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My Cecily has all of me in her grip, my body, heart, and soul.
Chapter Twenty
Cecily
The rest of my winter break is spent moving some of my things out of my basement apartment and into Milo’s hotel suite. And, unfortunately, the both of us recovering from strep throat that I spread to Milo
after spending so much time snuggling all my nieces and nephews at Christmastime.
Once the antibiotics do their magic, we take breaks from unpacking my things to experience some of my new man’s favorite restaurants in the city. I was born here, and I thought I knew everything about it. But Milo has the inside scoop on the best-hidden gems.
Yeah, I’ve pretty much changed my tune on his knowledge of food. I’m still not retracting my article. And he’s not asked me to retract it.
But he’s won me over in so many ways, and on a more critical level, than just his cooking. Cherise has improved his dessert menu by many degrees.
Milo offers to hire a mover to haul my stuff to his suite, but I insist that’s wasteful, as I don’t have that much to move. I tell him he should consider renting a house through the spring semester, as a hotel suite is an enormous expense for that long, but he insists on keeping it.
It’s been a few weeks since the day he whisked me away from Michael and Cara’s cabin and my family’s Christmas gathering.
“Um, Cecily?”
I’m unpacking a box of books to keep on the night table when Milo strides out of the kitchenette holding an empty Cheez-its box.
“Yes, Milo?”
“I don’t care if you did, but I just need to know if you ate all the Cheez-its I just bought yesterday, or if we have a junk food burglar.”
I think back on the last 24 hours. “Uh, yes. I had a terrible salt craving, and I sorta binge-watched Drag Race while you were at the restaurant.”
His eyes go wide, and I can tell he’s trying not to judge. “That’s fine. Are you okay?”
I smile up at him, place the last book on the stack, and break down the box. “Other than a sudden craving for square, orange, cheese-adjacent crackers? I’m peachy, why?”
He looks at me sideways. “No reason. Just didn’t know you could pack it away like that.”
I laugh. “Well, you haven’t known me that long. Dang. Now I want peaches. You got any?”
His brow furrows. “Sorry. They’re out of season anyway. But I could probably find some if you want. And then we could have some kind of fruity fun in the bedroom.”
That all sounds like a great idea except for one thing.
“I think I’m getting my period because my boobs are really sensitive. So we could do that, as long as you don’t touch the ta-tas.”
Poor Milo. He’s trying very hard to look supportive. “Uh. Sure. I don’t…I don’t need to touch your boobs during sex.”
He sits down on the bed next to me, a strange look on his face. I nudge his leg with my stockinged foot. “Listen, you do pretty well for yourself without having to touch my boobs.”
Suddenly he brightens up. “That’s true. I could always go downstairs for a dessert before dinner.”
I’m flooded with heat when I watch his eyes are roam over my legs. I giggle and jump up, beginning to tug off my leggings.
“What, now?”
I pout. “Unless you’re not in the mood.”
Milo grunts at seeing my partially exposed lower half, and he makes quick work of ridding himself of his pants and tossing the duvet aside. The two of us comically wriggle out of the rest of our clothes, laughing at ourselves and our bumbling as we fall into bed.
He wraps me up in a hug and smashes our mouths together. Some of my college friends remarked that a dude in his mid-forties wouldn’t be able to get it up and keep it up. With Milo, he’s good to go whenever, wherever. Age truly is just a number, as the Williams sisters have demonstrated over and over again.
