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Or maybe it’s her. I wrap my arms around her and pull her flush against me, our mouths opening and our tongues dancing slow and sensual and I’m hard and ready to fuck her then and there.
Then again, I could hold off on that pleasure, because kissing her is delicious. That heat and wetness and Scarlett taste that sometimes invades my dreams.
And here, where there’s no one to witness such a slow, melting kiss, one that isn’t foreplay but could be, the foreplay without the urgency, it feels natural. Like this is something I want to do with her because I can.
Like it could be leading into hot sex or it could just be a kiss all on its own. Both merited, both perfection.
Scarlett breaks the kiss and leans her forehead against my chest. I can feel the hammering of her heart as I hold her. The little harsh intakes of air as she steadies herself are something I understand. And want.
It’s a little shocking, to have this feel so good and right and part of life.
Kissing isn’t like that for me. Hasn’t been since I was a hormone fueled teen. But with Scarlett…yeah, with her apparently it is.
And I like it.
Probably because this has a shelf life. Probably because it isn’t real, no matter how real it might feel in the moment. I pull myself back into that headspace, the familiar one that has a well-worn groove I know.
Scarlett lifts her head and I smooth my hand over it, lingering a moment at her nape, against the warm and delicate skin there, beneath the softness of her hair.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“You’re right.”
And she is. Because this thing between us is good and something I can use, I appreciate her honesty, as unwieldy and left of center as it might sometimes be, I can also give back.
I’m not being entirely truthful. Giving back, yes, but I also want her to understand the depth of meaning all this has taken on for me. The family jewels and the company.
“Um, okay.” Scarlett pulls free and wipes her hands down her thighs. She looks around, trying to see where to sit.
But I stop her with a hand placed gently on her shoulder. “I’ll go first.”
I want to go upstairs to my private floor. Instead, I lead her from the wide hall and into the front living room. It’s comfortable and I sometimes work down here. The view from the window is weirdly a lovely snapshot of New York that reminds me of yesteryear. My quiet street helps, as does the large magnolia tree outside that twists and turns in the narrow space between window and iron fence and pavement beyond on the street.
We did have sex in here, and for a moment I get a flash of us fucking all over the house. We haven’t done that, but I’d like to.
I sit in the leather armchair and cross my legs, tapping my fingers against the arms. What the hell does that mean, anyway?
Scarlett perches on the sofa’s corner and places her hands on her thighs, like she’s ready to run.
She’s like that. A complete and utter mess of contradictions.
It really strikes hard, hits home that she means a hell of a lot to me. More than I’d ever thought she would, and I’m not sure what that even means, or how she means so much. But she does. And I want to give her something because I know I owe her.
“Scarlett, time’s running out, I get that. But that’s not what I want to say. I guess I want to say thank you.”
“To me?”
I laugh at the disbelief in her voice and smile. “Yeah, to you. There are so many ways this could have gone, but you…you’ve surpassed everything for me in the authenticity. So I want to give back, be honest with you.”
“Oh, God. You have a secret family, don’t you? A secret life. Maybe—”
“I do not have a family other than the one you’ve met.” I shudder at the thought of being trapped by the fakeness we’re sold as love, even if someone like Scarlett could definitely convince any other man it actually exists.
“Oh.”
“This is important to me.”
She nodded. “I’m not saying family jewels, because…but yeah, I get it.”
