“So are you,” he pointed out, unable to keep the smile from his face and out of his voice. He nuzzled the hair at her temple and kissed the soft skin beneath. “What are you thinking about?”
She yawned and shifted slightly but, gratifyingly, didn’tmove from his hold. Instead, one hand dropped to his hip and absently stroked his skin.
“Honestly? I was wondering how to remove cum stains from linen upholstery.”
Her prosaic words startled a bark of laughter from him. She patted his thigh reassuringly before continuing to talk.
“There must be some kind of life hack for that, right?”
“I’m sure of it,” he agreed soberly, fighting back more laughter. “People fuck on sofas all the time. It must be a pretty common problem.”
“Baking soda might work,” she mused.
“Or you could just leave it as-is. Surely it’s no worse than whatever the hell stains the last couch collected over the years.”
She shuddered in response to his words
“OhGod, don’t remind me!”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence.
The warm glow of the table lamp on the stand beside the sofa illuminated their corner of the living room.
“Sounds like the storm has passed,” she said inanely and he made a low sound of agreement. Her hand was no longer moving, just a gentle weight on his thigh.
“I was wondering,” she began, and Smith tensed slightly. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but felt certain it couldn’t be good if she was this nervous about broaching it.
“Yes?” He kept his own tone undemanding. Neutral and non-threatening.
He heard her swallow and her hand made an agitated patting gesture on his thigh, trying to appease him before she even spoke.
“I was wondering if this time was better than, uh, with your hand?”
It took him a second to understand and when he realized what she was asking, it just about broke his heart.
The sheer level of insecurity it revealed was staggering.Insecurity that hadn’t existed until he’d put it there by telling her that he got more satisfaction jerking off in the shower than with her. More of that scorched-earth bullshit coming back to bite him in the arse.
The longer he took to respond, the more she tensed, and when Smith recognized what was happening, he was instantly swamped with regret.
“Kenna, what happened between us tonight waseasilythe most satisfying experience of my life. It was?—”
Words escaped him. How did one even begin to describe perfection? He lacked the vocabulary. None of the humble words he possessed in his meager brain could ever sufficiently describe how he had felt tonight.
“It was…” He tried again then shook his head in helpless frustration before defaulting to the only word that came close. “Perfect.”
He cycled through a number of different ways he could improve upon that inadequate word while trying to elaborate.
“It kind ofwas, wasn’t it?” she asked before he could say anything more, and he could hear the smile in her voice. His own lips lifted in helpless response to it.
“It was,” he reiterated. “It was more than that, Kenna. It was unparalleled.”
“Singular,” she supplied.
“Just like you.”
She attempted to turn around, her sharp elbow jabbing him in the ribs, and nearly tumbled over the edge of the couch in the process. He caught her just in time, but she continued the clumsy set of movements—elbows flying, hair everywhere at once, nearly kneeing him in the balls—until she had turned around completely. Her face a mere inch away from his.
She winced when she looked at him properly.
