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I soften at his words even as my mouth opens and says, “I don’t have that much respect for me, as a matter of fact, you don’t need to respect me at all, not in bed.”
Warren’s brows nearly disappear into his hairline at my words and then his expression softens, he pulls me in again and takes my lips with his own, showing me how desperately he wants me with his lips, his tongue, his hands.
When we pull apart again, he rasps, “Trust me, when I get you into bed, I’ll show you everything there is about respect, and how amazingrespectingeach other can be.”
I think we’ve both changed the meaning of the word and I grin, feeling more comfortable with him than ever, I place a lingering kiss along the edge of his mouth, making his hands dig into my hips and say, “I can’t wait.”
Monday morning at the office, I could not sit still.
I paced while on the phone, while writing emails on my iPad. I tried not to pace while on a video conference and even that proved to be hard.
Warren and I had texted back and forth all weekend, talking about anything and everything. Unfortunately, I had another event to attend where my mother was forcing me to be my best self even though, little did she know, my best self was sitting at home with a hot drink and a good book. Preferably—now—with Warren at my side, doing whatever it was he did.
Which he didn’t admit much of. He told me he was an artist of sorts, that he had many different mediums he dabbled in—I had stored that information away and Googled what a medium was, which led me down an insane rabbit hole about psychics. I was only freaked out for a minute or two until I realized and figured out that he meant art medium.
Once I had that worked out, I spent over an hour researching different ones so that I would know what he was talking about the next time.
He also told me that writing was a passion of his and he was working on a book but didn’t tell me what the book was about.
A knock on my door interrupts my phone call and I mute it to call whoever it is in, judging by the time of day, I think I know.
Warren opens the door and walks into the office, a smile on his face. I glance to his hands where a small bouquet of flowers is held, along with my mail. A smile blooms across my face and I unmute the call to answer a question, quickly muting it again to round the desk to stand by him.
“For you.” He extends the flowers with one hand, setting the mail on my desk at the same time.
I take the flowers, sniffing them and unable to keep the smile on the down-low. “Thank you.” I practically squeal out. I tell myself to have some chill, but it seems impossible.
He grins at me and I launch at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him to me, his hands go around my waist and we take a minute—or five—to kiss right there in my office.
I’m not thinking about anything but how amazing his lips feel on mine. I’m not thinking how bad it will look if someone catches us, or what my mother would say. All I’m thinking about is this amazing, strong, gorgeous, kind man in front of me.
And while I know the rest will come, I’m not looking to rush that anytime soon.
After a slightly tense conversation about keeping things on the down-low, he leaves and I sort through my mail.
Lo and behold, there’s another note from my admirer. I feel my heart hammer in my chest and frown.
How could I have these strong feelings for Warren, only to have this response from a stranger writing me love notes?
Lovely as the morning sun
Warm as a summer day
The lyrics of a song you’ve sung
Draw me closer to the edge
Enchanted by your every word
Movements and smiles and laughter
You sing a song I’ve never heard
But long to play over and over
It was lovely, as they all were. But despite that, I’d never felt more confused in my life.
Who did I choose? The man who had my heart thumping whenever I thought about him? Or the one who made my pulse speed up whenever I read his words?
