Page 112 of ClickBack

I do. He sets the pace, and my legs lock around him, and his mouth finds mine when the sound climbing out of me gets louder, not to quiet it, only to take some of it for himself.

“That what you wanted?”

“You’re very talkative.”

He drives deeper and holds there. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Yes, Jarrett.”

“I hear you.”

I pull him closer, nails in his shoulders, and he gives me exactly enough to make me ask for more, and when I say right there, don’t stop, he keeps the pressure exactly where I asked for it. I tell him what I want. He answers with the focus of a man whose mind is already made up.

When I come, I hold his eyes until I can’t keep mine open. My mouth is open, my hands holding on. A month ago I would have tried to hide my face against him. Tonight, when I open my eyes again, I let him look.

“Giselle.”

I hold him closer.

By the time we get into bed, the people on television have forgiven their contractor. I am less willing. Jarrett takes the last wing from my plate and asks what the man did.

“Installed something they didn’t approve.”

“They paid him?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s their first problem.”

“You have watched forty seconds.”

“I’m caught up.”

I take the plate from him and move it out of reach. He lies back, smiling, then pulls me against his side. The camisole has twisted around me. I straighten it and find both straps while he watches.

“Bought it today?” he asks.

“After I took my dress to be altered.”

“For Friday?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it look like?”

“You’ll see Friday.”

He looks at me. I wait until he starts to laugh before I laugh, too.

“I deserved that.”

“A little.”

His hand moves over the silk at my side. “I like this.”