Sin With Me

50

Finally I’m a noodle. A panting, sweating noodle, unsure whether I’m on the cusp of laughter or tears.

I open my eyes. Brody is watching me, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth still buried in my flesh. His hand and c**k are both glistening. So is his expensive silk duvet cover, and a good part of my abdomen and upper thighs.

And he calls me Slick? The man is a human fire hose!

I dissolve into laughter.

In a husky voice, Brody says, “That is so not the reaction I was hoping for.”

I laugh harder. Between gasps of air I manage to say, “You—you glazed me. And your hand. And the bed! Ba ha ha ha!”

“Excuse me, comedian, but you glazed me.” He lifts his head and smiles at me.

His cheeks and chin are wet.

I groan. “Oh my God, this is the least sexy after-s*x conversation I’ve ever had!”

Brody turns his head and bites my thigh. Then he looks up at me, grinning. “But the best, right? Because it’s me, so . . . obviously.”

I try really hard not to laugh, only I fail spectacularly.

This feeling of euphoria is new. Normally after s*x I’m jumping hurdles to get to the front door, but right now I’m floating somewhere way above cloud nine.

“And not to correct you or anything, because it’s indelicate to correct a lady so soon after such an eardrum-shattering orgasm, but that wasn’t sex.”

“Well it certainly wasn’t a turnip.”

“I told you, Grace. That was just foreplay.”

“Foreplay my ass. That was the sun and the stars and the entire known universe.”

Brody’s chuckle is low and satisfied. “Now that’s a compliment. Much better, Slick.”

I sigh. My entire body feels like Jell-O. “You deserve it, Kong. That was spectacular.”

He crawls up to me, takes my face in his hands, and gives me a deep, heartfelt kiss. “You’re spectacular,” he whispers, gazing down at me. “And you taste even better. I’m already addicted.” He kisses me again.

“Maybe you just have an addictive personality,” I tease, loving his intensity, his playfulness, the rough edge in his voice and the happy light in his eyes. Loving all of this. The way he sounds and feels and touches me. How it all just seems so right.

“No,” he says seriously, looking into my eyes. “It’s because it’s like someone asked me for a list of all the things that would make up my ideal woman and then created you in a lab for me. It’s because you’re funny and smart and sexy and independent and strong and can have any man you want, but you look at me like I’m a Christmas present. Like I’m a kept promise. Like I’m your favorite song.”

His voice drops. “It’s because you’re perfect, but you make me feel like I am.”

My throat closes. An invisible hand squeezes my chest. I stare into Brody’s beautiful green eyes and think, Oh.

Oh.

So this is what it’s like.

Instead of admitting I’m feeling emotional, I make a joke. “I’m not perfect.”

His brows lift.

“My left foot is half a size bigger than my right.”

A grin spreads over his face.

“Also one of my ears is slightly higher than the other. You can only tell when I wear sunglasses, but still. My ears aren’t level.”

Brody kisses the tip of my nose, my forehead, both my cheeks. “I’ve been telling you this, sweetheart. You’re hideous.”

“I’m also covered in, uh . . .” I glance down at my stomach.

Brody follows my gaze. “Oh. Right.” He pauses a moment, and then says, “Would it be gross to tell you that I have this really primal urge to smear it all over you and not let you take a shower for days?”

I laugh. “Yes. That would be gross. Caveman.”

He glances up at me and grins. “You bring out the Neanderthal in me, witch face.” He kisses me quickly, then pops up from the bed. “Stay there for a second. Help is on the way.”

He disappears into the bathroom. After running a washcloth under the faucet and squeezing it out, he returns to me with it, and a hand towel.

I start to sit up, but he barks, “No!” He waves his hand, indicating I should stay as I am.

I settle back against the pillows. “You’re incredibly bossy, you know that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” he murmurs, running the washcloth over my skin. He cleans me gently and diligently, smiling this hilariously smug smile the entire time. Then he dries me with the hand towel, pulls my sweats up to my waist, and unties the T-shirt from around my wrists.

He helps me sit up, helps me put the shirt on, and then tackles me, taking us both back down to the mattress.

“Hey!”

“Hugs,” he says, his words muffled against my neck. “You need hugs, remember?”

He squeezes his arms around me, curls his legs around me, and engulfs me.

He’s hugging me with his entire body.

I close my eyes and snuggle into him, as close as I can get. His heart thuds loud and strong beneath my cheek. He’s warm and heavy, gently kissing my neck and shoulder, sighing quietly as if he’s feeling the same things I am.

Contented. Euphoric. Joyful.

Home.

God, I think, drifting off to sleep. Maybe I was wrong about you after all.

I awaken in stages, first aware of birds chirping somewhere outside, and then the delicious scent of baking bread. My body feels light, as if it’s floating. So does my spirit when I see how the sun has changed direction, slanting low through the windows in the west.

It’s late afternoon. I’ve been asleep for hours.