Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

“You don’t have to do that.” I started to stand.

“Sit.” He pointed at the couch. “You made this delicious food. Helping to clean up is the least I can do.”

He took everything into the kitchen and I heard the faucet run. I waited exactly one minute before heading in after him.

“You don’t have to rush out, do you?” I asked, pausing in the doorway.

“Not if you don’t want me to.” He set the wine glasses down and turned toward me.

“I don’t want you to.” I padded toward him, a feline grin pulling at the corners of my suddenly dry mouth.

My blood raced faster as the space between us closed. He leaned back with his palms behind him on the edge of the sink, his knuckles white against the counter. He watched me with intense eyes. When I reached him he wrapped his arms around my waist, and I wrapped mine around his neck.

“How do you do this to me?” I asked as our noses touched.

He shrugged and smiled, carefully placing a kiss on the tip of my nose.

“We are doing this,” he interjected between thick kisses down my neck, “and I don’t know how either.”

“This is so wrong . . .” I wanted to be wrong about that, but I wasn’t.

“Do you want to stop?” He did stop, waiting for my answer.

The little voice in my head that tried to remind me why this was wrong choked on the current that hummed between us. In that moment, all reason and responsibility vanished.

“I don’t want to stop.” I tightened my grip around him and our lips fell into each other.

Bo pulled away and twirled me around. My back was thankful for the cool release of the granite countertop. He ran his hands down the back of my shorts, stopping where the shorts stopped. His firm hands lifted me to a seated position on the edge of my sink. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, but started to pull them away at the risk of seeming too forward. He countered by grabbing my calves and twisting my legs back to where they’d been before. His body pressed in closer.

We were silent, staring at each other, searching each other for answers to unasked questions. I sighed as my heart tried to keep pace with the intensity my soul felt. As heat radiated from his body, I craved him more. This time, when his lips met mine, a high pitched sound released from somewhere in the back of my throat; as if I were taken by surprise. My hands wrapped around the bottom of his shirt and I guided it up his chest. He conceded, releasing his arms from around my waist and over his head, dropping the shirt to the floor. He scooped me off of the counter with my legs still around his waist.

“That way,” I panted as I pointed down the short hallway that held my bedroom.

“You sure?” He barely pulled his mouth from mine.

“M-hmm,” was all I could manage as I tried to hold myself together.

He skillfully opened my bedroom door with one hand, while still holding and kissing me. In that instant I was relieved that I had cleaned my house and made my bed. My deep purple comforter cushioned my back as he lay me down and backed away. I slinked up to the head of the bed and stared at him, but he seemed frozen. I rose to my knees and made my way back to him. My fingers curled around the waistband of his pants and I urged him onto the bed. He pulled back and put his hands on mine.

“Are you really sure?” His question was infused with rasping want.

“Are you?”

“November, I’ve been sure since you caught my eye when I played my first song at Finnegan’s. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

I pulled my hands away and took off my shirt.

Those were the last words we spoke. He cupped one hand under my breast as I pulled him onto my bed. I began grinding my hips into his as my body absorbed his weight; neither one of us bothered coming up for air. I shifted my weight to one side and rolled him over, my knees straddled his waist. He was rock hard beneath me. I tossed my bra to the floor and reached for his belt. He moaned beneath my touch, causing my hands to fumble for a second. With his belt on the floor, he slipped out of his pants and rolled me over to take off my shorts. When our underwear found their way to the floor, he reached down for his jeans, searching the pocket.

I reached blindly to my bedside stand drawer and pulled out a condom. “No, I got it.”