Page 8 of Easy On Me

She ran a palm over the gray comforter. “But we are going to fuck where you fucked her.”

My ears burned. “No.”

That had been a major point of contention, too, not letting Elizabeth into my bed here, keeping what we did together at her house. She’d been furious, but hell, she’d been angry at me, at everyone, for months. Wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t say what I did wrong so I could fix it. I finally gave up trying.

Let her be mad.

“Really.” Her perfectly arched brows rose, and she touched her tongue to her lower lip. Her hand moved in another slow caress of the comforter. I felt a wave of jealousy for the hapless cotton percale. “So we’re about to christen your bed.”

“Uh-huh.” I tugged my shirt over my head, so nothing was in the way of her touching me like she was touching my bed.

She unbuttoned her white shirt, revealing a scarlet bra so sheer her nipples shown through. Lord, she was pretty, nice skin and a little curvy, not too thin with her ribs sharp like–

Okay, I wasn’t going to be that guy.

I did want to explore the soft curve of her stomach, nudge down her bra strap, let the cup drop so I could touch her nipple pouting at me through red lace.

Shiiit.

My dick jumped against my zipper. Digging my teeth into my inner lip, I unbuckled my belt.

Her shirt came off, and she peeled off the snug denim. Lord help me, those skinny little blue panties, her pussy lips plump around where the fabric disappeared between her legs.

Kicking my jeans to the side, I stepped closer, dropped to my knees before her. With a whiff of rich arousal tickling my noses, I hooked my fingers in the thin straps over her hips.

With a hand on my head, fingers tangled in my hair, she levered me back a few inches. “Hold up there, flyboy.”

I froze, staring into hazel eyes, fascinated by the little flecks of green and gold about her pupil. What had I done wrong?

She picked up her phone, wobbled it. “Results.”

Huh? Results?

Swiping across the screen, she tapped a couple of times, then turned the device toward me. An STI panel, showing all clear.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Shoulders slumped, I sat back on my heels. All my anticipation and fantasies and plans to be the best she ever had drained away.

Fuck, I was a goober.

I ran a hand along my jaw, the scrape of stubble loud in the waiting quiet. “Don’t have those.”

“You don’t–” She bit off the exclamation, eyeing me. Yeah, she thought I was a goober, too. She sighed. “Have you been with anyone since her?”

“No.” My sense of affront was crazy when I was here with her, like this.

Those hazel eyes narrowed. “With anyone while you were with her?”

“No.” My voice hardened because I deserved to be affronted by that query. As hot as my ears were, they had to be red as fire. “I’ve only been with her.”

Surprise widened her eyes. “Like ever?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at me, lips parted. Yeah, my fantasies and plans were dead, like a rod-through-an-oil-pan dead.