, and pressed his erection against her.
She felt almost weightless when she was with him, her body one big bundle of need. Everything else faded away.
They held nothing back, pressing against each other, limbs entwined, anchoring themselves to each other. With her hands she traced the contours of his body. The need between them escalated quickly, almost too quickly—she wanted this to last forever, to truly experience everything. She wanted him to plunge into her, but she also loved the way his hands and mouth moved on her, how it made her gasp and moan with desire. When he moved, settling between her legs, they looked at each other for one long moment. It seemed to Amy that they understood each othercompletely. They were in this together, whatever it was between them. They would leave each other knowing exactly what they needed and wanted. And they would deal with the fallout from it later.
They took each other. She closed her eyes, dug her fingers into his back, and arched her body hard against his as he moved into her. He thrust deep, and her body clenched around him as she met each thrust. They worked from some primal place, their arousal furiously building, until they reached a natural and mutual end.
They collapsed into each other, and she slid her hand across his chest, burying her face in his neck. The rain came down harder, and they lay there, listening, neither speaking.
After several moments, she felt his lips on the top of her head. Then he slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her head. He kissed her tenderly. With affection, with regard, with respect. She thought that tender kiss might have been the best thing to happen to her in ages. It moved something so deep in her that she was afraid to feel it, afraid she would become dependent, unable to live without it.
Amy smiled. “I think I could get used to this spectacular way of being.”
“Me too,” he agreed.
She sighed and rolled onto her side, rising up on one elbow. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She just wanted to wallow in this moment, on this cot, with sleet tapping against the metal roof.
He wound a thick tress of her hair around his finger—as if this was the most natural thing, the two of them together. As if they’d been doing this for years. “I’m going to fix this,” he said.
“Fix perfection?”
