“Write or catch up on work, but snowstorms don’t come down south that often.”
“Okay.” He lets me go. “Wait here.” He walks away, and I take a seat on the couch.
I honestly want to suggest a repeat of what he just did to me, but I don’t want to come off as needy. I guess I’ll just replay the feel of his lips repeatedly for the rest of my stay here.
If he’s that good with his mouth, I wonder how amazing it would be if we—
“You’re mumbling to yourself.” He hands me my laptop. “Do you prefer hot chocolate or coffee?”
“Hot chocolate.”
He disappears again.
Minutes later, he walks into the room carrying two bright red mugs. After setting them on the table, he pulls a stack of files from the coffee table’s drawer.
“Do you write with the TV on or off?” He sits next to me.
“On.”
He clicks the remote, and then he pulls me close. “Are you comfortable sitting like this?”
I nod. I am absolutely speechless.
I was expecting him to return with more drinks and another game of sexual innuendos, not work. This doesn’t make any sense.
“Something wrong?” He puts on a pair of reading glasses.
“No, I just thought…”
“That I would fuck you?”
“Do you always have to be so blunt? Didn’t they teach you anything about social graces while you were in school?”
“Is that what you thought, Paris?” he whispers. “Tell me.”
“Yes.”
He smiles, but he changes the subject. “What type of stuff do you write?”
“Reflective pieces on new laws, culture reviews, things like that.” I pause. “I want to be an investigative reporter. I know I’m getting a late start on that career path, but I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Your over the top suspicions make perfect sense now.”
“Whatever.” I laugh. “You know, I was too scared to tell Adrian my real dream after we settled in together because I didn’t think he would be supportive of me having a career like that. Now that I look back, I see how crazy it is that I—” I feel his lips on mine and completely forget the rest of that sentence.
When he finally stops kissing me, he whispers against my mouth, “We’re not going to talk about your ex-boyfriend for the rest of this trip. That was number two on your list, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to help you try and fulfill that one, too.” He kisses my lips again. “Try to get some work done.”
“Wait. Can I ask you something else?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“What are your expectations as far as us?”
“What makes you think I expect anything from you?”
“Well, aside from the fact that you’ve assaulted my lips, fifteen minutes ago you were putting your head between my legs…”
“Do you know what that part of your body is called?”
“I know exactly what it’s called.” I still can’t believe he affects me like this. “Anyway, I enjoyed it a lot and—”
“Paris.” He cups my face in his hands. “I told you that I wouldn’t do anything that you didn’t want to do. I meant that. If sex never happens while you’re here, that’s fine. If it does,” he says, smiling, “more than fine. But I’m not going to pressure you into it. If you ever want to do that, just tell me. If not, we can just get to know each other better until it’s time for you to go home.”
“Seriously?”
He kisses my forehead. “Seriously.”
Eight
The snowstorm was at its worst last night. The city’s power lines froze and the amount of snow that fell totaled thirteen inches. The skies were pitch black—only lightening to a dusty grey by the afternoon, and the gale force winds whipped against billboards and toppled several trees.
I’m not sure how I ended up in bed with Blake in the middle of the night, but when he’d heard me coming into his room, he immediately sat up. I’d expected him to say, “About time you admit that you want to fuck me,” but he didn’t.
Instead, he’d pulled back the covers and asked if I wanted to join him. Then, after practically beckoning me to step over to him, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close as the wind shook his windows.
“Over one hundred thousand D.C. residents are currently without power this morning,” the newscaster says, making me roll over. “Emergency crews are trying their best to restore electricity as fast as they can, but if you know someone who is unable to call and report an outage, please call the number on the screen.”
“Hi.” Blake’s green eyes meet mine.
“Hi.”
“Do I need to get you a night-light for this evening? Would that help you stay in your own room?”
I cross my arms. “I wasn’t scared.”
“I didn’t say you were.” He smiles. “Though next time, you should probably knock before opening the door. Otherwise, I’ll think you’re someone who’s trying to break in.”
“Or someone who’s walking in on you jacking yourself off.”
“Very funny.” He kisses my cheek. “It’d be even funnier if you hadn’t been murmuring my name every fifteen minutes last night.”
“I did not!”
“You did, but it’s okay. I would never count your sleep-talk as an invitation to your body—even though that’s what you want.”
I immediately roll out of the bed. “I’m going to go do some more writing now.” I walk into the hallway and head to my room, but he follows me and takes my hand.
He leads me into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool. Then, as if that last conversation never happened, he starts to make breakfast and asks more questions about my writing.
Once we’re done eating, he shows me into his private library—a large room that features ceiling high bookcases, and we do our separate work while sitting next to each other on a couch.
Much to my surprise, the next few days pass with us following the same routine: We work sitting side by side during the afternoons, and during breaks, he insists on reading me passages from his favorite books. Of course, they’re all erotic novels.
The best part of these days is the end, because for whatever reason, he feels the need to personally escort me to my room. Then he always asks, “Are you sleeping alone?”
Even though I’ve said yes every single time, the toe-curling kiss he gives me right after always makes me want to change my mind. And despite the fact that the storm’s winds scare the hell out of me and always make me tiptoe into his bedroom in the middle of the night, he never makes a move on me.
He just holds me.
“Paris?” Blake is at my bedroom door again.
“Yes?”
“Are you sleeping alone tonight?”
I nod, and as if on cue, he presses his lips against mine and wraps his arms around my waist—kissing me harder than he’s ever kissed me before.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I murmur as he bites my bottom lip, as he rubs his hands up and down my back.