Page 46 of Slapshot Bride

She looks at me for a long beat and doesn’t say anything. She brings the fork to her lips, and I watch the soft supple flesh wrap around the cutlery. And just like that, my line of thought assails me. All I see… remember, is the feel of her soft lips against mine.

The gasp, her hands around my throat…

“Movie after dinner?”

“Umm… y-yeah,” I’m pulled back to the present to see her plate is cleared, and she’s taking it to the sink.

In no time, I clean up my plate, and she insists on doing the dishes while I rinse.

Half an hour later, we end up on the couch.

She pulls a blanket from the chair and arranges it across both of our laps without asking. I queue up some old action movie I have seen seventeen times so I don't have to follow it.

She tucks her feet up. The side of her thigh ends up pressed against mine, and the movie begins.

A few minutes in, she looks at me.

“Do you mind if I turn off the lights?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

She’s on her feet and crossing the room before I can say another word.

The overhead light clicks off, plunging the room into a soft darkness broken only by the glow of the television.

A moment later, she returns and settles beside me on the couch.

Her hand finds the blanket, pulling it up to her chest. She shifts to get comfortable, and her fingers accidentally brush mine.

My gaze snaps to her.

She doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention is fixed entirely on the movie.

I tell myself to look away.

Instead, I keep watching.

In the dim light, she looks relaxed in a way I haven't seen before. At home.

She leans farther into the couch and carefully tucks her feet in. One foot brushes against my thigh, and I instinctively reach for it.

She tries to pull it away.

“It’s okay. Just be comfortable,” I stretch her foot until it’s across my thigh and she leans closer, her head now an inch away from my shoulder. Her eyes return to mine with a light smile.

“Much better?”

She nods.

I let her be, still holding her foot. My attention finally returns to the movie, and the last thing I recall is Riley’s leg twitching again. Sleep whisks me away.

I don’t remember closing my eyes. All I know is, I wake up to her weight resting on me, her addictive fragrance wafting into my nostrils and I greedily inhale.

The movie has come to an end and the credits are rolling. The room is lit only by the blue wash of the television, and there is a woman in my lap.

Riley.

Straddling me. Both hands on my chest.