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“No complaints yet. I have them by the window to the veranda,” he said. “And yes, it does brighten the place up. Though it really does reinforce my need to decorate.”
“Is it dire?”
“The utmost.”
“I’d love to help. Maybe next weekend we could go to IKEA.” I stopped, tacking on a very quick, “If you’re not busy, that is. Or if you even want to.”
I didn’t mean to just invite myself . . .
“I’d like that.” He smiled, blushing almost. Then he stabbed at some rice with his fork, and I knew he was trying to decide how he should phrase something. Or if he should say something at all. “So you, uh, you told your friend about me?”
I almost laughed with relief. There I was thinking he was going to drop something bad.
“I told Cory about you after the first time I met you and you helped me pick out some flowers that wouldn’t kill someone. Though Cory was disappointed my ex wasn’t about to meet his karma, he did agree that it was probably for the best. I’m not cut out for prison. Anyway, I said the florist guy was gorgeous and he had a name straight out of a Jane Austen novel and that I had your card, but I was too scared to call you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You were?”
“Yes! Absolutely. You were charming and funny, and you told me I deserved better.”
“Because you did,” he said, pushing the takeout container onto the coffee table and giving me his undivided attention. “You deserved so much better than that wankstain.”
I snorted at that. “And then I told him today that I’d had the best sex of my life last night with this new Mr Wonderful with the perfect name and the perfect dick.”
He laughed. “The best?”
“Uncontested. Not only is no one on the same page as you, they’re not even in the same book. You, Keats McCulloch, are in a different language, in a different library, on a different planet. That is how far apart you stand.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m flattered. And I’m even a little sorry no one ever did you the way you should have been done. AndI say only a little sorry because, while you do deserve to be thoroughly and conclusively had, I’m also a little glad no one’s done that to you but me.” His smirk drew down on one side. “And I’m also worried now, because the precedent has been set and, with it, a standard I may not live up to. Certainly not every time, and maybe never again.”
Laughing, I climbed over and straddled him. He leaned against the backrest of the sofa, his face tilted up to me, and I kissed him softly. “I don’t expect it every time, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try,” I murmured, kissing his jaw up to his ear. “Every time.”
His hands went straight to my arse and he pulled me closer, lifting his hips up to meet me in a slow grind. I rocked on him, ghosting my lips over his again before settling in for a slow, deep kiss.
I couldn’t get enough. My whole body felt electric, desired.
This high, this rush.
This man.
He broke the kiss. “Linden,” he said, breathless, his voice strained. “You’re killing me here.”
I could feel how hard he was, and I rocked on him for good measure. “So take me to bed and do whatever you want to me.”
Chapter Seven
Keats
I wassure he was out to kill me.
Not with murder flowers but with his body. The way he kissed me and rubbed himself against me.
My dick had been ready for action since I dropped to my knees and blew him in his kitchen. Ready at the stop light, engines rumbling, waiting for a green light.
Him climbing onto my lap and melting his body against mine, his hands in my hair, his tongue in my mouth, was about all the torture I could take.
Then he asked me to take him to bed.
I certainly didn’t need telling twice. I stood up, holding his arse, and carried him to his room, threw him on the bed, and settled between his thighs.
