Naked

by Megan Hart

  His fingers squeezed. “I admire what you did.”

  “My mother told me no man would ever want to marry me, since I’d had a child and given it away. That men wanted children of their own. I thought she was stupid. I think she meant that it was because I was young,” I said. “But even so, it was a lame thing to say.”

  “It was a mean thing to say, and I’m not surprised you’re angry about it.”

  “Oh, I’m not mad anymore.”

  He squeezed my fingers again. “Oh, yeah?”

  I laughed after a second. “Okay. Yeah. It stings. But…you don’t care, really?”

  Alex pushed his chair back from the table and tugged my hand until I came to sit on his lap. I put my head on his shoulder and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. I’m not small, but with Alex I always felt soft and feminine.

  His hand came to rest just above my knee, and it was warm through the thin washable silk of my trousers. “I love you. Whatever you’ve done before, or whatever you do in the future.”

  I loosened a few buttons on his shirt so I could slip my hand inside. “That sounds like a line from a romance novel.”

  His breath huffed against my hair. “I’ve spent a lot of time in airports and on planes. I’ve read my share of romances.”

  “Why me?” I asked, shamelessly angling for compliments to take away the sour memories of my mother’s words and what had happened in the parking lot after work.

  Alex shifted my weight on his legs. “You ate pot stickers for breakfast.”

  I sat back to look at his face. “That’s not the answer I was expecting.”

  “And because you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” he added. “And because your talent blew me away the first time I saw those photos you took. Because you can almost kick my ass at Dance Dance Revolution, but not quite. But really, it was the pot stickers.”

  I had to laugh at that, for how ridiculous is it that food had led to love? “Why?”

  He shifted again and I got off his lap onto my own chair again. He laughed and swirled another slice of bread through the oil on his plate and handed it to me. “I’ve spent a lot of time around people who think their entire value is tied up in their body mass index. Men who obsess about their workouts to the point they can’t talk about anything but cardio and reps. Women who think emaciation is sexy.”

  I raised a brow. “So in other words, you’re trying to tell me I’m—”

  “Voluptuous,” he interjected. “Pneumatic. Curvy. Gorgeous.”

  I looked down at my breasts and shifted to glance at my thighs. “Uh-huh.”

  “My point is, none of the women—or men—I’ve been with for the past few years would’ve eaten a pot sticker for breakfast.”

  “Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time with the wrong people.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Olivia. Not real friends. But I have a fuck-ton of money, and had nobody to spend it on but myself. It’s easy to get caught up in a lifestyle.”

  I had no problem seeing what he meant. I pushed the platter toward him half an inch. “People who care about brand names, for example?”

  He smiled. “Baby, for the people I was hanging with, Crate and Barrel would be slumming.”

  I thought of the scarf he’d been willing to leave behind and replace with another. “You won’t find too much of that sort of thing here in Annville.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Tell me about it. I have a serious hard-on for a really good plate of Indian food and a bookstore. Fuck, I think I’d slap an old lady with a fish to have a really good bookstore around here.”

  “Slap an…” I goggled, then giggled.

  It was that way with him; one minute we were talking about the mysteries of life and the next he had me breathless with laughter.

  “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. But I really would like a bookstore. And fuck me, a Starbucks.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t know you liked Starbucks.”

  “I don’t. It’s just that everyone, everywhere, has one.”

  “Not Annville.”

  “Nope. But Annville has you.”

  I groaned, even though I loved that he’d said it. “What romance novel did you pull that from?”

  “Oh, I think it was called Passion in the Cornfield or something.” He winked and twirled another mouthful of pasta. Mouth full, manners put aside for once, he said, “Why me?”

  I’d already been compiling a list. I couldn’t have asked the question, after all, without expecting to give my own answer. “Do I even need to mention that you are a GQMF?”

  He laughed. “The fuck’s a GQMF?”

  “Some motherfucker so goddamn good-looking he could be on the cover of GQ magazine.” I paused to give him an eye. “Which is you.”

  He waved his fork at me. “I’ll take it. Keep going.”

  “I can’t tell you any one thing. There was no one moment. It was just like…you were there when I needed someone, and I figured out that it wasn’t just someone I needed, but you.”

  Alex licked his mouth clean of oil. “Even though I was everything you swore off?”

  “Maybe especially because of that.” I turned my engagement ring from side to side to catch the light. “But you were right when you said you weren’t Patrick. I couldn’t keep thinking every man would be him. I mean, I think I wouldn’t even give straight men a chance.”

  His gaze flickered. “Gotta watch out for those straight men, Olivia.”

  “Yeah. If there is such a thing.”

  “Oh, they’re out there,” Alex said. “Sort of like unicorns, though.”

  “You have to be a virgin to catch one?”

  “I meant horny.” He laughed.

  I’d wondered how to bring up my encounter with Patrick, and this seemed like the best time. “I saw Patrick tonight. He was waiting for me after work. He was angry I hadn’t told him in person that we were getting married.”

  Shields went up on Alex’s expression. Not all the way, as they’d have done once, but enough. “Oh?”

  I laughed to set us both at ease and make this no big deal. “Yeah. He was all up in my face about it, like I owed him something.”

  “Do you think you did?”

  I scowled. “No! Patrick and I have a lot of history, but I don’t owe him a damn thing.”

  Alex said nothing, just nodded. I soaked more oil into my bread but didn’t eat it. I drank the rest of my wine.

  “He and Teddy broke up.”

  Alex shrugged and shoved food around on his plate. “Did he say why?”

  I didn’t want to think about all that entailed. “He says he fucked around, but he and Teddy had an agreement about stuff like that.”

  Alex’s gaze sharpened. “It’s not cheating if you both agree. It is cheating if you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I hesitated. “I never got it, anyway, that arrangement, but it wasn’t my business. I was still surprised.”

  Alex shrugged once more.

  “He…he was pretty upset. He said Teddy told him part of why Patrick was such a mess was because of what had happened with me—”

  Alex’s laugh scoured the air. “He tried to blame you?”

  I didn’t know if the “he” meant Patrick or Teddy. “Don’t worry, I told Patrick he was out of line, that the past was over and that I wasn’t interested in figuring out what had gone wrong.”

  Alex put down his fork very carefully. “He wanted to get back with you? What the fuck is that about?”

  The cold vehemence in his tone set me back a bit. “He was talking out of his ass, Alex. He’s upset. And there’s always been this tie between us. I think he thought I’d be there for him again, the way I always have.”

  “That’s shitty.”

  “It is,” I agreed, and reached to put my hand on his. “But I’m not interested. Even though he offered up a Playgirl fantasy of a nice little threeway—”

  Alex took his hand fro
m mine. “What?”

  “Patrick seemed to think that because you and he…had done whatever…and he and I—”

  “No.” One word, but there was no mistaking the finality in it. “Never.”

  “I don’t think he meant it, Alex.” I tried to sound gentle and ended up sounding unsure.

  Alex shook his head, eyes dark with what didn’t seem like anger but something else. “I don’t care if he did. It’s out of the question. I don’t share. Not ever. Not with anyone.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry I said anything. I wasn’t interested in that, either.”

  He looked at me, and his gaze cleared a little. He took my hand and pulled me across the table to kiss me hard. Our teeth clashed and he eased up enough to stare into my eyes.

  “I love you,” he said. “No arrangements. Just you.”

  His response was a little scary, a little flattering. I got a little tingly. I kissed him, more softly than he’d kissed me.

  “I don’t want anyone else, Alex. Just you.”

  He didn’t smile. “If he comes around you again, I will kick his ass.”

  I wasn’t sure Alex was speaking literally, but I touched his face gently. “You’re jealous? You weren’t before.”

  He kissed my hand. “He didn’t want you, before.”

  Alex got up to clean off the table, and I followed. The moment passed. In another few he had me laughing again, and I put it from my mind.

  Chapter

  18

  I had a ring on my finger and no wedding date, no plans for a dress. No idea where we’d have the ceremony or the reception. What seemed more important than the wedding was the marriage—and it was almost as though we already had that.

  We didn’t quite live together, but with the outside doors locked and the doors to our individual apartments kept open, we moved back and forth between the floors the same as if we’d turned the whole building into one house, the way I’d dreamed of someday doing.

  I went to work most days and came home to find dinner waiting for me, or plans made for going out. Alex always treated, and I’ll admit that it was nice to be courted like that. Flowers, dinner dates, small, silly gifts he bought to make me smile. I’d never had a boyfriend who worked so hard.

  “You didn’t have to,” I said when he presented me with a silky, pretty nightgown I’d commented on in a catalog.

  “Just say thank you,” Alex said.

  I ran the silk through my fingertips, thinking of how I really needed to work on my Web site, post some photos to my blog, edit the pictures I’d taken at the workshop. I’d spent two shifts at Foto Folks to cover another photographer whose son had gone in to have his wisdom teeth removed. I was tired and hungry and horny, and I didn’t want to do more work. I wanted to make love, have a snack, curl up in front of the big-screen television Alex had put in my apartment because I had a better couch.

  “Put it on,” he suggested.

  I didn’t have the willpower to resist him. I shrugged out of my work clothes and let the silk fall over my head. It swirled around my thighs when I turned in a circle. The silk whispered on my skin.

  Music played, something sexy. A little Sade, “No Ordinary Love,” a little “Glory Box” from Portishead. It was his playlist, not mine, slinking from his fancy iPod Touch docked in a set of Bose speakers that had somehow made their way into my apartment, too. Good music for seduction, though does it count as seduction when both of you know the only place you’re going is to bed?

  I didn’t think he’d gone to work that morning, but he still wore a button-down shirt, a pair of dress trousers. No tie, the first few buttons undone to hint at his chest. He’d slicked his hair back from his face. He watched me with a knowing smile as I swiveled my hips.

  I took off my panties, and his eyes gleamed. Alex sat in the high-backed leather chair and pushed the footstool out of the way to give me more room to dance in front of him. I swayed to the music, letting it fill me.

  I never looked away from his eyes.

  Something faster came on, and I gave him a show, shaking my tits and ass. Rubbing my butt on his lap—on his erection, which I could clearly feel through his pants. The fact that he was getting hard from this performance, which felt half silly and half sexy, turned me on more than the dancing did. I inched the silk over my thighs, giving him a hint of bush, then let it fall back as I turned to look at him over my shoulder. I tossed my hair, stuck out my ass. I put in a couple porn-star moves, just for fun, and we both laughed, but his breath caught.

  I leaned in with a hand on his shoulder, face-to-face, our mouths open but not kissing. I let my tongue flick his. Soft. Fast. My nipples got tight and hard, poking the silk. The nightgown’s thin straps fell down my arms as I leaned, and my breasts threatened to spill out over the top.

  I turned and sat on his lap, my head on his shoulder, my face tipped so I could see his jaw and the tip of his nose. He hadn’t touched me once, playing along with the whole stripper fantasy, I guess. I rocked my ass on his cock, slowly, straddling his thigh. The silk had gotten tucked between my legs, and with every push-pull of my hips it rubbed my clit.

  We weren’t silent during this. He told me how sexy I looked, and how much he wanted to touch me. To fuck me. I told him how much I wanted to taste his prick. Sex words, not always coherent. Sometimes said just for the effect of saying them, like shock value. Titillation. It didn’t matter; I knew we both meant it no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

  I lifted my ass just enough. “Unbuckle your belt. Take out your cock.”

  He did. I slid onto him, still facing front. The silk lifted and puddled down around my hips, covering his lap. I leaned forward a little, my hands on his knees and mine kept close together to make a nice, tight fit, and so I could keep my balance.

  His cock rubbed my G-spot at this angle and I gave a low cry. “Touch my clit.”

  His hand came around to do as I’d commanded. I pushed myself up and down, slowly, in time to the circling of his finger. I closed my eyes, my body already shuddering. The nightgown shifted, exposing my left breast to the air. My hair fell over my face.

  I couldn’t think of a title for the picture I imagined we made. I couldn’t think of anything but the desire building between my legs. I moved a little faster.

  “I’m going to come,” he warned. “Fuck…Olivia…”

  “Another minute,” I begged in a sex-rough voice that broke on the words.

  Faster. Harder. His hand moved just right. He made a low, guttural noise I knew meant he was coming, and I toppled into orgasm, too, at the sound of it.

  With pleasure fading, I discovered my toes were cramping from pushing so hard on the wooden floor, my thighs shaking. I felt bruised inside and a little chafed from the angle, though not necessarily in a bad way. I pushed off his lap and stood, wincing at the slow, hot trickle down the inside of my leg.

  Alex grinned at me, his clothes barely disheveled. “That was worth way more than a handful of dollar bills.”

  I tossed a pillow from the couch at his face. He deflected it at the last second, though it mussed his hair. “Smart-ass.”

  “That’s me.”

  I smirked and padded to the kitchen to grab a dish towel from the drawer to take care of cleanup. Then I drew a glass of cold water from the tap and bent to look in the fridge for something to eat. Alex came up behind me, his hands on my hips. His crotch bumped my ass.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, not sorry at all. “I didn’t see you there.”

  I turned, hands full of lunch meat and mustard. “Watch it, buddy, or I’ll make your sandwich with the wrong kind of cheese.”

  He gathered me against him, anyway, for a kiss, not minding the cool glass jar digging into our bellies between us. Then he let me go. I made food, which we ate, and he cleaned up the dishes while I showered. By then there was no way I could fool myself into thinking I’d do some actual work. Not when I couldn’t even convince my feet to head up the stairs to the studio, where I alwa
ys tried to work so as to make it like a real job.

  Instead, while Alex showered and did whatever he did in the bathroom that took him so long—he spent more on moisturizers and hair care than I ever did—I powered up my laptop and curled up on the couch with it. I checked for a Connex profile for Alex, but nothing came up. He either didn’t have one or he’d set it to private, unsearchable. I updated my page with a smarmy, selfish status update, “Good lovin’, good eatin’, now chillin’.” I checked Patrick’s profile, which hadn’t changed. He still listed himself as dating Teddy. Teddy’s profile had been deleted.

  I wasn’t going to let myself get sucked into that drama. I skimmed over a bunch of posts from friends I rarely saw, and checked out Sarah’s latest photos. She had a bunch of her with some cute guy, dark hair, lots of tattoos. I commented to one with a simple question mark. She’d know what I meant.

  Then, with the patter of water still coming from the bathroom, I checked my e-mail. The usual stuff from my brothers and their wives. Mostly jokes, a few pictures. A forwarded angel chain letter piece of junk from my dad, along with a superreligious Jesus prayer at the end. I deleted it without replying. And an e-mail from my mom.

  I was reading it for the second time when Alex came out with a towel around his waist and one wrapped around his head. He might have been trying to be funny or was being completely un-ironic; that was one of the things I loved about him, never being able to tell. He was absolutely so unapologetic about everything he did.

  “What’s up?” he asked, concerned.

  I hadn’t realized I was frowning until I smiled. “It’s an e-mail from my mom. She wants to come visit me.”

  “Okay.” He whipped the towel off and dried his hair vigorously, tipping his head to each side and shaking it to get water from his ears. He stopped to look at me. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not bad, just…unusual.”

  “Huh.” Alex tossed the towel over his shoulder and put his hands on his hips. “Well, at least it’s not bad.”