Edward Ferrars, is trying to talk to Emma Thompson, playing Elinor of course. But he’s just awkward as hell. I can’t think of anyone who has cornered the market on adorably awkward better than old-school Hugh Grant.
Then again, Ren’s pretty good at working the adorkable angle, too.
Ren shifts slightly, sliding his fingers through mine again, and squeezing gently. Never enough to hurt my fingers. Which is good, because they’re throbbing just fine on their own.
I’ve tried to ignore for the past two days that my normal baseline discomfort has ratcheted up to nagging pain and stiffness. I shouldn’t be flaring. The biologics and low-dose corticosteroids I take generally work well. If a flare’s coming, I’m going to be pissed. Unfortunately, there’s really nothing I can do except wait and see. And burrow deeper into Ren’s arms as I yawn.
My eyes keep drooping, not because I’m bored. The movie’s gorgeous. It has my attention. I’m enjoying comparing what I’m reading for book club to the film and noticing the liberties they’ve taken. But the truth is the team’s schedule gets to me. And trekking all day through various degrees of pain and discomfort, not to mention the mental work of keeping up with a demanding job and all the socializing, wears me out.
Then there’s being tucked inside Ren’s arms. His legs, too. It’s so cozy, I can’t help but feel sleepy, lounging on his massive sofa in the living room. Dove gray. Soft linen. Plush yet firm. The solid wall of his chest heats my back, and the heft of his arms around me is more soothing than my weighted blanket.
Soft lips press to my temple. “Still awake, sugar lump?”
I half-heartedly jab him with my elbow.
“That answers that,” he groans.
“You know what you can call me?” I glance up as he leans over me and we brush noses.
He kisses the tip of mine. “What?”
“Grumpapotamus.”
He frowns. “I don’t like calling you any iteration of grumpy.” Smoothing my hair back from my face, he stares down at me. “You’re not grumpy. You’re just…”
“Grumpy. We’ve discussed this. Best not to dispute it. Better to ask why?”
He sighs. “Okay. Why?”
I slide my hand along his thigh and watch his jaw tic. “Because I want to turn off the movie. And stop playing spoons.”
A slow grin warms his face. “You don’t like cuddling?”
“I mean, I do. You’re a top-notch cuddler.”
He dips his head in a bow. “Thank you.”
“I just want more.”
Ren unthreads his fingers from my hand and cradles my jaw in his grasp, his thumb scraping across my lips. “We’ll get there, Frankie. I want more, too,” he whispers, before his mouth sweeps softly over mine. He nudges my lips open, teases the tip of his tongue against mine.
I wrap an arm around his neck and slide my fingers through his hair. It’s silky yet thick, and he sighs into my mouth when I scrape my nails along his scalp. Ren wraps an arm around my waist while one hand cups my face, his thumb gentling the dimple in my cheek. His touch is restrained tenderness. But his kiss is pure hunger.
Sparks skitter across my skin and heat pours through my veins as a sweet ache settles between my thighs. I’ve made out a good bit in my day, and up until now I would have said it was a pretty fine history of tongue tangles and handsy gropes. But as our kiss deepens and my body warms under his touch, I’m confronted with a new understanding of the past. Nothing I’ve done prepared me. Nothing compares to this.
Ren pulls back and grins, his gaze not leaving my lips. I’m waiting. For hands to slide down my waist, to shuck my leggings and rub me to a rough, powerful orgasm, but instead, I feel warm fingers, calloused and rough, weaving through mine again.
A shuddering sigh leaves me. I’m painfully aroused. Perplexed and in awe that someone who’s waited this long seems determined to wait longer.
Ren brings my hand to his mouth and presses hot, slow, open-mouthed kisses to my palm, then every tip of my finger. I’m practically panting, arching toward him as his mouth drifts to the tender inside of my wrist. His tongue swirls in slow, steady circles which aren’t hard to imagine teasing somewhere else that longs for touch.
Exhaling slowly, Ren plants one last kiss to my wrist, then lowers it. I stare at him in obvious confusion, my hair mussed from his fingers, my lips parted.
A dry laugh jumps out of