In a New York Minute(78)
He lowered me to the floor, and his hands grazed the edge of my tank top. Then he lifted it up and threw it off. I tried to do the same with his shirt, but it was wet and heavy, and it got stuck on his head. He reached up to help me, and we both started laughing. I grabbed at my jeans, but the rain had glued them to my body, and it was taking every muscle in my arms to pull them down. I collapsed onto my bed, pants crumpled at my knees. “Hayes,” I said, “I am going to say something incredibly unsexy to you right now, and I hope it doesn’t kill the mood.”
“Anything,” he said. His face was open and patient, and I knew in that moment that there was nothing I could say to this man that he would find uncomfortable or embarrassing. He’d seen the most raw parts of me from the first time we met, and he was still here.
Also, his chest. Holy shit, his chest. I had wondered what was underneath all those perfectly laundered, crisp button-downs. And here was my answer: tight muscle and soft dark hair, smooth skin that stretched on for days. If Hayes’s chest was already the death of me, I might not live long enough to see him fully naked.
“My pants are stuck,” I said, gesturing at my ankles. “Can you just, you know, yank them off?”
“Is this your version of dirty talk, Franny?” He smirked at me. Fuck, he was hot when he flirted.
I leaned back on the bed and lifted my legs, and Hayes pulled my jeans off in one swift motion. His pants dropped more easily to the floor, and he kicked them to the side and then climbed over me, sliding a knee next to my hip.
“Hi,” I said, gazing up at him, his damp hair falling forward and touching my forehead.
“Hey,” he said back, holding my gaze.
“Our underwear is wet too. We should probably take that off.”
He nodded gravely. “I would hate to get your bed all wet,” he said. Together, we slid back, our heads on the pillows, his hand tracing a line down my arm, across my ribs. He unhooked my bra with a flick of his fingers.
“Wow,” I said, shifting the straps off my shoulders. “One hand.”
“I’m good with my hands,” he said, a lopsided grin creeping across his face.
“Oh my god, who are you?” I laughed a kiss onto his mouth.
“You set me up with that one,” he said. “But it’s also true.”
I pushed his boxer briefs down, then let him slide them off his legs as I lifted my hips and dragged my own underwear off slowly, knowing his eyes were on every move I made.
He ran a hand down to my calf and up my thigh, planting soft kisses on my stomach.
“I have condoms in my drawer,” I said, cutting to the chase.
He looked up at me, sliding back so our faces were flush. “Is all this okay?”
“This is the most okay thing to happen to me in a long time.” I laid a hand on his cheek. “But if you want, we can slow down. Take a break. Go get some coffee from Café New York.”
“Oh god,” he groaned, remembering our awkward NYN coffee date. “For you, I would.” He laughed as he kissed me gently, letting his mouth move from my lips to my brow, to my neck, and then my shoulder. “What do you think,” he said, his voice breathy, “that girl who took those pictures of us on the subway would say if she could see us now?”
“I think she’d be pleased at how right she was.” I rolled my hips against him, the pressure of his body a pull I was unable to resist. “That we might just be Subway QTs after all.”
“Can I call you ‘my QT,’ Franny?” Hayes asked as he licked my nipple ever so gently, pulling his teeth across my breast in a way that caused every hair on my body to startle.
“As long as if, after that, you promise to never, ever say that word again,” I said, before letting out a moan.
“I promise,” he said, moving his mouth to my other breast, his tongue hot on my skin, leaving my body cold and wanting the second it left. “Do you promise?”
“Yes.” I would promise him just about anything if it meant he would never, ever stop.
*
Franny: What would you guys do if I told you I just had three orgasms.
Cleo: With an actual person or w your vibrator?
Franny: Not just with an actual person. With HAYES.
Cleo: STFU
Franny:
Lola: omgomg I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN
Franny: Yes how convenient you all couldn’t make it to dinner last night. Nice plan.
Lola: BUT IT WORKED
Franny: Don’t tell Perrine!
Cleo: Can I tell the guy from Bumble who I’m about to meet for coffee?
Franny: I hate u both.
Lola: Go ice your vagina, Fran!
Lola: Cleo, report back.
Cleo: I’ll let you know if he looks like someone who can go 4 three orgasms
Franny:
Franny:
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hayes
When I opened my eyes again, I was alone in Franny’s bed. Her room was dark, the rain still pounding outside. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The clock on her bedside table read 6:03 p.m.
I peered over the edge of the bed, but my clothes were nowhere to be found. There was, however, a folded shirt and pair of pants perched precariously on the bedside table next to me with a Post-it on top. “Drying your clothes. Put me on,” it read.