Page 28 of Ms. Lead

I shrug. “I guess it does. But no, I’m not moving any time soon.”

“Well, what’s in the boxes then?” He points to a pile in the corner of the empty dining room.

I tilt my head as I try to remember what is in them. It’s been so long since I’ve looked inside that it’s hard to picture the contents.

“I think thatt’s my grandmother’s china, but I could be wrong. That might be in storage.”

He’s incredulous. “You think? You don’t know?” He leans a shoulder into my arm, pushing me a little. “How long have you lived here?”

It takes me a minute to figure that out too. “I think around eight? Or ten years? I moved in here when Lorenzo went out to L.A.”

Being this close to Oliver, in my own personal space, my home, makes me a little lightheaded. And this new revelation and perspective of my apartment looking so empty gives me added anxiety. I must look like a crazy person with no real furniture.

His jaw drops in shock. I knew he’d react this way when I said it. I really do look like a weirdo now.

“You don’t have a single knick-knack or tchotchke. Not even a poster of a kitten dangling from a tree branch saying, ‘Hang in there!’ It literally looks like nobody lives here.”

The kitten poster reference gets me giggling. I can picture it, tape in the corners and everything, right above the fireplace.

“Well, I’m usually only here during the week, and even then, just mostly to shower and sleep.”

He lifts a curious eyebrow, always the investigative writer. “Where do you go on weekends?”

“Lake Tahoe. We have a house there, and I spend most of my weekends up there.” While it feels a little bit like I’m getting the third degree, at the same time, I’m glad he’s interested in my life, as dull as it is.

“We? You mean you and your brother Enzo?” I’d almost swear I sensed a tinge of jealousy in the question.

I glance at him next to me, so close I need to lean back a little to see him clearly. It’s not quite jealousy in his eyes but something more like hope. But what is it that he’s hoping for? Does he want there to be someone else, so he has an out from this relationship? Or is he hoping there isn’t anyone else?

“I mean my family. But it’s mostly me that spends any time there. Everyone else is too busy.” I watch closely for his reaction, and I was right. It was jealousy. There’s now relief and a slight sagging of his shoulders at my response. This makes me grin, which seems to confuse him now. I love that all of this is confounding him.

He smiles back reflexively and brushes my hair off my shoulder. His fingers lightly graze my neck, sending sparks through me. “What is making you smile like that?”

“You. For some reason, the state of my apartment and where I go on weekends seems to have completely confused you. It’s highly entertaining.” I want to say that I should be the one confused since we’re only supposed to be ‘having fun,’ not learning everything about each other.

“Well, I’m glad I amuse you.” He catches my hand in his and then covers it with the other, trapping it. The warmth of his skin is so comforting. It chases away my ‘having fun’ thoughts and turns them to actually having that fun. From the glint in his eye, I think he’s got the same idea.

Leaning in, he presses his lips to the base of my neck and traces a line up to my ear, where he nips lightly on the lobe, just deep enough to send a bolt of electricity through me. The next thing I know, he’s pulled me around to lean against him, his hands are in my hair, and his mouth is possessing mine. My palms lay flat against his firm chest, and I slide them up and over his shoulders to remove his suit jacket, letting it fall onto the couch. Then I get to work on the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

If this thing between us is just going to be for fun, well, damn it, I’m going to have some fun. A wave of anger rushes through me at the thought of what I might be settling for instead of getting what I want. Anger at myself for allowing it. That resentment is turning into a frenzied passion the longer we kiss. At least I’ll get what I need. Right now, I need him. All of him.

He glides his hands down my arms and pulls my blouse up and out of my waistband, his thumbs sweeping along the skin of my stomach, to my rib cage, and then my breasts. Deftly, he moves the bra to take my breast full into his hand, teasing at the nipple until I’m pulsing all over and want to scream his name. I can’t help but moan into his kiss and grind against him without thinking. My body is now reacting to him on a level I’m unaware of.

My fingers hurry to explore the newly exposed skin when I finally undo his shirt's buttons. His chest is smooth and defined. For a writer, I’m surprised to see any muscle and am aroused by his lithe physique. It lets me know that he’s strong and takes care of himself. I like that.

As I get lost in thought while admiring him, he takes advantage of my distraction and grabs my waist, pulling me with him as he slides back onto the couch, and I land on top of him. A yelp and a giggle escape me at the sudden shift, but I don’t mind the new position at all. It’s self-evident from his steel length pressing against me that he is enjoying this as much as I am.

His mouth is suddenly on mine again, hungry and possessive, as if this is the last kiss he’ll ever have, and he wants to make sure he appreciates it fully. Within moments, he shifts us again, and we’re each on our side, facing each other, panting and reaching for breath, our chests heaving with the effort. The gray in his eyes is dark, as if a storm is brewing in his mind, and his eyes are windows.

As we stare at each other, we’re back at the airport, seeing each other for the first time across baggage claim, smiles growing, but within those smiles is an understanding. We’re having more than fun here. This is much more for both of us. The idea does something to me and amps up my desire for him.

He cups the back of my head and pulls me into a languid kiss, and the whiskers of his stubble rub against my chin in the most delicious way. He tastes of mint and coffee and longing, and it’s heady how much it affects me. His fingers smoothly unbutton my pants, and his hand slowly slides down, inching closer to my center.

This is taking too long. I can’t wait for him to touch me. I try to push my toes against the arm of the couch to move up so his hand will be right where I need it, but I can’t reach it and end up further away. I let out a whine of impatience, which is met by a low and gravelly chuckle.

Adjusting himself, his kisses trail down my neck and across my chest until he takes my breast, his tongue teasing the nipple. Every nerve ending in my body is suddenly concentrated on wherever his mouth or hands are, and each touch is ecstasy.

His hand finally reaches between my legs, where he finds me wet and ready for him. I push eagerly against his hand, wanting more of him.

---