Hours later,we were tangled together on Graham’s sofa, my body sprawled mostly on top of his, watching the fire crackle in his fireplace. It was nearly dusk, the sun slanting toward the horizon, bathing the harbor in mellow shades of amber and gold. Graham’s hands were in my hair — which, by the way, was out tothere, given I’d let it air dry after our bath. (And after rolling around in Graham’s bed while earning my highly anticipated fourthOof the day.)
We’d finally drunk the coffee Graham brewed earlier while he’d made us lunch. Nothing fancy, but he was well stocked with fresh bread from the bakery around the corner, plenty of cold cuts, and condiments galore. After sliding my sandwich in front of me, he retrieved a bag of Cape Cod kettle-cooked potato chips from his cupboard and my eyes widened in delight.
“I love those!” I exclaimed. “They’re my favorite.”
“I know,” he said, dumping a healthy handful on my plate. He skimmed his lips along my jawline, then turned to his sandwich and dug in. I, however, froze, momentarily stunned by the chips on my plate.
I know, he’d said.
Because he did. He knew what chips I liked, and how I took my coffee. He knew I preferred turkey over ham, and mayo over mustard. He knew I wasn’t a big fan of anything with too much spice, because I was a weakling when it came to hot sauce and had expressed this at nearly every meal we’d both attended for the past few months.
He knew me.
This was sweet, but it was also strange. This was uncharted territory for me. In the past, I’d never been intimate with a man I’d been friends with (okay,friendsmight be a stretch… but… a man I knew as well as Graham) prior to sleeping with him. Previous guys didn’t know my chip preferences after a few rounds between the sheets. Actually, previous guys didn’t know my chip preferencesever. Most guys didn’t pay attention to that sort of detail, in my experience.
Graham, it would appear, paid attention.
Closeattention.
I found myself the subject of said attention all throughout lunch. We sat near to one another, our stools pulled together, our thighs brushing, elbows bonking as we lifted our sandwiches to our mouths and sipped our coffee. And it probably should’ve freaked me out, made me duck for cover, sent me running to the hills. But… it didn’t.
Maybe it was the four orgasms. Maybe it was the belly full of my favorite potato chips. Maybe it was just being near Graham, my drug of choice, drinking my fill of him until my soul was near to bursting. Whatever the reason, I was feeling exceptionally mellow.
Now, I snuggled closer to his warmth, my half-lidded eyes on the fire, feeling sated and exhausted in the best sort of way.
“You’re sweet when you’re sleepy,” Graham whispered, trailing a finger through the curls at the side of my head, tracing the delicate shell of my ear. “Never seen you so quiet.”
I turned my chin where it was planted on his chest so I could meet his eyes. “I’m always sweet. Everyone else says so. It’s you who brings out the snark in me.”
One dark brow quirked up. “That so?”
“Yep.”
“Gotta tell you, baby, if you’re waiting for an apology on that front… don’t. I like your snark. Can’t say I’m sorry for spurring it.”
“You,” I informed him, trying —failing— to sound uppity. “Are annoying.”
“Uh huh. Try to remember that the next time you’re screaming my name, begging for me to—”
Whipping my hand up to his face, I placed it over his mouth and drowned out the rest of his words.
He licked my palm.
“Hey!” I yanked my hand away and wiped the saliva on his couch cushion. “Don’t lick me!”
His eyes glittered with heat. “You didn’t mind me licking you earlier.”
This was true. In fact, just the memory of his mouth between my legs was enough to inspire a mini mental daze — one I only jolted out of when I felt his subdued laughter rumbling his body beneath mine.
“Are you, perchance, laughing at me Graham Graves?”
“Yeah, gorgeous.” He was smiling as his neck arched and he claimed my mouth in a searing kiss that had my head spinning by the time he released me. “No one makes me laugh like you do, Gwen.”
I stilled at the seriousness of his tone. “Really?”
“Really. One of the things I like best about you.”
“Oh,” I said lamely, feeling emotional for no reason at all.