Chapter Six
Joy
“Ithink you threw me too far into the deep end,” Alden said from the kitchen.
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to provide an education.
Take from it what you will. Not everything works for every book or for every reader, for that matter.
Here, look.” I turned the book in my hand so he could see.
“‘Come for me, he said.’ Pfft, what, like all he has to do is will an orgasm into existence?”
He handed me a bottle of water, then settled back onto the couch.
“Well, hang on, if he knows what he’s doing, he can say it just as she’s about to come.
” All of his awkward blushing had been replaced with a post-wine glow.
He’d also gotten a lot more comfortable with the sexual conversations.
Maybe hands-on research was still in the cards for tonight.
“He’ll know he’s about to send her over the edge and just push it along with his words.
It isn’t like a magician’s trick. It’s like he knows her body as well as his own. ”
I frowned. That sounded amazing, but I wasn’t sure I knew what that felt like.
As if reading my mind, Alden said, “You picture yourself in these books when you read them, don’t you?”
The look on my face must answer his question.
All night, we had been flirting with that line between fictional sex and our own sex lives. Now he had blown right past that barrier.
I wasn’t ashamed of the quantity of men I’d dated.
The quality, though? Retrospectively, I might have lowered the bar a little too far.
What could I say? I was a romantic at heart.
I always thought I could fix someone, or I started hearing wedding bells before they had even added me as a friend on Facebook.
I see someone through rose-colored glasses until reality knocked them off my face, and I was back to dreaming.
The truth was, I hadn’t had the kind of sex these books were describing, and if he could fix that tonight, I was more than willing.
Alden was being bolder than usual. I needed to nudge him further. “You think that’s why I read so many romance novels? To slip into fantasy because reality doesn’t match up?”
He nodded. “You sound kind of cynical about romance novels for somebody who loves to read them so much. If you could really put yourself in their shoes, with their toes curling and their heads thrown back, then you’d go along for the ride.
” He shifted forward, and the hand that had been next to my ankle was now on my calf.
I drew in a breath, and his smell washed over me, a combination of a fresh outdoor scented soap and the heady smell of a man who was aroused.
“Maybe it isn’t the novels that are the problem. Maybe they show reality, just not your reality. Maybe you just haven’t been fucked by the right guy.”
Holy shit, where did this guy come from?
I licked my lips. They were suddenly impossibly dry.
Other areas of my body were not suffering from that problem.
I wasn’t exactly a wilting violet. I tended to be a little loud.
The only thing I ever really held back was how I felt for him, all those years ago, when I knew he was leaving town.
The heat in his eyes made me think we were finally on the same page.
In the same place and at the same time. I had to test the theory. I cleared my throat. “You’re the writer in this scenario. You need to be able to connect to your characters, so tell me, Alden, what turns you on?”
Heat flashed behind his eyes, and his grip on my calf tightened noticeably.
I couldn’t blame what came from my mouth on the wine. I could hold my red. Besides, my heart was pounding so hard it was giving a drum solo in my chest.
His eyes ran over me from head to toe, lingering in a few strategic places. “If I’m writing based on my preferences, she’d have curves. Lots of them.”
One side of my mouth twitched up. “Really?”
He nodded and scooted closer on the couch. He planted a hand on either side of my hips, and his torso loomed over me, close enough to touch. “Red hair, maybe. And I’ve always preferred curls.” He reached out and pushed a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.
“What else?” My voice was breathy, and my heart was beating impossibly faster.
He shrugged. “Women in thriller movies are often damsels in distress. I prefer mine a little more chaotic. Outspoken. A bit of trouble, maybe. Speaks her mind, even if what crosses her mind is penis fly trap.”
Fuck, this was really happening. I was a believer in signs.
There was no way I was here on Christmas Eve by mistake.
Well, obviously, I was the one who drove here, but having him back in town and seeking my help?
With romance of all things? The universe put him back in my path, and it was up to me to take the opportunity or let it pass.
I started to lean forward, but before my lips could press against his, the lights flickered and went out.
The only light that remained came from the fireplace, causing shadows to dance across the walls.
The only sound was the pop of sparks and our heavy breathing.
“Well, I guess we won’t be learning anything more from books tonight. It’s too dark to read,” I said.
“I’ve always been a hands-on learner,” he said. Leaving the obvious conclusion of that thought to dangle between us like mistletoe.
I cleared my throat. “I’m open to other teaching styles.”
He made a sound in his throat, something pained and feral. Then we were both in motion. Limbs were everywhere, and the result was him sitting on the couch with me straddling his lap.
“How’s this? Does this teaching style work for you?” I teased.
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to pretend we’re doing this for any reason other than that I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager and don’t want to wait anymore.”
My breath caught in my throat.
He brought his hand up to hold my chin, caressing my cheek with his thumb. I leaned into his touch. “That would make one hell of a good line for your book.”
“Fuck the book. This is about us.” His lips touched mine, and my whole body shuddered. It was only a press of lips, a tiny spot of skin on skin, but it was…electric. His lips tasted like wine. His body was hard under mine, and it was him.
He wasn’t just someone. He was the one. The first crush I’d ever had, and after tonight, I hoped he would also be the last.