As his work-roughened hand slid up my side and under the material of my top, I had to give merit to the idea of that dress the next time I came here. Now I was stuck in torture land, where my Coachella t-shirt became an unnecessary barrier I didn’t want anymore.
Fuck the wrap around dress. Maybe I could just walk around in a mumu?
Feeling his hand getting closer to where the underwire of my bra rested, I lost patience with the situation and grabbed the hem of my t-shirt before ripping it off and throwing it over the side of the bed.
Not moving his hand, Marcus stared down at me for a moment, his lips twitching. “I was looking forward to removing that myself.”
Lifting my hips, I unsnapped the button on my jeans and reached for my zipper, frowning when he caught my hand and stopped me from undoing it.
“Listen, here’s a weakness of mine you should know about—I hate surprises, and I’m shit at opening presents. If someone puts one down in front of me, I don’t do the coy careful unwrapping that some people do. No, I rip that fucker apart, and I leave the paper in confetti around me. This”—I gestured between us—“is just like a gift that’s been wrapped in layers. No,” I shouted, “it’s like when your parents put a tiny gift in different sized boxes, and you keep getting box after box until you hit the little present inside it all.”
Tilting his head, he bit down on his lip for a moment. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended by this analogy. On the one hand, you’re comparing me to a gift you can’t wait to open. On the other, you’re saying there’s something tiny under all of the wrapping.”
My jaw dropped as I thought through what I’d just said. Shit, he was right.
“I didn’t mean you’ve got a tiny gift,” I spluttered, shifting to the side so I could see his crotch. “I’m sure it’s big and exciting.”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, lifting onto his knees on the mattress. “Now I feel I’ve got something to prove.”
“Can you prove it naked?”
Marcus’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s typically how this goes. I don’t know about most men, but if I tried to have sex with my jeans not only done up but with a belt on to boot, I’d be fucked—and not in a good way.”
This was all going horribly wrong.
“However, ask, and ye shall receive,” he finished, just as he pulled off his t-shirt and then slowly lowered his arms to his belt buckle, tugging the first part of it out of the loop of his jeans so he could undo it.
My undressing paused as I watched his hands move.
“Adrienne.” Reluctantly I lifted my eyes to his face after hearing him softly call my name. “Baby, are you staying in Branford?”
That was the last question I’d have expected at this moment. “Well, yeah. I’d planned on staying here unless I had to move somewhere else.” Seeing his frown, I went on, “You know, sometimes you move somewhere with no real plans of ever living anywhere else, but then you decide you want a different property or something.”
His eyes squeezed shut, and I saw his chest expand. “Thank fuck.”
“Why?”
Blinking them back open, he stared down at me. “I don’t want this to be a temporary thing between us. I wasn’t sure if you’d only planned on living here for a few months or even a year.”
Curiosity, with a slight hint of a bad angel with tattoos, a cigarette, and a bottle of whisky in her hand as she lounged on my shoulder, influenced my next question. “And if I’d said I was only here for a year?”
“I’d have done everything in my power to convince you to change your mind by giving you something to stick around for.”
The swiftness of his response made my lips twitch. “You were mighty quick with that answer.”
Going back to undoing his jeans, he lifted a shoulder slightly. “A man has to have a plan.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say no one ever knew what the future would hold, and relationships were never guaranteed to succeed, but I bit my tongue. I was fairly certain I’d do anything and everything in my power to make this one succeed, so even though I couldn’t guarantee it, I’d still fight as hard as I could for it.
With Marcus’s response, I just knew he’d do the same, and that soothed me. No one wanted to think they were the only one who’d fight or be the one who fought the hardest for a relationship. Couples needed to be equals for it to work, anyway. So, yeah, fucking right, a part of me felt relieved and happy over that knowledge.