Speechless(186)

                I all but pounce on him, and he laughs when we kiss. “Shh,” I                     hush against his lips, “we have to be quiet.”

                “I’m sorry, I don’t have as much experience in that arena as                     you do,” he says. He laughs again, soft and breathy, trying to stifle it by                     pushing his face into my shoulder. “Teach me?”

                “No.”

                “No?”

                “I like you talking.”

                “Fickle, are we?”

                Instead of answering, I pull him down on the bed and swing my                     legs so I’m straddling his lap. My dress, of course, makes it awkward. I lean                     down and kiss him again, longer, slower.

                “You’re going to rip your dress,” he points out.

                Is he kidding me? “A girl has you in her bedroom, on her bed,                     and that’s what you say?” I shake my head, clucking                     my tongue.

                “What? It’s a nice dress!”

                “Hmm, okay, I changed my mind. Maybe no more talking. More—” I                     touch my mouth to his to finish the thought.

                “I can do both at the same time.” He punctuates each word with                     a quick kiss. “I’m—” Kiss. “Very—” Kiss. “Talented—” Kiss. “That—” Kiss. “Way.”                     Kiss kiss kiss.

                And that’s all we do. Kiss. Sam could try to unzip my dress, or                     run his hands underneath it, over my legs, but he doesn’t. Every time the straps                     slip off my shoulders, he carefully slides them back into place. He doesn’t try                     anything else, and I like that. How he doesn’t expect anything just because I                     invited him into my bedroom and shoved him on my bed.

                Eventually I start yawning between kisses, and he draws back.                     “I should probably go,” he says.

                “No.” I gently push him back into the pillows and lie with my                     head on his chest. “I’m pretty sure it’s imperative you stay.”

                “‘Imperative.’ Big word there for a redhead.”

                “Wrong stereotype. Blondes are the dumb ones.” I run my hand                     through his hair so it sticks up. “And brunettes are the judgmental dorks,                     apparently.”