She leans her head back against my collarbone and loops her arms behind my head.
When her fingers play with my hair, I shudder. “I love that, too. What you’re doing,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says, her voice so soft. “You’ve always liked it when I touch your hair.”
Electricity sparks in my body, and I’m not sure if it’s the aftershocks or some new high from what she just said. Because it’s not just that she knows me. It’s that she’s figured me out. She’s learned my likes (numerous) and my dislikes (so very few), and then my absolute favorites, and she seems to want to give me as many of those as she can. She launched into this project ready and eager to discover what she liked, but she’s quickly discovered me. And hell, I’m not picky—but I have my turn-ons, too. The lingerie she wears, the words she says, and the dirty things I can say to her, too.
“It’s like you’re studying me,” I say, something like wonder in my tone.
“Maybe I am. Does that bother you?”
I scoff. “God, no.”
She pushes her back closer to me. “I like giving you what you want.”
I press my lips together, holding in my words.
You’re what I want. All of you.
A little later, after we clean up, she takes my hand and tugs me to the kitchen. “I brought you a present tonight.” Her eyes twinkle.
“Another present?” I ask, reining in a grin. I love her gifts.
She nods. “I slipped it into your freezer when I arrived.”
“How did you do that without me seeing?”
She rolls her eyes and flashes her hands. “Nick, it’s what I do. Sleight-of-hand. Misdirection.”
She opens the freezer and takes out a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. “Your favorite,” she says with a smile.
I can’t help but grin, too. Because . . . this girl.
I wanted to just screw her out of my system. I desperately needed to just focus on the sex. But every little thing she does is magic to me—lingerie, ice cream, shower showrooms. And the way she talks to me in the heat of the moment, opening up, sharing, making herself so vulnerable, I nearly let myself believe this can go on, and that we can eat ice cream together every night.
Okay, maybe not every night. Gotta stay in fighting shape. But enough nights. Only, that’s not what she wants. The here and now will have to be enough, so I’m going to just enjoy every second of this time with her until it ends.
With a sly grin, I back her up to the fridge, sneak a quick kiss, then steal the ice cream.
“No fair,” she says, trying to grab it back.
“If you’re good, I’ll share,” I tease as I hold the pint high, open the utensil drawer, and take out two spoons.
“You better share,” she says, and then she eats mint chocolate chip ice cream naked with me on the couch. I kiss her, and yes, the taste of the ice cream on her tongue is as good as I once imagined.
Wait. I’m wrong. It’s better. Everything with her is.
That’s why I give her a gift, too. It’s a small thing, but it’s something she told me she wanted. I grab the Sunday crossword puzzle from my coffee table, and hold it up in front of my chest, as if it’s a plaque I received to honor an accomplishment. “Voila. Finished it today.”
“Is this for me?”
I nod proudly. “It is.”
“Aww. You’re like a kitty cat bringing me a dead mouse that you killed.”
I laugh at her analogy. “Would you like to pet me in approval?”
“I would,” she says, running one hand through my hair and talking to me the way she did to Fido. “You hunted all the words. I’m so proud of you.” With her other hand, she turns over the newsprint. “What’s this?”
I tense momentarily when I see a gray outline. What was I doodling on the back of the crossword? She tilts the page at me, and it’s a cartoon of a puppet wearing a tight top, breasts spilling out. The bubble by her mouth reads: “How to send naughty texts: a dirty puppet tutorial.”
“Nick.” One corner of her lips quirks up. “I had no idea you learned all your skills from puppets.”
I laugh, relieved that she didn’t uncover a drawing of her, just of her co-stars in the doodles she inspired. I wiggle my fingers. “Don’t underestimate the filth appeal to a cartoonist of something you operate with your fingers.”
She laughs. “You are so bad. Tell me more about your puppets, Mr. Dirty Cartoonist.”
“I would, Miss Naughty Magician, but it might be hard for me to talk when my tongue is all over your hot body,” I say, then I spoon some ice cream onto her nipple and lick it off. Then on her belly, where I run my tongue across the cool dessert on her skin. She practically purrs.