The Feel Good Factor(45)
Perri clears her throat, shooting me a most serious stare. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”
I give her a sideways glance. Damn, she looks good curled up next to me, her red hair spilling over my chest. Absently, I stroke a few strands. “Elephant? What elephant?” I let my eyes stray down my body. “Oh, are you talking about my trunk?”
“Perhaps I am.” She wiggles her eyebrows, tap-dancing her fingers along my abs, making her way to my dick, which is on a well-deserved five-minute sabbatical.
“Ah, so that is what you want to discuss. Go on.”
Her fingers tease my pelvis. “Well, yeah. You just gave me two fantastic Os with this magnificent dick. I would like to take a minute to talk about how magnificent it is.”
Grinning like a cocky bastard, I park my hands behind my head and preen. “Sure, absolutely. I can listen to you praise my dick all night long.”
She runs her hand along my thigh. “Let me put it this way: it’s everything I hoped it would be.”
I smirk, meeting her naughty gaze. “You’ve been thinking about my dick, haven’t you?”
“Uh, yeah. Just like you’ve been thinking about all my lady parts,” she says, shimmying her hips from her spot next to me in bed.
“Busted. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about all your parts.” I tug her closer, savoring the way she fits in the crook of my arm. I drop a kiss to her silky auburn hair. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of my access to her at last. My freedom to touch her, kiss her, explore her. “So tell me, how else have you been objectifying me?”
She roams her eyes up and down my body, and as she does, a new awareness hits me. She’s not running down the stairs. We’re not making awkward post-screw conversation. She’s not hemming and hawing as she tries to get out of my room. She’s lying next to me, wrapped in my arms, and we’re talking. I didn’t plan what would happen after we slept together, but I like that this is the thing that happened naturally.
“Well, I definitely fantasized about your body. It is kind of crazy-hot. You know that, right?”
“And you better know that you’re wildly sexy. Also, I’m glad you like what you see,” I say.
She squeezes my biceps. “Let’s be honest. You’re a fine specimen. Like, you could be in a zoo somewhere.”
I laugh. “You’re going to put me in a zoo?”
“Yes, a man zoo. If there were one, you would absolutely be the most popular exhibit. All the women would be coming to check you out. Men too, probably.”
“And in this man zoo, would I be naked, or would I get to wear . . . I don’t know . . . say, a thong, or a fig leaf?”
She taps her chin and stares at the dark ceiling. “It would depend on the day. If I ran the man zoo, I would make a schedule.” Her fingers travel along my chest, stopping at my pecs. “On Mondays, you’d wear a fig leaf.” They ladder down to my abs. “On Wednesdays, you’d wear a thong.” They jog to my hips. “And on Fridays, it would be nude day, because everyone knows Friday is the best day of the week.”
“And would Fridays be the most popular day at the zoo?”
“Absolutely. The lines at the man zoo are so long on Fridays because everyone wants to get in. But tickets are hard to come by.”
“Makes sense. I’d be a prized exhibit. Tickets would be bartered on StubHub. Wait, do I do a show at the zoo? SeaWorld-style or anything?”
She shoots me an inquisitive stare. “Do you have any talent? Can you dance? Do backflips? Catch fish in your mouth?”
“I’m a killer dancer. Do you want me to dance for you right now?”
She arches her brow as if she’s thinking about it, then she cuddles closer, settling deeper into my arms. “No, I kind of weirdly like snuggling with you, so please don’t get up and dance,” she says.
“Aww, you like snuggling with me. Admit it—you like me.” As soon as the words spill out, I freeze. Was I supposed to say that she liked me? Is that what this is about? But hell, maybe it’s become that. Because I like this woman so much that it’s well beyond like. It’s moved to the next level.
She raises her face, but her expression reminds me of her aviator shades. It’s practiced and gives nothing new away. “I just let you bang me after we played a massive resistance game. I think it’s obvious that I think you’re the cat’s meow.”
She didn’t quite answer my question. But I’m not entirely sure I was asking it the right way.
I switch back to an easier topic, since I don’t think she wants to venture down this do you dig me road. Come to think of it, I’m not entirely in the mood either. That’s not what we’re supposed to be about anyway. This is an itch we’re scratching, and she’s made it clear from the start that she has no interest in a long-term scratching partner. Nor do I.
“Let’s talk more about this snuggling,” I say, keeping it light. “Tell me why it’s weird that you like snuggling with me. Is it weird that you’d like banging me and snuggling with me?”
Nervousness flickers across her eyes. Gone is the stoic gaze when she answers, “Banging, no. Snuggling, yes. It’s kind of weird to like it. Don’t you think?”
And maybe that wasn’t an easier question at all. Neither one of us quite knows if we’re supposed to be snuggling, or if we’re supposed to be yanking on underwear, waving goodbye, and saying, Thanks for a great screw.