Page 75 of Falling for Mr. October

He leans in, his hair brushing my forehead. “No, if you gave me a ten, I’d want to earn an eleven. And if someday I were lucky enough to earn an eleven, I’d aspire to a twelve.”

My lips part. My hands flex, loosening my grip on his shirt, and I’m seized by two at-odds desires—to take every single thing this man is willing to give me, and to push him away forever before something terrible can happen.

For a second, I stand stock still—completely immobilized—but then he’s whispering my name like a prayer, and I pull his neckband closer until his lips brush against mine. And, oh, it’s a ten. It’s maybe even a twelve, but I don’t want to admit that to myself, because it will feel like I’m admitting an uncomfortable truth.

His kiss is soft at first, soft and sweetly gentle, and it tastes like those apple graham crackers. If that cracker made me moan, then kissing the man who made it makes me cry out in pleasure. Already I’m tugging him closer, pressing my body into him, ready to give myself to him with a need that I’ve never felt with anyone else. Ever.

He murmurs something, and then he’s kissing me harder, his mouth and tongue claiming me. He pauses only to shove the cooling rack aside and lift me up onto the counter, the movement effortless, as if my weight is as inconsequential to him as a container of those graham crackers.

I spread my legs, and he makes a pained sound as he steps between them, his hand skating up my thigh as he presses closer. I lean my head back as he lowers his head to my neck and kisses me, his hand lingering on my thigh, nudging my legs open wider to make space for his big body. He kisses his way up my throat, along my jaw, and then his other hand cups my face as if I’m precious.

He looks at me in a way that makes my heart stutter inside my chest before he leans in and kisses me. He pours himself into it, and I know I’m already wet for him. Embarrassingly wet and needy—especially with the pillar of him standing between my legs, so close. So attainable.

I think of what Luanne said. How it couldn’t be simpler to be sleeping with the man who’s in the room next door. I could have been indulging in him all along, every night, and no one would have had to know.

It’s a stupid thought, given everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together, but it’s a thought that clings.

Would it really be so bad, enjoying him while he’s here? It wouldn’t have to mean anything. It could be a stolen moment—that one fall when I had a fling with Mr. October.

His strong hand continues to stroke my thigh as he leans in, tasting me with his mouth, and in a fit of desperation, I guide his hand to where I need him. He makes a sound that echoes into my mouth as he finds the place between my legs where I’m aching for him—the place that knew what I wanted from him before I did.

“Bianca,” he murmurs, pulling away.

“It seems pretty unfair that you gave the shirtless experience to millions of people on the internet, and I only got a glimpse last week.” I barely recognize my voice. Hell, I barely recognize the room. I feel as if I’ve been thrust into a heavy fog, and nothing makes sense except for the two of us, right now. There’s only me and him and his beautiful face, the ridges of his body, and the bulge in those maddening sweatpants.

“You liked what you saw?”

“Of course I did.” I trail my hand over his chest, tracing the muscles. “I’d like to see more of it.”

“Only if you take your shirt off too,” he says hoarsely.

“And you were so eager for me to keep it on.” Still, I don’t hesitate. I pull off my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor, my gaze on Giovanni.

He reaches for me, but I shake my head.

“Take it off.”

“You’re bossy,” he says with a cocky grin that indicates he likes it a lot.

“You know what? I’d like to do it myself.” I slide off the counter, then grip the hem of his shirt and lift it up.

It’s like unwrapping a present. His perfectly toned abs are speckled with dark hair, and as he takes over, lifting his shirt the rest of the way over his head, I lean down and kiss them, then run my tongue along them, the way I’ve fantasized.

He swears under his breath as his shirt joins mine on the floor. He presses his hand to my bare back, his heat engulfing me as he presses me closer and lowers his mouth to the tops of my breasts, kissing me there and running his mouth across the thin fabric of my bra.

He murmurs into my breasts. “You’re even more beautiful than I’ve imagined.”

“You’ve imagined?” I ask, smiling, as I lift up on my toes, pressing his mouth closer to my flesh.

“I’ve done nothing but imagine,” he says into my breasts.

I reach for the band of his sweatpants, but he stays my hand.

“Bianca…”

“I want this,” I say without hesitation. “I want you. I don’t have any doubts about that.”

He bows his head, feathering his hand up my back to find the clasp of my bra. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, Bianca. I don’t know what I’m doing next. And Miles⁠—”