Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(49)
“Do you . . . do you want to touch it?” he asked, searching her eyes.
It felt wrong to say no, because she sensed he needed the same relief she’d just enjoyed, but she wasn’t ready; it felt more wrong to say yes.
“Will you hate me if I tell you I’m not ready yet?”
“One,” he said, kissing her forehead, “I could never hate you. And two,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose, “we go at your pace. Always at your pace. No matter what.” She arched her back and rubbed her breasts against his chest, feeling languorous and lucky, but he gently pushed her away. “That said? I need to excuse myself for a few minutes. I’ll be right back, okay?”
It took her a moment to realize why he needed to leave, but then it occurred to her: if she couldn’t give him relief, he’d have to give it to himself. Oh. She took a deep breath as he stood up. His footsteps retreated up the stairs, and she heard a door close. He was . . . he was . . .
She gasped as her heart sped up. She imagined his hands on that part of himself, and her recently spent muscles spasmed one last, unexpected time as she pictured his face in the throes of pleasure. She wanted to see it. God, how she wanted to see what he looked like when he experienced the same waves of bliss she’d just felt within her own body.
Not yet, whispered her heart as she sat up and gazed at the stairs he’d disappeared up. Maybe someday, but not yet. Wait until you have a plan.
She swung her legs over the side of the couch and reached for the clasps of her bra, which she fastened before pulling the halves of her blouse closed. As she buttoned it, she stood, tucking it back into her black miniskirt, which had bunched up around her waist. She straightened the skirt, running her palms over the black twill, then paused for a moment to listen, to see if she could hear Erik. But no. The house was completely silent.
Sighing, she reached for a lamp and turned it on, walking around the dimly lit room slowly, gently fingering a blue and white ceramic elephant sitting on the top of the shiny black grand piano. Just beyond the figurine was a collection of framed photos, many of Erik. Little peeks into his life before her.
She picked up a photo of him wearing a cap and gown, no doubt his high school graduation picture, and smiled back at the look of triumph on his handsome face. As her gaze widened, she was distracted by the two people flanking him: a burly, blond young man, and a stunning young woman with jet-black hair and blue eyes. Erik had his arms around their shoulders, and they all laughed at the camera.
Old friends. Her heart pinched as she stared at the beautiful girl whose head was resting on Erik’s shoulder, even as she faced forward. I wonder who she is.
Relieved that the photo was taken several years ago, which meant the girl was part of his past, she set the frame back on the piano and picked up another: this one of Erik beside a girl who had blonde hair and blue eyes and was the spitting image of Governor Rexford. Surely this was his little sister, Hillary, and Laire smiled at the photo, hoping that one day, in the very far-off future, that she and Hillary Rexford might be friends.
She heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to see Erik, wearing a big smile, his shorts no longer tented uncomfortably.
“All good?” she asked, still grinning from the photos.
He crossed the room and drew her into his arms. “Much better now.”
“I was looking at your pictures.” She pointed to the photo of him and Hillary. “Your sister?”
He nodded. “That’s Hills.”
“You look nothing alike.”
He steered her away from the pictures on the piano, toward the windows. Opening one of the doors for her, she preceded him out onto the pool deck. “Everyone says that. She looks like our dad. I favor my mom.”
Laire’s shoes were still inside, so she walked barefoot to the edge of the pool and sat down, dangling her legs in the aqua blue water. “I look like my mother too. She was a redhead.”
“And your sisters?”
“Both gingers, like me. You’d recognize them as my family on sight.”
Erik sat down beside her, putting his feet in the water. “You know, I was thinkin’. My family comes out here for Thanksgivin’ every year. What would you think about spendin’ it here with us?”
“Erik—” she started, coming up with a million reasons to refuse him.
“Will you just think about it?” he asked. “It could be, like, a goal for us—to tell our families about our relationship and introduce them to each other. After you came here, I could go back to Corey with you and meet your father and sisters.”
Her promise to herself to tell her father about her job in Hatteras after Kyrstin’s wedding had already been broken. She couldn’t even risk telling her father about her job, for fear he’d make her quit, destroying the ease with which she saw Erik every night. But the hope in Erik’s eyes made it impossible for her to say no, though she felt certain she would be unable to do as he requested. It would take years for her to prepare her father for the reality of Erik Rexford in her life. And even after years, he still wouldn’t like it.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
“That’s better than nothin’, I guess,” he said, putting his arm around her.
“Hey,” she said, hoping to lift his mood. “I had an idea for next Sunday!”