“Don’t Phoebe me! We’re naked. In my bed.” I groan in frustration when his hands fall away from my body. “This is happening.”
“Little bird.” He kisses the sensitive spot between my breasts. “We’re not doing this right now.”
I make a sound — I’m pretty sure it’s a growl. “I knew it! Knew it. I’m never going to have an orgasm. I’m going to die alone with several cats, one perfectly intact hymen, and two shriveled ovaries.”
He chuckles, the bastard.
“Don’t you laugh at me, Nathaniel!” I hiss, staring up at the ceiling and trying to regulate my breathing. “I dislike you.”
His voice is amused. “You dislike me?”
“Yes.” I nod sharply, not looking at him. “Immensely.”
“You’re aware you’ve still got your legs wrapped around my waist?”
I slowly unwind them, glaring at the ceiling. “I still dislike you.”
He chuckles again. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re backing out!”
“Phoebe.” His head finally lifts and when I see the amount of desire swirling in his eyes, my words falter. “I’m not backing out. But I’m also not going to take your virginity in the twenty minutes between now and when we have to be at Gemma and Chase’s place.”
“The penthouse?” I ask, eyes opening to meet his. “Why do we have to be there?”
He hesitates.
I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”
“It’s a surprise, little bird.” He kisses my stomach again, soft and sweet. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
“But…” My voice is only a tad whiney when I moan out, “Are you sure we can’t skip it?”
He chuckles. “I’m sure.”
“How sure?”
“Very.” He climbs up my body so our faces are parallel. His hands brace around me, holding the majority of his weight so I’m not crushed beneath him, and when he speaks, his voice is full of passion. “Because when I make love to you for the first time, I plan on taking my time. I don’t want twenty minutes. I want hours. I want weeks. I want a fucking lifetime in this bed with you.”
A pang shoots through my chest.
A lifetime.
I know he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s talking about a sexual marathon, not about spending forever with me. His lifetime doesn’t involve things like first dates and marriage and teaching our son to toss a football in the backyard and dancing with our daughter standing on his feet.
Wow. That escalated quickly.
Still, that doesn’t stop my heart from foolishly expanding at the thought of Nate wanting any kind of lifetime with me.
His mouth lowers and claims mine in a kiss. I feel one of his hands sliding down my body again and a second later, I gasp when his fingers land between my legs.
“I thought…” I’m panting a little. “We weren’t...” Oh my god. “Doing this.”
His fingers move faster. My head falls back.
“I said I wasn’t taking your virginity.” I feel his grin against my mouth. “I never said anything about orgasms.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
If I were president, my first act would be adding an
eighth day to the week, reserved for lying in bed
watching baby animal videos on YouTube.
Phoebe West, defining her political priorities.
A secret smile plays on my lips as I shove clothes into a Diane von Furstenberg duffle bag a few minutes later. I’m still basking in the happy glow of Big O, who finally made her Broadway debut, thanks to Nate. Let’s just say, he earned a standing O-vation for his performance.
I snort at my own terrible pun, staring from a pair of very practical Toms shoes to my favorite, somewhat frivolous Miu Miu booties. I only have room for one of them.
Sigh.
This is torture for me. I’m the girl who starts packing two full weeks in advance of any trip, meticulously planning specific outfits before deciding better safe than sorry and stowing the entirety of my wardrobe in a large rolling suitcase. Because, hey, it’s entirely possible you’ll need that full-length, sparkly Moschino gown, Phoebe. Even on a ski trip to Vail, or an extended stay on the beaches of the Virgin Islands.