He backed up obediently, the mattress springs creaking when his knees hit the edge and he had no choice but to sit.
“Climb on,” I murmured, already kicking my shoes off. I could get into this. I could give everyone in this house a performance worth listening into, proof that Simon wanted me, even after we’d fought. That he hadn’t given up on me, and that, on top of being the sweetest man in the world, he was also unbelievably good in bed.
Simon kicked his shoes off as well, shuffling back on the bed, watching me with something between curiosity and alarm. I crawled after him, making heavy, clumsy movements so the bed would creak and groan.
I’d gotten caught once as a teenager making out with Jeremy Collins in this bed. I knew it was loud enough to hear as far away as the kitchen, which was in the middle of the house, and I was willing to bet Mom was hovering there. Listening in to everything going on.
Might as well give her something to listen to.
“God, Simon,” I stage whispered, sitting back on my heels to bounce on the mattress. “Want you.”
“Want you, too,” Simon replied.
It was a whisper, not really loud enough to be overheard, but it was more than enough to short circuit my brain. How long had I wanted to hear that from him?
I braced my hands on the mattress, screwing my eyes shut to ride out the hot wave of arousal rolling through me.
This was probably a mistake, but we’d started now. If we stopped, everyone would know we’d been faking it.
The only way out was through. I’d already made dozens of mistakes this weekend when it came toalmosthaving what I wanted from Simon, dozens of little moments I’d remember forever. All of them would hurt every time the memory surfaced. What was one more?
“Need you,” I said, louder, letting my voice break. “You’re so, you’reso…”
“Yeah,” Simon responded—still breathless, but a little louder this time. Probably not enough to make out the words, but the sound would carry. “You, too.”
I pushed against the bed again, pumping my arm rhythmically. “Oh,” I cried out. “Ah. Top drawer, top drawer.”
Simon took the hint, tugging the top drawer of the night stand open hard enough that the runners squealed. There was, as it happened, a tube of lubricant in there. It’d been there… four or five years, since the last time I’d been summoned here for a family get-together.
“C’mon, Sy,” I said, letting my voice take on a whine. “Don’t make me wait.”
“Anything you want,” he agreed, fumbling in the drawer then slamming it shut again.
I crawled over to him, moving heavily to be sure the mattress would creak. Simon smiled as I approached, a conspiratorial look that made me grin back at him.
“Wow,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I keep forgetting how big you are.”
Simon’s eyes widened, and he covered his mouth to muffle laughter.
I wanted people to hear him laugh. To think he was having the time of his life, that we had the kind of warm, easy relationship where we laughed in bed as well as out of it.
I’d always wanted that.
“Let me see you, baby,” I wheedled, louder than I might have otherwise.
“Baby?”Simon mouthed, brows raised.
“Not baby?” I whispered.
Simon giggled. I’d heard the sound a thousand times—more, probably—but I wasn’t sure I’d ever loved it as much as I did now.
“Pookie?” I tried, giving him my most innocent look.
He covered his mouth again, but this time, I reached out and took his hand away. “Big boy?”
Simon bit down on his lower lip, laughter glittering in his eyes.
“Pumpkin?” I said, inching closer. “Honey bunch? Cupcake?”
