Page 91 of Only and Forever
She’s silent for a beat, searching my eyes. “But it’s different, the concept of it... being reciprocated?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
When did we reverse roles? When did Tallulah become so adept at talking, filling in the blanks, and I become so inept?
Peering up at me, Tallulah clasps my hand and squeezes hard. “We’ll slow down.”
Self-consciousness swarms me. “We don’t have to, for you—”
“Don’tfinish that sentence.” Another firm squeeze of my hand. “It’s not just you. It’s me, too. For me to explore this, I also need to table that kind of intimacy. We’ll pump the brakes. There’s a lot we can enjoy while we figure this out.”
“You sure?”
She smiles, holding my gaze. “Absolutely. We’ll keep it to... cuddles?” she offers.
“Definitely. Kisses, too. I think those seem reasonable.”
She bites her lip. “I won’t say no to kisses. Hugs?”
“Implicit in cuddling, Lulaloo. Obviously.”
Laughing softly, she tugs me toward her by my shirt. “Then come here and cuddle me good night.”
I wrap her in my arms. Her hands slip around my waist. Her head to my chest. My chin on her hair.
It feels so right. Like a puzzle piece slipping into place on aclickthat echoes through me.
I hope she feels that, too. Even if not now, not yet... one day.
TWENTY-SIX
Viggo
Playlist: “So Tied Up,” Cold War Kids, Bishop Briggs
I am a nervous wreck. Up until about half an hour ago, I’ve been grateful for my consuming anxiety the past week about the store’s grand opening, because it was the only thing that kept me from spiraling about Tallulah. About how much I want her, how much I’m afraid to admit she means to me, after one short month of sharing life and work and a home with her.
Focusing on taking deep, steady breaths, I stand, rooted to the floor, in the middle of my bookstore, whose doors I’m finally about to open. Over a year’s hard work poured into this place. A super-soft opening, a romance book club kickoff soft opening. Two weeks of social media blasts, old-school flyer distribution around the area while walking the dogs. One month of Tallulah’s steady, calm, practical presence beside me, while I tweaked and rearranged and finally said it was time.
Now it’s here.
The door from my home to the bookstore opens, swinging wide. In walks Tallulah, stealing the breath from my lungs. Glowing golden skin. Ice-blue shoulder-length waves. Dark liner winging her amber eyes. A blush-pink sundress with a plunging neckline that flares out at her full, soft hips, fluttering just past her knees. Matching strappy blush-pink sky-high heels.
For the millionth time in the past two weeks, I want to punch myself in the face for pumping the brakes. Desire burns through me, hot and fierce.
The only thing stopping me from pouncing on her right now—besides my store opening in fifteen minutes—is the reminder that Tallulah said she was right there with me, firm in her conviction that, in order to explore what we could share beyond physical attraction, physical intimacy needed to be set aside.
Well, at least, certain kinds of physical intimacy.
I think back on this afternoon, when making lunch in the kitchen became making out. I remember how good she felt, even with my touch held safely at the curve of her waist filling my hands. My cock twitches in my suit pants.
Tallulah smiles, bright and dazzling. A whistle leaves her. “Wowy, Bergman. You clean up real nice.”
I shrug, hands in my pockets. “Shucks, Clarke.” My gaze holds hers, then dips down her body, back up to her eyes. “You’re stunning, Lu.”
“Gee, thanks.” She shrugs, then does a twirl that reveals a peek of lacy blush-pink panties. A whimper catches in my throat.
“Oops.” She pats her dress down. “Accidental Marilyn Monroe moment.”