Bitten by Cupid(78)

They enjoyed the dinner, along with a Riesling he’d brought, and fun, light conversation that expressly avoided talk of Kiss and Kill Cupid or Owen.

Afterward, she began to take the dishes into the kitchen. To her delight, he helped. One guy she’d had over for dinner actually flopped down on the couch and turned on the television while she cleaned up. And asked her to bring him a beer! She’d nearly lobbed it at his head.

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen: Dale Soza. No way could she take that call.

“Unfortunately, I have to get this cleaned up before my roommate gets in, which will be late tonight. She has fits, even though I always clean up my messes. One time I left it until morning, and she’d put sticky notes on the stove and the table, everywhere where there was a dish.”

He ran the water and started rinsing the dishes. “She sounds like fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “Loads. She gets on my case about the pan handles sticking out over the edge of the stove. And yes, it makes sense because they can be bumped accidentally, but she’s freaky about it. She walks in, and screeches, ‘Pan handles!’ The only reason I’ve stayed is I hardly ever see her. I’m hoping to get my own place soon.”

Honest to Pete, there wasn’t anything much sexier than a man doing dishes. Through Adrian’s tight knit shirt, she could see his muscles working. He was wide at the shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist and hips, and in tailored dress pants, she could see one of the finest derrieres she’d ever laid eyes on. The song “I Like the Way You Move” from Outkast played in her mind.

What she wanted to do was slide up behind him. Calm yourself, girl. Don’t be slutty. You’re not there yet. She took a deep breath and walked up beside him, taking the soapy plate he was holding and rinsing it.

She tucked it in the dish rack. “And no dishwasher, can you believe it?”

He gave her a grin. “Well, you’ve got one tonight.”

“If this place came with you, I’d stay here forever.” She put a soapy hand to her mouth. “Did I actually say that aloud?”

“Unless I’m starting to hear your thoughts.” He gave her a playful smile.

She reached for the platter he was holding, and their fingers slid against each other’s. Even covered in soap suds, his hands were great, strong, with long fingers, and she imagined them sliding across her skin. The image of that made her face flush with heat. She set down the platter in the sink. He was looking at her, not the next dirty dish. She slid her fingers between his in slow strokes, her gaze never leaving his.

He kissed her, his soapy hand going to the back of her neck, cradling her. She blindly slapped her hand down on the faucet handle to turn off the water and slid her arms up around his neck. His soft hair brushed the backs of her hands. He kissed across her cheek to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. She tilted her head back, lost in the chills sweeping down her body. His arms went down to her waist, pulling her body against his. His arousal, pressing into her stomach, sent a pulsing heat through her. She slid her hands down his back, then over the tight butt she’d just been admiring. He moaned softly, pulling her closer.

He ran his hands over her shoulders, then up and down her sides. Knowing he was a gentleman, she decided to make it perfectly clear that it was okay to touch her. She moved into his touch, her breast filling his hand. He squeezed her gently, sending a cascade of pleasure through her. She let out a soft moan of her own. How long had it been since she’d been touched?

Way too long.

He pushed aside the dishes they hadn’t gotten to yet and hoisted her up to the counter. That put her at his level, face-to-face. She kissed him, almost breathless, and then he moved his way down her body.

He unbuttoned her blouse, kissing the center of her chest, the swell of her breasts, and after he removed her bra, her nipples. He touched her, caressed, his movements becoming more fevered, as though he couldn’t get enough of her. She’d never felt this way about a guy. This was hot, mindless, wild stuff.

She pulled his shirt up and over his head and kissed over the curves of his chest, her mouth and fingers drinking in the exquisite softness of his skin, the firmness of his body.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and whispered next to his ear, “My bedroom’s the door on the left.”

Wearing a skirt, she could feel him pressing right up against her femininity, only the silk of her thong and the fabric of his pants between them.

That was going to change fast.

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the counter. With his hands on her derriere, he held her as he walked to the bedroom. She pushed the door closed in case her roomie came home unexpectedly. He leaned down on the bed, and she let go of him long enough to push her skirt and panties down.