Page 88 of Until Then

I don’t have to be told twice. I climb into his lap and wrap my arms around his bare shoulders, going straight to work on massaging his stiff trap muscles.

His hands roam down my body, settling on my hips, his fingers spreading across my butt. He pulls me impossibly closer, and as he does, he lets out a groan at the friction.

God, I want him.

We haven’t done anything since the day we absolutely lost ourselves in each other and had three rounds back-to-back.

I’ve been holding back, and I think he has, too.

That day was so explosive that it frightened me a little—feeling so much for a man I don’t fully know yet.

But maybe that’s the thing—do weeverfully know other people? Each and every one of us is constantly growing and changing.

“I want to take things slow.” His words are a whispered brush of breath against my lips.

I rock my hips slowly. “This is slow.”

He chuckles. “Not what I meant.”

“I know.” I press my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Oak and citrus and maybe a touch of spice. “Are you afraid I’ll get sick of you? Because that’s impossible.”

“No.” He flexes his fingers against my ass. “I just… want to do this right.”

I lean back, resting against the table to put a little space between our chests. It wasn’t my intention to draw his focus to my chest, but I do have to smile when he lowers his gaze and all but salivates at the way my boobs practically spill out of my tank top. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

With a rough laugh, he nuzzles my nose with his. It’s a sweet gesture. So pure and unexpected that it makes my heart dip, then lurch yet another stumbling step closer to that scary four-letter word.

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to my neck.

“Besides,” I go on, raking my fingers into the back of his hair, “whatisright? What works for some doesn’t work for all. We all have to make our own definition of the word. Don’t you think?”

“I think,” he brushes a piece of my hair behind my ear, “that you are entirely too tempting.”

Smiling, I kiss his lips softly, chastely. “Come to bed. It’s late.”

He scoots the chair back, arms firmly around me. Standing, he repositions his arms, supporting my ass, then he carries me upstairs. Rather than take me back to my bedroom, he lays me down on his bed—which I have to admit is much more comfortable. When he heads for the door rather than climb in beside me, I sit up and rest my elbows on the mattress.

“Where are you going?”

He looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “To get Wonton.”

My heart warms, sending threads of sated heat through my extremities. It’s the little things—like thinking of my dog and knowing I’d want him in here—that make it so easy to fall for him.

When he returns with a sleepy Wonton under his arm, he sets him gently at the foot of the bed and then picks me up again and pulls back the sheets.

As he pulls the covers up and tucks me in, I give him a sleepy grin. “Are you going to read me a bedtime story, too?”

He closes his eyes, letting out a low chuckle. “Izzy, Izzy, Izzy.” Then he climbs into bed beside me and pulls me close. He presses a kiss to the top of my bare shoulder.

I open my mouth to… I don’t know, make another quip or beg him to undress me, but before I can, he groans.

“Go to sleep, Izzy,” he murmurs. “We have all the time in the world.”

It’s that last part that has me drifting off with a smile on my face.

“Heardyou’re boinking the hot dad.”

Those are the first words I hear when I walk into book club.

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