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Billy and Joel were here to stay.
“You guys are going to have the best life,” I assured them as I tucked them away for a nap, knowing I needed to stop fawning over them and get some damn work done.
I had to do another coat of paint in the living room, but my aching shoulders and triceps said Hey, you know, it can wait another day or two.
So I set my mind on a cleaning day instead.
Sweep, mop, run a load of laundry. Do the dishes, run another load of laundry. So on and so forth.
I had one task left before I was going to start on dinner. I was kind of dragging my feet, too, because I was tired; the recipe I had shopped for was kind of complicated, and I didn’t have a lot of faith in myself about it.
So was I taking my sweet-ass time putting the linens back on Emilio’s bed?
Yes.
Was I also having all sorts of wicked ideas about things we could do on said bed while I made it?
Yep.
I absolutely was.
I was so wrapped up in that fantasy, in fact, that I missed the creak of the stairs as someone ascended them.
It wasn’t until I heard one right outside the door that I jumped, my breath catching as I spun, my paranoid brain making me irrationally worry that it was Renzo there to confront me about not getting him what he wanted.
But then there he was.
Emilio.
His hungry gaze moved over me, and I was suddenly acutely aware that I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas. I mean, I meant to before he got home later. But why would I change out of my PJs just to clean the house all day?
That meant that I was in just a light tee, no bra, and a pair of night shorts that, while loose, kind of bordered on the “booty” side of things.
And I’d been bent over his bed, giving him quite a view of said booty.
It felt like a lifetime before his gaze found and held mine. By then, my breath felt stuck in my chest, and every single nerve ending in my body felt poised, overly sensitive, anticipating something.
Something that matched that heat in his eyes.
That promise of something I’d been craving almost since the moment I’d met him.
I felt my own eyelids growing heavy, my skin flushing.
“Fuck it,” he whispered under his breath before he was stalking across the floor toward me.
His hand rose, grabbing the back of my neck. Then his lips were on mine.
Hard.
Hungry.
Nothing hesitant or unsure about him as his lips slanted over mine again and again.
My arms rose, my hands grabbing his arms as his other arm went around my lower back, pulling me flush against him as his teeth nipped my lower lip, dragging a whimper out of me.
He took advantage of that, his tongue teasing my lower lip before moving inside, tasting mine.
My body felt like someone had lit a match and set me on fire.
Heat bloomed through me, making my clothes feel scratchy and uncomfortable as my tongue toyed with his, as my hands moved up his strong arms, over his shoulders.
Emilio’s hands were just as curious.
The one at the back of my neck moved, following the slope of my back, and then both hands were going down, sinking into my ass, dragging a moan out of me as he pulled me more flush against him, his hard cock pressing into my stomach.
His hands dug in harder though, making me wonder if there would be finger-sized bruises on my ass to remember this by, pulling upward until I was on my tiptoes, then dangling.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders for stability, I pulled up my legs, grabbing him around the waist.
Then he was moving, turning, dropping down onto the bed with me on his lap.
“Haven’t been able to think of anything but this,” he murmured as his lips trailed down my cheek, over the shell of my ear, down my neck, creating little sparks that became wildfires.
“Me either,” I admitted, wiggling down onto his hips just right, his cock pressing against the aching need between my thighs.
Emilio’s head lifted, his eyes molten, emboldening me to do another wiggle, a move that made a little whimper escape me, and had his fingers digging into my hips.
They were moving then, grabbing the hem of my tee, and pulling it upward little by little, exposing my belly to the cool air of the room.
My arms lifted over my head, inviting him to pull it off completely, something he did in one swift motion, tossing it to the side, then looking down at me.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he said, voice soft, but rough with his desire, as his hand slid downward, cupping my breasts.
I was many things.
Perfect was not one of them.
