Falling into Forever (Falling into You) - By Lauren Abrams Page 0,50
have to kick you out of our house?”
“I’m going to take it. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like leaving.”
She stands up and nestles herself into my lap. I take her face into my hands, crushing my lips over hers.
“When do you leave?” she whispers into my ear.
I stiffen slightly and look up to meet her eyes.
“When, Chris?”
She runs her fingers through my hair, mindlessly curling it between her fingers, a vague expression dancing across her features.
“Tonight. I have to be in LA by tomorrow morning to go through the contracts with Marcus.”
She breathes in once and gives me a rueful smile. “If this is going to be the last time I’m going to see you for months, then I better ravage you good, then.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might.”
She laughs and throws her head back. I try to capture her in my mind, just like that, but all I can concentrate on is her touch on my skin and the fire that’s building deep in my gut. I lift her and carry her into our sunny bedroom, watching her face with every step.
She pushes me back onto the bed and places feathery kisses over my torso and abdomen, moving lower and lower until she slides her body over mine and I move into her. I let her set the pace, slowly at first, until the slowness starts to drown everything out of me and I push her urgently beneath me.
My lips meet hers for a long, deep kiss. Our tongues tangle together, harder, deeper, until we are consumed. I try to put all of my fears about leaving and coming back to find that she’s changed without me, that she’s left me behind, into that kiss, because I can’t say them aloud. I feel her entire body tense and I slide more deeply into her, letting her warmth envelop me and pull me under.
We stay just like that, locked together, pretending that the rest of the world never existed, until the sun dips below the horizon.
An hour later, I’m still lounging against the pillows as she carefully folds clothes and stacks them neatly into my suitcase.
“Are you really packing for me?”
“You don’t like it when your clothes are wrinkled.” She grins. “But you never learned how to fold your own clothes, and I don’t see an army of personal assistants around here, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“I thought it went against your feminist principles to play housewife.”
“When did I ever say that I was a feminist?”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
She grabs an old hoodie from the closet and places it gently on top of the second suitcase.
“I guess. If we’re talking equal rights, equal pay, I’m all about it. Give me my sign and I’ll show up for the march. But honestly, I think you should take care of the people you love. And if that means doing some cooking and some cleaning and some packing, then I’ll do those things, whether they’re excluded from some feminist manifesto or not. I don’t think ideologies should be an excuse for getting out of chores.”
“Is this some kind of test? Am I supposed to jump up and start packing my own clothes or something?”
“Stay in bed, lazybones. I hear Danny Martin works his actors even harder than Alan does, so you’ll have enough work to do soon enough.”
She leans over and places a light kiss on my forehead. I breathe in the faint smell of honey and mint and hold my breath until she laughs and tosses the hoodie at me.
“You’ll want to wear that one, I bet.”
“Did you wash it?”
“I did. Say thank you, domestic goddess.”
“Thank you, oh heavenly domestic goddess. Now, let me get out a gigantic piece of meat and I’ll slap it on the grill.”
She laughs before giving me a pensive look.
“Promise me that you’re going to take care of yourself, okay?” Her tone is light, but there’s an urgency in her eyes and something else. Fear. I tread lightly.
“You mean when I pull out that piece of meat or when I slap it on the grill? Afraid I’m going to get burned? I can handle myself. I know we’ve never used the grill in the backyard, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a novice with the barbecue.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She bites her lip, and I can tell that she’s trying to figure out if she can say more. “I read the play, Chris. Garrett’s an