Lips pursed, Marcy sputters, “You know what I mean.”
“I’m kidding. And even though we haven’t talked about official labels, I’m more than happy to take a rain check on us joining the mile-high club the next time we’re on a plane without your beach ball belly getting in the way. Deal?”
She stays silent as if she’s weighing her options then points out, “I mean, since we haven’t talked about labels, I might have to think about it.”
With a bark of laughter, I turn as much as I can in my chair and tangle her fingers with mine. “Alright, Marcy Holden. I have a very serious question for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Will you be my girlfriend?” The sting from her smacking my arm makes me laugh even harder. “What the hell was that for?”
“You’re making it sound lame,” she whines, trying––and failing––to hide her smile.
“I’m not trying to make it sound lame. I was just thinking that since we hadn’t officially discussed labels, and we’re on a plane for a few hours, now might be a good time to bring it up. Especially when you were considering taking off the whole mile-high club. Not cool, Marce. Not cool. However, I might take it back if you don’t answer me. We’ve already discussed my ego, and how it likes to be stroked, remember?”
She grins. “Mmmhmm.”
“Mmmhmm, you remember me mentioning my ego? Or mmmhmm, you’ll let us put a label on this?”
“Both.” Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth, and I can’t help but poke the bear a little more. She’s just so damn gorgeous when I do.
“Is that right?”
“Mmmhmm,” she repeats for what feels like the thousandth time since we started this conversation. My lips drop down to that same sultry mouth I’d been admiring a few minutes ago.
Her lips tug into a knowing smile as she quips, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
“I would, but it wouldn’t do the real thing justice. Oh. And you popped my pancake cherry, remember?”
Laughing, she shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You said that you like sharing firsts. Bertha’s pancakes were a first for me.”
“Touché,” she admits. Her smile softens. “I forgot about the pancake cherry. Sooo good. One more thing.” Unlocking her phone, Marcy clicks on her photo album then hands it to me. “You’re talking to a photographer, remember? I can definitely make a picture do the real thing justice.”
My confusion vanishes in an instant and is replaced by a lust so thick that I’m positive I’ll drown in it. The photo album is filled with image after image of Marcy Holden looking like a damn sex kitten. My eyes eat up every curve, devouring the sensual photos like a starving man. Marcy in a bubble bath. Marcy tangled in her sheets. Marcy with a sexy smirk that has me begging to know what she was thinking when the image was taken. Black lingerie. Red lingerie. No lingerie. My thumb keeps swiping left and right before remembering that I’m on a damn airplane and can’t exactly lay Marcy down and ravage her the way I desperately want.
Practically swallowing my tongue, I shift in my seat to cover my throbbing erection and keep my voice low as I ask, “Did you take these?”
“Yup.” She tries to sound confident, but I can practically hear her insecurities ringing like an alarm.
I tear my gaze away from the hottest pictures I’ve ever seen and look at the starring model beside me. “When?”
“A while ago.”
“For who?” I challenge, my blood boiling with jealousy.
Her white teeth dig into her lower lip to contain her smile, but it’s a fruitless effort. “Are you jealous?”
“Do I have a reason to be? These pictures, Marce, they’re what wet dreams are made of, and the idea of you showing them to a random guy….” My jaw tightens until I’m positive I’ve cracked a molar.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve done a ton of boudoir sessions for women and loved how confident they always felt after looking at the finished pictures. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so I set up a tripod and went to work.”
“So, you didn’t do this for a guy?”
“I mean….” she pauses before raising one shoulder. “Not a particular guy. But you know how online dating works, right?”
Another low growl escapes me, but she ignores it and orders, “ Keep scrolling. You might even run into one that looks familiar.”
Curious, my thumb glides across the screen at double time before I drop my head back and laugh. Hard.
“This is the unamused picture you sent after our first date.”
“Sure is. You weren’t really talking to me, so I decided to send you a picture from my naughty album, and this was the one I landed on.”
“I’m not sure I’d classify it as a naughty picture. You’re fully clothed. When the hell would you use this while sexting?”
Her face heats as she whispers, “When the guy sends a less-than-impressive and/or unwarranted dick pic.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m definitely not.”
“So, that’s a real thing? Guys sending unsolicited dick pics to strangers on the internet?”
“Yup. All the time, my friend. All the time.”
I’m glad I’m not a woman who has to put up with that shit.
Scrolling back to where I’d initially left off, I continue appreciating the goddess beside me. “You look incredible, Marce.”
She shakes off the compliment. “Meh. Photoshop can work miracles.”
“I’ve seen the real thing, remember? I can attest to the accuracy of these pictures.”
“It’s been over two months since you saw the real thing. Pretty sure your memory is flawed.”
I bite my tongue to stop from arguing with her when I know it’ll be pointless unless I can come up with a concept she’d understand. We haven’t had sex since the night I screwed up, and I don’t blame her for wanting to take things slow. Even though it’s been absolute torture to dance around being able to claim her while having to keep her at arm’s length in hopes of not scaring her away.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to give this thing a real shot. Even if we both have to take it slow for our own personal reasons.
Still, I hate how insecure she feels about herself. It guts me. Turning off the screen on her phone, I rest it in my lap and search for a way to convince her of the truth.
She’s gorgeous.
“Do you remember when you were showing me the pictures of Zion National Park in your office?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember why you told me you loved it so much? Taking pictures?”
Her lips stay tightly closed, but I can see the spark in her eyes. She recognizes where I’m going with this.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Isn’t that right, Marcy?”
“Ben––”
I cut her off. “I promise you that I think you’re breathtaking. I’m just glad that these pictures”––I wave her phone back and forth between us––“are able to give you a glimpse of what I see every time I look at you. And I don’t mean the filters or the touch-ups either. You’re perfect the way you are.”