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Authors: Serenity Woods
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small boxes. “What’s that?”
“Chinese,” he said. “I nipped out. I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m starving.”
He sat up. “Are you happy to eat together?”
She smiled. “Of course.” She still couldn’t believe he’d massaged her. His touch had been gentle but firm, and he’d clearly known what he was doing.
“Cool. I’ll dish up while you get dressed, if you like.”
He rose and went into the kitchen, and busied himself with dividing the food onto plates. She pulled her bag onto the mattress and took out the large T-shirt she wore in bed. She was past worrying about what to wear in front of him. He made her feel so comfortable and relaxed that things like that didn’t seem to matter.
With surprise she noticed him pouring wine into two glasses.
“Um, I’m not sure I should drink if I’ve had pills,” she said.
“I checked the label and there are no contra-indications with alcohol,” he said. “It’s up to you—I just think at the moment that anything that relaxes you would be good.”
“Orgasms are relaxing.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
To his credit, he just laughed and gave her an amused glance. “Absolutely. We’ll talk about that after dinner.”
A delicious warmth spread through her. She loved men who weren’t put off by women who liked sex, and he seemed to enjoy flirting with her. In many ways that was what she had missed most—the companionship of flirting and talking about intimate things almost as much as doing the intimate things themselves.
Almost.
She eyed him mischievously as he brought her plate over to the bed. I‘d love to get down and dirty with you , he’d said. Had he been joking, or had he meant it?
He met her gaze as he leaned across to place her wine on the bedside table and gave her a sexy smile. Oh ho, he meant it all right. He absolutely wanted to get her into bed.
How exciting.
He brought over his own plate and glass and sat on the bed next to her, back up against the headboard and legs stretched out. She turned to face him, legs crossed, and they began to eat their dinner.
“Nice shirt,” he said after a few mouthfuls, pointing to it with his chopsticks.
She looked down. The T-shirt was pink with a large picture of a rabbit in a top hat. “It’s comfortable,” she said defensively.
“I wasn’t criticising. It’s pretty.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Colm, for…well, everything.”
He stopped with the chopsticks halfway to his mouth and smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He ate the noodles as he considered her. “You shouldn’t suffer, you know. Nothing is served by suffering.”
“I know.” She pushed a few peas around her plate. “I know I’m being self-indulgent. It’s just…” She cleared her throat and took a bite out of a spring roll. “I wasn’t ready. Maybe I am now. I don’t know. I am trying.”
He picked up his glass and held it out to her. She picked up her own and clinked it against his.
“To moving on,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “To moving on.”
They took a couple of swallows of the wine and carried on eating their dinner.
He started talking about something they’d covered in the course that day and she half listened, but inside her brain was thinking furiously about what to do next. Sleeping with him couldn’t end well when he was moving back to Ireland—could it? She didn’t want things to turn bad between them—after his generous behaviour, she thought that would make her cry. Was it possible to have sex and then go back to being friends?
He put down his plate and ran his hand through his hair before reaching for his glass again, and she couldn’t help but stare as the cotton sleeve stretched across his biceps. Maybe it was the fact that he’d touched her skin with his bare hands, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time, but suddenly she yearned to touch him, to kiss him, to have him inside her. She wanted him,
“Chinese,” he said. “I nipped out. I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m starving.”
He sat up. “Are you happy to eat together?”
She smiled. “Of course.” She still couldn’t believe he’d massaged her. His touch had been gentle but firm, and he’d clearly known what he was doing.
“Cool. I’ll dish up while you get dressed, if you like.”
He rose and went into the kitchen, and busied himself with dividing the food onto plates. She pulled her bag onto the mattress and took out the large T-shirt she wore in bed. She was past worrying about what to wear in front of him. He made her feel so comfortable and relaxed that things like that didn’t seem to matter.
With surprise she noticed him pouring wine into two glasses.
“Um, I’m not sure I should drink if I’ve had pills,” she said.
“I checked the label and there are no contra-indications with alcohol,” he said. “It’s up to you—I just think at the moment that anything that relaxes you would be good.”
“Orgasms are relaxing.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
To his credit, he just laughed and gave her an amused glance. “Absolutely. We’ll talk about that after dinner.”
A delicious warmth spread through her. She loved men who weren’t put off by women who liked sex, and he seemed to enjoy flirting with her. In many ways that was what she had missed most—the companionship of flirting and talking about intimate things almost as much as doing the intimate things themselves.
Almost.
She eyed him mischievously as he brought her plate over to the bed. I‘d love to get down and dirty with you , he’d said. Had he been joking, or had he meant it?
He met her gaze as he leaned across to place her wine on the bedside table and gave her a sexy smile. Oh ho, he meant it all right. He absolutely wanted to get her into bed.
How exciting.
He brought over his own plate and glass and sat on the bed next to her, back up against the headboard and legs stretched out. She turned to face him, legs crossed, and they began to eat their dinner.
“Nice shirt,” he said after a few mouthfuls, pointing to it with his chopsticks.
She looked down. The T-shirt was pink with a large picture of a rabbit in a top hat. “It’s comfortable,” she said defensively.
“I wasn’t criticising. It’s pretty.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Colm, for…well, everything.”
He stopped with the chopsticks halfway to his mouth and smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He ate the noodles as he considered her. “You shouldn’t suffer, you know. Nothing is served by suffering.”
“I know.” She pushed a few peas around her plate. “I know I’m being self-indulgent. It’s just…” She cleared her throat and took a bite out of a spring roll. “I wasn’t ready. Maybe I am now. I don’t know. I am trying.”
He picked up his glass and held it out to her. She picked up her own and clinked it against his.
“To moving on,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “To moving on.”
They took a couple of swallows of the wine and carried on eating their dinner.
He started talking about something they’d covered in the course that day and she half listened, but inside her brain was thinking furiously about what to do next. Sleeping with him couldn’t end well when he was moving back to Ireland—could it? She didn’t want things to turn bad between them—after his generous behaviour, she thought that would make her cry. Was it possible to have sex and then go back to being friends?
He put down his plate and ran his hand through his hair before reaching for his glass again, and she couldn’t help but stare as the cotton sleeve stretched across his biceps. Maybe it was the fact that he’d touched her skin with his bare hands, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time, but suddenly she yearned to touch him, to kiss him, to have him inside her. She wanted him,
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