Chapter 10—Simon #3
She gestures toward me. “Billionaire.”
“I don’t sleep in a bank lobby.”
Her laugh is quieter now. “Missed opportunity.”
I step closer and run my fingers over the sleeve of her sweater. The teasing has taken the edge off my nerves without eliminating them. “Nervous?”
“A little.” She looks me over. “You?”
“Yes.”
That clearly surprises her. She studies me long enough that I touch the edge of her hair simply because I finally can.
“I’ve wanted you since Caldwell. I’ve spent weeks making sure that was my problem instead of yours. I’m allowed to be nervous now that you’ve made it mine.”
Christa’s expression softens. She slips her fingers beneath the edge of my collar and finds the first button. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”
“I talk too much under most conditions.”
“I’ve noticed.” She opens the button, then kisses the exposed skin below my throat before reaching for the next one.
I stop talking.
She kisses along the opening of my shirt, each brush of her lips destroying another piece of the restraint I was so proud of downstairs. I slide my hands beneath her sweater and find warm skin at her waist. She arches closer, and the soft sound she makes turns my attention entirely to her.
My shirt ends up on the floor first. Her sweater follows. I kiss her shoulder, then pause over a narrow scar low on her hip.
Christa glances down. “Appendix.”
I trace just beside it. “Less interesting than mine.”
She laughs softly and runs her fingers over the scar along my ribs. “What happened?”
“Sailing accident.” She follows the pale line with her touch, slow enough to make my muscles contract beneath her fingertips.
Her eyes lift. “That is aggressively rich-person-coded.”
“I was seventeen.”
“Still rich.” She smiles and presses her mouth to the scar.
I catch her face gently and kiss her before she can continue insulting me. She smiles against my mouth and pulls me toward the bed.
I stop long enough to remember one practical thing. “I have condoms.”
Christa’s mouth curves. Instead of answering immediately, she reaches for her bag, sits on the edge of the mattress, and opens an interior pocket. She pulls out a box and holds it up.
I stare at it. “You brought your own?”
“I stopped at a pharmacy after work.” She sets the box on the nightstand and looks back at me without a trace of uncertainty. “You can stop worrying that I wandered into this by accident.”
I step between her knees and rest my hands at her waist. “I wasn’t worried about accident.”
“You were worried about regret.” She skims her fingers over my stomach before curling them lightly at my sides.
“Yes.”
Christa tips her face up and cups the back of my neck. “I won’t.”
I kiss her again, slower this time. She leans back onto the mattress and pulls me with her, her laughter breaking through the kiss when I nearly catch one foot in my trousers.
I brace myself above her. “You didn’t see that.”
“I absolutely did.” She bites her lip, trying and failing to stop laughing while I finally free my foot.
“This is not how I pictured this.”
She travels over my bare shoulder with her fingertips. “You pictured this?”
“For weeks.”
“Good.” She hooks one leg around mine and draws me closer. “I’d hate to think I was the only one.”
I kiss the smile from her mouth, then follow the line of her jaw to her neck. She grips my shoulder when I find a spot that makes her arch beneath me. I return to it, and she gives me a warning look when she realizes I’m paying attention.
“Don’t abuse privileged information.”
“I’ll protect it.”
“You already went back twice.” She shifts beneath me, trying to escape the touch while laughing.
I catch her gently around the waist. “I’m gathering data.”
“That’s abuse.”
Her retaliation finds a spot along my ribs that makes me jerk, and her delighted laugh fills the room.
“Now we’re even,” she says.
“Absolutely not.” I catch her wrist, kiss the inside of it, then trail my mouth up her arm until the laughter fades into something quieter.
The room changes with it. Christa touches my face, tracing my cheek and the edge of my mouth as if she’s been wanting to do that as long as I’ve wanted to touch her.
I kiss her palm.
She watches me steadily.
“Simon.”
I brush my mouth over hers. “What?”
“I am not fragile.” She runs her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer instead of letting me retreat again. “You don’t have to keep checking every ten seconds.”
“I know you’re not fragile.” I kiss her once, then again, lingering when she follows me instead of letting the kiss end. “I also don’t want to assume.”
“You’ve asked.” She presses her mouth to mine as she speaks. “I’ve answered.”
I smile against her lips. “Point taken.”
“Good.” She pulls me down and kisses me until I stop trying to conduct a conversation.
I listen to her instead.
To the change in her breathing when I touch her. To the way she grips my shoulders when she wants me closer. To the restless shift of her hips when I slow down too much.
When I pause again, it isn’t to ask.
It’s because looking at her like this steals several seconds from me.
Her hair spreads across my pillow, and her cheeks are flushed from laughing and kissing. She reaches up, drags one finger over my lower lip, then smiles.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely something.” I kiss the fingertip before she can pull it away.
Her smile widens. “I like looking at you.”
That shouldn’t affect me as much as it does.
I lower my forehead to hers for a second. “That’s convenient.”
“Very.” She kisses me, softer now, then wraps her arms around me and draws me closer.
When we finally come together, I move slowly enough to watch her expression change. Her eyes close, and she curls her fingers against my shoulders.
I stop.
They open immediately.
“Don’t.” She pulls me closer, leaving no ambiguity about what she means. “Please don’t stop.”
I kiss her and move again.
The rest of the world becomes very small.
She kisses me whenever I slow down. She slides her leg higher around me and moves her fingers from my shoulders into my hair.
I learn the difference between the sounds she makes when she’s amused and the ones she makes when she forgets to be quiet.
Each one makes it harder to remember the control I’ve spent weeks practicing around her.
She says my name against my mouth.
I kiss her harder.
Later, she lies against me with one leg tangled through mine, her cheek on my shoulder. She traces lazy circles over my stomach while I try to remember whether the rest of the world requires our participation tonight.
Christa draws a smaller circle against my skin. “Tuesday is going to be awkward.”
I look down at her. “Why?”
“I’m supposed to teach you about veneer.” She lifts her head enough to see my face.
I run my fingers down her bare back. “I can behave professionally.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You manufactured a furniture emergency because you saw me at a party.”
“Professional-adjacent.”
“You played with a screw four times today because you were waiting for me.” Her smile grows as I open my mouth.
“I was inspecting it.”
Her laugh vibrates against my ribs. I slide my hand into her hair and kiss the top of her head.
After a while, she grows quieter. She stops tracing and shifts closer before speaking.
“I don’t want to go back to the hotel tonight.”
“You don’t have to.” I pull her closer without thinking.
Christa looks up. “You answered that very fast.”
“I’ve wanted you to stay here since approximately six-oh-one.”
“Only six-oh-one?” She props her chin against my chest.
“I was trying to respect the pizza.”
She laughs and settles against me again. I pull the blanket over her shoulder, and she tucks her foot between my ankles as if she’s already decided where she belongs for the night.
For weeks, every choice involving Christa has required me to hold something back. Tonight, she chose what she wanted, and I get to hold her instead.