“It didn’t seem like that was your primary motive in asking me to move in.”
“I messed up,” he confessed. “Let me try this a different way.” He took my face in his hands and lifted my chin so our gazes met. “I want you in the morning when your hair’s a mess and you’re grumpy until you’ve had your coffee. I want you in the evening so you can tell me about your day while we make dinner together. And I want you at night because I love nothing more than to fall asleep knowing you’re closer than my next breath.” His lips lightly brushed mine. “Will you move in with me?”
My mouth was dry. I couldn’t speak.
“Abby?”
“Yes.”
Smiling once more, he took my hand and we walked back inside the house.
Hours later, I stood in his room, watching as he took Apollo out one last time. Through the large picture window in his bedroom, I could see Apollo roaming the yard, nose to the grass. Nathaniel stood at his side, looking up at the moon, deep in thought.
I scanned the expanse of his yard, following the long path of his driveway until trees obscured it. It didn’t seem real that in about three weeks, this would be my new home. This house. This yard. This room.
“What has you thinking so intently?”
My eyes flew back to the yard. I’d missed seeing and hearing Nathaniel return to the house. I turned to face him.
He still wore his suit pants from work and, though he’d taken off his tie, he hadn’t changed out of his white dress shirt. His lips turned up at the corners at catching me off guard, and he walked closer.
“I was thinking how, in less than a month, this will be our room,” I said.
“Our room.” He made it to me and placed a hand on either one of my shoulders. “I like the way that sounds.”
“Do you?” I asked. “You’ve lived alone for so long, I worry I’ll be in your way. Somehow invade your privacy.”
“I’ve lived my entire adult life thinking there was something wrong with me. Feeling like less than a man because of who I am.” He brought a hand to my cheek, and one long finger traced my collarbone. “To have found you. To have you with me like this? And to have you want me?” His finger moved to skim my lips. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want you. Here with me.”
I closed my eyes as he drew me close for a soft kiss.
He pulled back. “You look beautiful, by the way. I meant to say that before you distracted me with the talk of our room.”
I felt positively delighted he noticed the gown. I’d picked it out just for our first night together after the weekend. It wasn’t anything outrageously expensive, but it was the silver color he liked on me and its cut showed off my curves to my advantage.
“Did you see the back?” I teased. The back dipped low, with tiny straps crossing this way and that.
“When you were by the window. I very nearly didn’t say anything, just so I could stand and admire you.”
He wasn’t the only one doing some admiring. I started at the top of his shirt and worked my way down, unbuttoning one button at a time.
“As much as I enjoy admiring you in your white shirt,” I said, “I’d much rather admire you with it off.”
I took my time undressing him, enjoying the thought that we had the entire night before us. Hours of time to enjoy each other, to love each other, to reconnect with slow, sweet touches. I felt heady with the knowledge that very soon, we could be like this every weeknight. Would I ever look at this room, with him in it, and find it familiar?
His hands caressed me. With leisurely tenderness, he took the gown and pulled it over my head.
“You in the moonlight,” he said, his hands moving on me. “So beautiful.”
It was him. He made me beautiful. His words. His touch. His love.
Before I could say anything, his lips were on mine and he was kissing me.
We were both naked by the time he pulled back the covers and we climbed into bed. Then he was over me, kissing the hollow of my neck and tasting me. I ran my hands down his back and felt him shiver as my nails grazed his skin.
Feeling bold, I pushed on his shoulder and sat up. When he turned to his back, I straddled his body, brushing his nipples, first with my fingertips, then with my lips. I’d nearly forgotten how sweet he tasted—all male combined with a hint of the deep woods.
I kissed my way down his stomach while my hands stroked lower. I avoided all contact with his cock, focusing instead on the other parts of him—the dip of his navel, the dusting of hair on his lower belly, the sensitive skin right above his groin.
“Fuck, Abby,” he said as I nipped the skin of his inner thigh. I was so close to his erection, I knew he could feel my breath. He lifted his hips in a vain attempt to find friction, but I wasn’t finished exploring him yet.
“Look at you in the moonlight,” I said, pulling back and watching how the pale light played against his skin. I sat up and trailed a finger from his shoulder to upper leg, once more skirting where he was most needy. I ran my hand low and cupped his balls. “The shadows here.” My fingers danced along his thigh. “The brightness here.”
“Come here,” he said, reaching for me.
“Not yet.”
“I want you.” His hands brushed my upper arm.
“Wait.”
I dropped lower on the bed and licked his knee. Picked it up and kissed the underside.
“Now you’re just being cruel,” he said.
“Mmm,” I said, concentrating on memorizing the muscular curve of his calf. I ran my hands down his leg and lifted his foot. I was after the spot right under his anklebone. I found it and kissed the soft skin there.
He sighed.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever kissed me there before.”
I kissed the spot again, running my tongue over it. “How very negligent.”
I paid the same amount of attention to his other leg and ankle, finally working my way back up his body. Somehow, enjoying him had heightened my arousal. He sat up, and when he brushed the tips of my nipples with his thumbs, I very nearly came on the spot.
He watched my response with a sly grin. “Eager?” He lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
I tightened my grip on his hair. “Oh, God, yes.”
“Too damn bad,” he said, switching to the other side.
He lowered me to the bed, his mouth never leaving my skin. I was under him, and his touch was soft and light, his mouth and lips skimming the valley between my breasts, tongue flicking out occasionally to tease me.
When he made it to my belly, I let out a moan. He moved lower and licked the skin right above my clit. Then he blew a soft stream of warm air across the wetness, laughing softly at my muttered curse.
I tugged at his shoulders, wanting him to cover me, wanting to feel his weight on me. He didn’t make me wait, but crawled up, gently spreading my legs with his knees. I wrapped my arms around him and he dropped his head to my neck.
He entered me slowly, letting me feel every inch of him. Or perhaps feeling every inch of me. When he was fully seated inside me, I slid my hands to his backside. His hips flexed just a bit, in preparation for his thrust.
“Wait,” I said, stilling him with my hands.
“Fuck,” he grunted in my ear. “Why?”
“I want to feel you for a minute,” I said, enjoying the slight stretch of having him so deep inside.
He mumbled something under his breath, but held still.
Soon it became too much—having him so close but not giving in to the urge to move and find relief. His breathing grew ragged; his body tense.
“Okay,” I said, when I couldn’t bear it anymore. I moved my hands up to his shoulders.
“Thank God.”
He pulled out almost all the way and thrust back inside me with a long, slow stroke. We moved in unison—my legs came around his waist and I lifted myself to him with each thrust. Even then, our joining was unhurried. Neither one of us wanted to rush; instead we took our time, enjoying the way we fit together, the way we moved with and against each other.