Page 46 of Café Diablo

“Yes, well, there’s still two percent of my house that’s actually a bed,” I say, gazing at Edwin. “Yay, math!”

“Mmmmm math.” He nods. “If this house is 200 square feet, then two percent is four square feet of I’m-way-too-big for that.”

I lift an eyebrow at him. “Way toobigindeed,” I sass.

I can’t see him roll his eyes, but I’m pretty sure that he does. Nonetheless, truths are truths. Edwin is a whole lot of yum that I’d happily sacrifice three—maybe even four—percent of studio space to accommodate.

When Edwin starts buttoning up his shirt to leave, I slip out of the hammock and walk over to where he’s standing. He’s on the step below me and I move his hands from his buttons, so I can run my palms over his warm chest.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “It’s a normal sized bed. Stay.”

He looks up at me in the dark and slides his warm hands around the soft of waist, the contact of him intoxicating. He pulls me toward him and his large palms settle on my back, one cupping my shoulder blade and the other grazing my ass. His touch isn’t hungry, but loving and affectionate.

“If I stay,” he says, before kissing me softly and running his fingers up and down my spine. “I’m not going to get up in the morning, because I’m going to find you lying naked next to me and—”

He growls into my neck, my naked chest pressed hotly into the opening of his shirt. His hands sear up and down my skin like tomorrow would be the indoor tiny-house version of our hammocking.

“And…” he says after a long sigh in which I’m pretty sure he imagined half of the things I just did. “Some of us have to work tomorrow.”

“You can always play hooky,” I offer, nuzzling his cheek. “Don’t you own the firm? I’m pretty sure you could come in a couple hours late and no one would notice.”

His hands tighten on my waist. “Show up two hours late and wear what exactly?” He pulls back and points to his suit jacket on the table, then the shoes I tossed in the corner. “My coat is covered in paint, and I’m pretty sure this shirt and these slacks smell unforgivably like hammock sex.”

I pull his face back to mine and smile against his mouth. “I’m not sure I understand the problem,” I say triumphantly, and he kisses me to say he approves of our escapades, but unfortunately my logic is faulty.

“I have to work,” he continues, extracting himself from my body. “And call me crazy, but I actually like to be on time.”

“Even when the alternative is six more orgasms and a promise to cook you breakfast?”

“You can cook?”

“Pop Tarts,” I say hotly, flicking my hair over my shoulder like that’s five-star cuisine.

“Oh yes, the breakfast of champions,” he shoots back, walking over to retrieve is shoes and coat.

“You clearly missed the wordtartin that offer,” I throw back, and he looks over his shoulder with a sly smile like I played that extremely well.

“Look,” he says, carrying his belongings back over to me by the steps. “I know it seems like I’m blowing you off, but I swear I’m not.” He wraps me in a blazing kiss that turns my knees to slush. “If you think I can resist you after all that—” He nods to the hammock and scandalously caresses my ass. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Okay,” I say softly, and he tilts his head into my neck and breathes in deeply.

“God, you smell way too good after sex,” he compliments, holding me longer than necessary and making my whole body warm. “You better not come close to my office for the next twenty-four hours, especially if you haven’t washed.”

“Is that a request or a challenge?” I shoot back, as he kisses my neck and gives me a look like I’d better not dare. “Is this your ‘Olivia will do anything you want’ request?” I ask, pressing my luck.

“No,” he says, almost growling. “I’m saving that.”

“I bet you are.”

“Mmmmmm,” he inhales my scent again and I poke him.

“Creeper!”

“Is there even a shower in this mini-surf-shack of yours?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. “Or do you just run naked down the street to the ocean in the morning and go for a swim?”

“Don’t you wish you knew,” I say back. “Stay the night and find out.”

“Skinny dipping in the ocean…” He growls again against my neck. “My type-A personality has never been a big fan of the whole ‘island time’ vibe, but maybe you’ll convert me yet.”

---