Totally a win-win situation.
He lowers the suitcase and catches me gazing at him.
"See anything you like?"
Eh, what's a girl to do when she's caught spying? Deny or come forward. I decide on the latter, and if I'm going to own up to it, I'm going to be thorough about it.
"Make that everything. You're handy to keep around. You can assemble furniture and are tall enough to remove objects without needing an extra chair."
"That list is far from exhaustive."
"Forgot to mention your mad orgasm skills."
"That's my Clara," he declares with a grin, and my heart soars.
Winking, he lifts the suitcase, placing it at the foot of the bed. I unhitch myself from the wall, walking to the dresser. Opening the drawers, I intend to inspect the contents so I can decide what to take with me, but I don't have a chance. Blake hooks an arm around my waist, sweeps my hair to one side, and places tiny kisses on my neck.
"You're the one corrupting me now."
"And you're enjoying it."
"I'm never going to be ready on time like this."
"Maybe that's my plan, so I can keep you here with me."
His tone is playful and raw in equal measures. I wonder if I picked up on the rawness because he's more open, or if because of everything we experienced tonight, I feel closer to him. He spins me around until I face him.
He drags his knuckles down my cheek, resting his hand on my neck, splaying his fingers wide.
"You're not just a distraction to me. I want you to know that."
I swallow in surprise, because I hadn't pegged Blake as the type to talk so openly about this.
"Thank you for being so open. You're not a distraction either, but I'm not expecting anything. I want you to know that."
"What does that mean?"
"That I don't need a label on this. I know I gave a big speech when I moved in about what I want, but I just need you. No labels."
Neither of us says it out loud, but I strongly suspect that whatever this is between us will come to a natural end by the time I move out. My heart crumbles a bit at the thought.
"Anything you want."
Well, that's a dangerous statement to make. What I want is to dote on him, learn all the things he likes, then do them just to see him happy. Maybe he could love me, a hopeful voice supplies somewhere in the recess of my mind. I swallow hard, chasing that silly thought away.
Blake smiles and touches his nose to mine in an Eskimo kiss. "Now, let's get you ready."
I make quick work of packing. After laying out my outfit for the road and stuffing the bag of toiletries in the suitcase, I zip it up.
"Done?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Now let's get some breakfast into you."
"I don't have anything in my fridge."
"I have some eggs and toast. I'll be right back."
My surprise must have registered on my face because he adds, "Told you I'll take care of you."
He kisses the tip of my nose again, then slips into his jeans and leaves the apartment. I barely have time to search for a pan and place it on the stove when he returns, a box of six eggs in one hand, bread in the other. I reach for the eggs, but he shakes his head.
"I'm making you breakfast."
"You can cook?"
"No, but I make a mean sunny side up."
I laugh. "That's a lifesaving skill right there."
As I watch him cook for me, I can barely contain my happiness. It might seem a small thing to some, but not to me. I hover around him, under the guise of helping him-I'm not-but I want to be as close to him as possible, touch him without being obvious. The kitchen is small, after all.
"You either have a problem with calculating the distance, or you're looking for any opportunity to feel me up."
I bat my eyelashes at him. "Guilty."
"Lucky for you, I'm an enabler. Feel me up all you want."
Well, what's a girl to do when she's given free reign? Take advantage and do so thoroughly. So while Blake busies himself with the eggs-which take a suspiciously long time, so I think they're going to be burnt to a crisp when all is said and done-I move my hands over his shoulder blades, kissing in between, then trace his spine with my mouth.
Then I step back and admire him. What I wouldn't give to snap some photos of him. I deleted those pics I took when I moved in because I know enough of the cloud and how the wrong pics could fall into the wrong hands by mistake (and anyway, they are imprinted on my retinas, no need for physical evidence).
"Eggs are ready," he announces, snapping me out of my thoughts. I do my best to school my expression so I don't give away my dirty daydreams.