The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,69
her fingers across his chin again, her gaze following the action.
“Your whiskers are like glitter. Gold and bronze and chestnut.”
“Glittery whiskers. I’ll add that to my Facebook profile.”
She smiled faintly. The sheet slipped off her shoulder, exposing her upper arm and the curve of her breast.
“You’re the first man I’ve slept with who has longer hair than me, you know that?”
“Is that a fact?” He tugged on her fringe.
“I used to have long hair. Before the accident.” She said it wistfully.
“It suits you short.”
“Does it?” She didn’t sound convinced. “Every time I look in the mirror I feel like I’m looking at a little boy.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing boyish about you.” His gaze shifted to the curve of her breast.
“You talking about these little ladies?” she said, glancing at her chest.
“I believe I was. Among other things.”
She pushed herself up so that she was kneeling beside him. “You like them, huh?”
The covers pooled around her waist as she slid her hands onto her breasts, plumping them for him.
“I do. Quite a bit, actually.”
“You don’t think they’re too small?” She considered her breasts and almost absently ran her thumbs over her nipples.
He grinned, well aware of what she was doing but more than happy to go along for the ride.
“I think they’re about right. They say more than a handful is a waste.”
“But you have pretty big hands.” She pinched her nipples this time and he watched as they hardened into pale pink peaks.
He was getting hard again. Such was her power over him.
“Your breasts fit perfectly into the palm of my hand.” He demonstrated, cupping her warm flesh.
“Huh. I guess they do.”
There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she noted the tent his erection made beneath the covers.
“You’re a vixen. A wanton, lascivious vixen,” he said.
“I think you’re supposed to sound more disgusted when you call me names like that.”
“Are you kidding me? Wanton, lascivious vixens are my favorites.”
She slid her hand beneath the covers and wrapped her fingers around his erection. “I can feel that.”
She’d only brought the one “just in case” condom, so they drove each other crazy with their hands and mouths instead, taking their time, learning each other’s sweet spots. Afterward, she sprawled across his chest, limp and sated, her cheeks a rosy-pink.
“Wake me if I get too heavy,” she murmured as she drifted into sleep.
He was on the verge of sleep himself, but he smiled as he thought about the way she’d teased him, the sass of her, the way she made him feel.
This was good. He knew it in his bones. It might be too soon, he might be too messed up, but it was happening and he wasn’t about to throw it away. As Mackenzie had said, they’d had enough shit in their lives. Why shouldn’t they enjoy some good stuff for as long as it lasted?
The voice at the back of his head wanted to pick a fight with his logic, but he didn’t want to listen. Right now, he was happy, and it felt good. It seemed to him that only an idiot would question that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MACKENZIE WOKE ALL AT ONCE, aware that something was wrong. It took a moment to work out that it was because she wasn’t in her own bed. Again.
So much for her “dodging a bullet” game plan.
Tentative, she reached toward the other side of the bed and found a warm, solid back. Oliver hadn’t retreated to the kitchen this time, then.
Or, he hadn’t retreated yet.
The thought made her belly tight. Granted, they’d agreed that they would accept this for what it was—whatever that may be or may become. Still, she didn’t want to feel like an unwanted guest twice in as many nights. If Oliver felt the need to create some space for himself again, it would be kinder to both of them if she simply offered it to him. She should slip from the bed and quietly get dressed and leave as though it was her choice.
She didn’t move. She told herself it was because the bed was warm and the night was cold, but she knew it was a lie.
She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to walk away from the way Oliver made her feel.
Beautiful. Sexy. Wanton.
Not once in any of their encounters had he said or done anything or indicated in any other way that her scars even registered on his radar. She knew that couldn’t be true, but she was everlastingly grateful for his low-key acceptance. Unless he was