“I need to tell you about Wesley.”
“Your husband mattered to you. I get that it takes time. But you need to know that I’m a very patient guy when it comes to the things I want.”
“You don’t understand. There are things I have to tell you.” My voice is small and unsure. Where do I begin? What do I say? How much do I tell before he wonders if I’m a freak? What kind of idiot doesn’t realize her own husband had another wife? An entire family hidden away in a different city.
Crapola. I detest liars since my life with Wesley was one huge lie. I have to tell him about the postcard and breaking into his apartment to find it. I have to ask that he give that postcard to me. I have to stop him from printing the blog post.
He moves in and kisses me hard on the mouth. It’s sudden and purposeful. His lips devour me whole as they demand a response I’m only too willing to give. When he pulls back from the kiss, he grins at me like a kid who’s found money on the street.
“I love the way you say ‘Crapola,’ instead of real cursing.” He touches the end of my nose with his index finger.
“Huh?”
“You’re so funny. The way you don’t actually curse is one of the cutest things about you.”
I must’ve said the word aloud. “There are bad things about me.” Should I tell him? Say, I’m sorry I’ve deceived you, but I only did so in the beginning.
“I find that very hard to believe.” He leans toward me and kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’m crazy about the way you lick your lips when you’re nervous. It just makes me want to kiss them.”
Leo leans in and I wait for him to kiss me again. Instead, he swoops over to my left ear and places his lips against it. The tip of his tongue flicks my ear lobe and he laughs, the sound all husky and male. “I like the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. I hope you’re imagining all the naughty things you want to do with me.”
I gulp and heat rushes, a divining rod straight to the core of me. My body trembles in response.
He’s right. I have fantasized about him. Last night, I begged for a kiss. In my dreams, I’ve kissed him over and over again.
I rest my cheek against his and relish the feel of his afternoon scruff on my skin. “Want to go inside? Watch a movie or something?”
“Something,” he mutters. He rises and holds out a hand. I take it, my limbs unsteady. My heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
The hallway between the outer door and Leo’s apartment extends on thirty feet or so in reality. Still, it seems an eternity until he leads me inside his apartment and pushes me against the door.
I gasp as his mouth drags kisses along my jaw and neck. “You have no idea how good that feels.”
He hesitates and smiles against my neck. “I think I do.” His words are warm as summer sunshine.
My hands glide over his shoulders and along his biceps. “I love your arms.”
“Really…” he says and laughs into my throat. “That’s too bad. I love your mouth.”
He kisses me softly. “And your neck.” He nibbles down to my collarbone. “And this spot.” He moves my shirt aside and places his lips in the hollow of my throat.
“Ah. Yeah.” I close my eyes. “I think I like those spots on you, too.”
Leo steps back and takes my hand. He guides me through his living area and to his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed. I don’t protest, but my eyes widen. I’ve only ever been with Wesley and have no real experience as a lover. Wesley was a lights out, missionary style, five-minute man. It was a disappointment I previously blamed on myself and my tortured self-esteem.
But I knew there could be more from the movies I’d seen on the pay cable channels. I probably learned more from HBO than I ever did in sex ed class. There appeared to be a lot more passion going on than I’d experienced.
And honestly, I want Leo to know how much I feel for him. No room for half-truths or lies in this physical space between us.
He scoots back on the pillows and opens one arm to indicate that I’m to join him. “We can lie in here and watch television. Or we can nap or we can talk about all the other places I want to kiss you. It’s your choice.”
There’s beauty in the way Leo’s eyes go hooded when I crawl my way toward him and pause near his hips.
I rise to my knees. “There are places I want to kiss.”
His eyes close briefly and his nostrils flare as if he’s trying to maintain self-control. He opens his eyes. “Show me.”
“Take off your shirt.” I lick my lips.
There’s the beautiful look again. The one where his eyes tell me he could devour me. He sits up and tugs his T-shirt over his head and hands it to me. I take it, wishing I could commandeer the shirt for my own to sleep in. It’s such a juvenile thought, but I still may do it. I carefully place the shirt on the end of the bed.
“Now what?” he asks. His voice is deep and low.
Good question. I allow myself to soak up the visual. Shirtless Leo, leaning up on his elbows, eager for me to do whatever I please. I move my left leg over the top of him and straddle his hips. I’m still on my knees, but I slowly lower myself to sit squarely on him. The ridge of his hard erection pushes against me. It takes all my willpower not to rub myself against him.
He drops back on the pillows, but never takes his eyes from mine.
“I’d like to kiss here.” I bend my head to kiss his shoulder. The muscles tense beneath my lips. “And here,” I say, moving to tease my lips across one pec.
I sit up and grin at him. “I love your muscles.”
He tilts his hips up, pressing his hard-on into me. “You should take your shirt off.”
I sigh playfully. “If you insist.”
“I insist.”
I pull my shirt off and toss it on the floor. His hips move against the apex of my thighs in almost an involuntary movement. Leo makes a low, guttural sound deep in his throat. One small mix of low notes and tones representing surprise, pleasure, and desire.
I’ll do anything to hear it again.
11
Playing By Heart
Leo
“Babe. You are everything right in the world.” It’s all I can come up with and it’s downright embarrassing. I’m not sure I can call myself a writer after that cheeseball line. I want to say something beautiful and timeless. Something worthy of being printed on a page.
I revel in the perfect lines of her body. My greedy hands want to take and take, but I keep them still.
Harper leans down and kisses the center of my chest. The feel of her mouth on my skin ignites an urgency in me. She sits back and dips her head, looking down at herself. Her hair falls forward and hides her face.
What is she thinking about?
My mouth goes dry when she unfastens her bra with one flick of the wrist. The lacy cups fall away and she shrugs out of it.
“I’m trying to be bold,” she whispers.
There’s something about the way she then lifts her chin, high and challenging, as if daring me to stop her. She gives a shaky laugh. And then she looks away and I can tell she’s nervous.
“You don’t have to be anything but yourself with me. We don’t have to do this. You can put your shirt back on. Baby, do whatever feels comfortable. We can go into the living room and watch television. This doesn’t have to go further.” I sit up slowly and put my hands on the sides of her face. I’m pushing her. She’s not some one-night stand I’ve brought home for a hook-up. I am a moron in the first degree.