Screwmates(35)

“I didn’t see it either,” I admitted. “Although I am fairly certain Scarlett and Ava went four times. And I know for a fact that Lizzie owns it.”

“Why didn’t you go?” he asked. It was a fair question. One that deserved a fair answer. And it was embarrassing, so I did actually refill my glass before saying it out loud.

“I knew my friends would all call me Anastasia afterwards,” I said in a hurry.

“I don’t get it.” The opening credits had started already, a rainy day in Seattle that was exactly as many variations on the hue as advertised.

“You will.” At first I was silent because I didn’t want to say any more. Then I was silent because I was utterly enchanted. The girl I didn’t want to be compared to because she was inexperienced and a little dumb? Well, it turned out she was actually quite intelligent and very funny to boot. I watched, mouth open, as she wove her spell around the hapless Mr. Grey. But when he took her into his special sexy room, I was truly floored.

It was flipping hot.

My suspicion was that Marc felt the same way, because his hand had inched over to sit on top of my thigh, and seemed to involuntarily tighten several times during the scene. My pulse sped up in response. How could just a simple touch on just a few square inches affect me every part of me so much? Especially that part.

It wasn’t even skin on skin. And then it was, because he’d turned my head to face him with his hand, and pulled me in. Kissing Marc, sober, while dramatic music played in the background was a whole different ballgame.

It was slow, and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that made me think he felt like it was different, too. It was the kind of kiss that told me tonight was the night.

Fucking finally.





Eleven





We made out for what felt like years, just there on the couch. I forgot all about the movie, and focused purely on the sensations of his hand stroking my cheek before moving back to run through my hair. My scalp tingled at his touch, sending shivers down the back of my neck and all the way to the base of my spine. It fell somewhere on the scale between sensual and comforting. The feeling of his soft lips on mine tipped that scale straight into the sexy zone.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, and damned if I didn’t believe it was the most delicious cabernet I’d ever had. Who needed taste descriptors when you had the gentle pressure of his tongue?

I nipped his bottom lip and he most definitely had his scale tipped too. And then both of us were tipping, as his chest pressed against mine, his other hand snaking around my back, and then I was beneath him.

I hoped it wasn’t too weird for my other man the sofa.

But there was no time to dwell on that thought, because did I mention his chest was pressed against me? His rock-hard, gorgeous chest. Only a thin layer of Adventure Time patterned cotton separated it from me. That was not cool, so I wriggled a little to let my shirt ride up. Then his stomach was flat on mine, burning up hot.

Granted, my experience was limited, but I was absolutely certain that Marc was the world’s best kisser. One could even call it his superpower. He kept mixing it up, varying the pattern and pressure. Every time I thought I knew what he was going to do next, he’d surprise me. It was, I was learning, Marc’s little secret. Under that boring, beige exterior lurked a very colorful person. He might not even know that about himself, I thought.

Then he nipped my lip and I understood why he’d reacted that way to me. I pressed into him, my pelvis rocking of its own accord. He rocked back, and I could feel that it was only a few layers of cotton separating us there, too. It was, as the kids say, on like Donkey Kong.

Somehow in the midst of all that kissing, it must have occurred to him how much better it would feel if it wasn’t just our stomachs touching. He pulled back and I moaned in disappointment, but he was just pulling my shirt over my head. Never have I been more happy not to have been wearing a bra. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen my boobs before. But the look on his face when tossed my top aside was like—well, it was like those undiscovered archives in France had been hiding under my shirt the whole time.

What on earth is a bigger turn on than seeing a man brought to his knees at the sight of your B cups? Watching the way he devours them, that’s what. It was my turn to run my fingers through his hair as he applied all the same kissing skills to my nipples, one at a time.

I ran one of hands down to his back, curling my fingertips in just a little. When he nipped me that time, I almost went through the roof. It took a second before I was able to unclench my fingers. On his back, I’d drawn five bright red lines with my nails.

Good. I liked seeing my artwork on his body.

“Holy cats, Marc,” I murmured. His soft chuckle sent another layer of sensation straight into my core.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Um, yes.” So dirty talking wasn’t my strong suit. If he kept sucking just like that, I wouldn’t be able to talk at all for much longer. I didn’t recognize the noises coming out of my throat. With every pull of his mouth, I spiraled upwards, and when he bit gently for the last time—sweet baby Kal-el in a Kansan field. I came. And I came hard.

I had literally no idea that was even possible.

“Did you just…” he asked.

“Yeah.” Was that weird? I barely ever even climaxed from sex with the last guy. It was weird.