Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love #3)(9)


by Melanie Harlow

When would I see him again?

When I was ready to leave, Skylar said to just have the limo driver take me home and come back for them, since she wasn’t quite ready to call it a night. I said goodnight and went upstairs to get my stuff from the suite. As soon as I pulled my phone from my purse, I saw the text from Levi and gasped—first with embarrassment that he’d figured out the Pine Sol nickname, and second with pleasure…he couldn’t stop thinking about me?

In the limo, I read the words over and over and over again, my insides dancing, until I could close my eyes and see them glowing on the back of my eyelids.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

An hour later, when my dress was hanging in my closet and my face was scrubbed clean, I popped two Advil, pulled a soft cotton t-shirt over my head and stretched out between cool sheets with my phone in my hand. It was late, nearly one in the morning, but I texted him back.

Can’t stop thinking about you either.

P.S. Totally embarrassed about the nickname. Sisters!

I set the phone on my nightstand and turned off the lamp. But I couldn’t sleep. My body was tired but restless, with too much sexual energy trapped inside it, and all I could think about was Levi’s kiss. And his voice in my ear. And his hands on me.

Sweet Jesus, those hands.

I sat up and reached into the nightstand drawer for Magik Mike.

But I hadn’t charged him.

“Fuck!” I threw him back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Now what?

I was considering left-handing it when my cell phone buzzed.

Still awake?

Smiling, I picked it up again. Yes.

Cleaning the bathrooms with Pine Sol?

Hahaha no. You’re up late. How is your son?

He’s OK. He fell asleep in my bed, but I just put him in his, and he stayed asleep. Miracle.

Glad to hear it. Is your sister still there?

No, she went home. Did you have fun tonight?

Yes.

Did you have to dance?

NO, thank god. Aunt Irene let me be. She means well, but she drives me crazy.

Why?

Always bothering me about why I’m not married, don’t I want a family, I work too much, the clock is ticking, etc.

Do you work too much?

I sighed and answered honestly. Yes. But I love what I do, and I worked my ass off to get where I am.

Do you want to get married and have kids?

I knew what he meant, but I had to tease him. It’s a little soon for that, isn’t it?

Ha. I guess I did just accidentally propose, didn’t I? Oops.

Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to it. I do want it eventually. I just don’t like the way people bug me about it. Like I have an expiration date or something.

My family bugs me too. They try to tell me how to live my life, raise my son, point out everything I’m doing wrong. Then they guilt me for not coming around enough.

Yes! God, why can’t people leave well enough alone? Tonight I was told I’m not getting any younger, I’m too picky, and I’m unapproachable.

I approached you once.

With your smooth Harry Potter pickup line.

That was so ridiculous.

Hey, it worked.

It did. So clearly you are not that picky.

That made me smile. You didn’t even need a line tonight. I ran right into you.

You did. I quite enjoyed it.

There was a long pause, during which I chewed my lip and considered the interesting places this little conversation could go. Maybe we hadn’t gotten a second round in the closet, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t still have some fun tonight. So. What are you up to now?

Just lying here.

Me too.

Are you in bed?

Yes. I took a breath and wiggled my toes, which I do automatically when I’m excited about something. Are you?

Yes.

I grinned. I feel like I should ask you what you’re wearing. Is that pervy?

Ha. No. Especially since I am not wearing anything too exciting. I never changed.

Still in your suit? Damn, that was exciting enough for me. I love a man in a suit and tie. Add a wristwatch, and my panties melt. I lay back on the pillows, getting more comfortable.

I took off the shoes and coat.

Tie?

Still wearing it.

My fingers trembled a little, but I typed the words I was thinking. Take it off.

He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, or if he was really doing it. This was the problem when you couldn’t see someone’s face. I chose to imagine he was taking it off, and pictured his hands loosening the knot and sliding it free from around his neck.

My phone buzzed.

Done. Your turn.

I’m not wearing a tie.

What are you wearing, smartass?

A t-shirt. Underwear. And I’m sorry to say they are not sexy at all.

Take your shirt off.

My heartbeat pattered faster as I set the phone aside, pulled my shirt over my head and lay back again. Done. Unbutton yours.

Done.

I hesitated, breathing hard and wondering what to do next. Was this really happening? Undo your belt.

Hey it’s my turn.

I’m only wearing one more thing!

OK fine. But you’re bossy.

I grinned and imagined those hands on his belt buckle, my stomach flipping. Unzip your pants while you’re at it.

OK Bossypants. Done. Now take off your underwear.

I pushed them down my legs and kicked them off, leaving them under the covers at my feet. Done.

So you’re naked?

Yes.

Fuck.

Are you hard?

Are you kidding?

No.

Fuck yes I am. I wish I was there.

I bent my knees and flattened my hand on my stomach. What would you do to me?

I’ll tell you. But first tell me. Are you wet?

I slid my left hand between my legs, widening my knees a little, dipping a fingertip inside. Yes.

His next few messages came one by one, in no particular hurry.

I’d want to taste you first.

I’d bury my head in your thighs and lick you up down and sideways.

I’d do it softly just to make you beg for more.

I’d do it hard until your legs shook.

I’d fuck you with my tongue.

As he talked, I touched myself in just the ways he described, first with light, gentle strokes, soft little circles over my clit that made it ache and hum, feather-light brushes over tingling nerves. Then harder, pressing more firmly, dipping one finger inside myself, all the while imagining the feel of his beard against my skin, the sight of his dark hair between my thighs.