Shana
Before I can knock, the door of Trevor’s apartment opens and the doorway fills with Trevor Willis. In worn blue jeans riding low on his hips, bare feet, and no shirt, I can’t take my eyes off of him. Tunnel vision doesn’t seem to be affecting only me.
Trevor’s gaze is zeroed my way.
Without his saying a word, my body is consumed by the hunger of his stare. His green eyes sparkle with explosions of golden flecks as he scans from my boots to my hair. With each second, it’s as if his gaze touches my skin moving upward, the heat disintegrating my clothing in its path until I’m bare in the hallway, waiting for him to bid me entrance.
The tips of his lips move upward until his smile shines with the intensity of his gaze, “Welcome, my lady.” He steps to the side, allowing me just enough room to enter. Still, our bodies brush against one another’s as I wheel my suitcase inside.
“What is this?”
“I thought if I were spending the weekend, I might need a few things.”
Slowly his head shakes. “I believe I told you it was a clothes-free zone.”
I take another look at him, also scanning upward. I cock one eyebrow. “You’re wearing jeans.”
“For now.”
As the door closes and I release the handle of my case, Trevor’s large hands frame my cheeks, pulling my face toward his.
I let out a soft moan.
The heat of his gaze and tease of his greeting can’t compare to the passion of his kiss. With a soft, sweet start, I’m lost as he pulls me closer, tempting my lips to open and rewarding me with the promise of his tongue.
I already know how talented he is with his lips and tongue. And while he can take me to ecstasy when he uses it on my sensitive parts, even with a kiss he has my insides twisting.
The spicy aroma of pizza causes my stomach to rumble, ending our kiss with his soft laugh. “My lady, are you hungry?”
I inhale the scent of his cologne encompassed in garlic and oregano. “For so many things. How about you?”
“Famished. Let’s satisfy one hunger at a time?”
“I guess there’s no rush. We have all weekend.”
“Yes,” he says, tugging me toward the kitchen.
Though it isn’t my first visit this week, I take in his apartment. It reminds me a little of the one Kimbra and I shared, but bigger. In New York City, space costs money. There are few people I know who have a place like Duncan and Kimbra’s. That’s all right by me. I like the feel of Trevor’s apartment. It opens from the hallway into his living room. There’s no balcony, but there is a fire escape outside the window. On a night like tonight we could move out there and enjoy the night air.
His kitchen is larger than the one Kimbra and I had. His is remodeled, as the building is too old for the stainless-steel appliances and white and gray decor. The way it is designed, there isn’t room for a table, but instead, there’s a breakfast bar with three tall stools.
I know from past visits that there are also two bedrooms. Trevor told me about plans to turn the room his friend Eric had used into a study or an office. Right now, that one could be classified as a storage unit with boxes, a bicycle, and I think I even saw some snow skis.
Admittedly, I’ve spent more time in Trevor’s bedroom. The bathrooms are small in comparison, again showing the age of the building. However, I can happily report that we both fit into the shower and yes, Trevor can sing.
My memories are a tad foggy, but I’m pretty sure he made me sing the last time I was in there with him. That is more exciting when you realize that I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.
“We do have all weekend,” Trevor says, peeking at me over his broad shoulder as he leads me to the kitchen. With a glint in his eye, he adds, “And rushing is not on the itinerary.”
His words twist my insides, reminding me of the first night we came together, not the crazed passion against the wall, but the slow torture once we made it to my hotel bed. “Maybe we could find a happy medium?”
Trevor laughs as he pulls out a bar stool at the breakfast counter. “For you.”
As soon as I climb onto the stool, I see the source of the fantastic aroma. Across the bar, on the other counter is a large white box, the edges discolored with grease, and I know I’ve met the man of my dreams. “I see you have been cooking all day.”
“Hey, I found a lady who likes pizza as much as I do. I’m taking advantage.”
“I do love pizza. Anything else?”
“Wine.”
“My favorite combination.”
Before he walks over to the food, Trevor bends down and kisses that spot behind my ear, sending chills through me, tightening the twists inside, and leaving goose bumps along my skin. His large hands skirt across my shoulders, lifting my ponytail. “T-Trevor...”
“Oh, you can’t wear your hair away from your neck and expect me to behave.”
I reach for my ponytail. “Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t even think of that when I did it?”
“Yes...”
He kisses my exposed neck once again. This time the chills cover my entire body, making me glad I’m wearing a padded bra because I don’t have nipple tape in my suitcase. I close my eyes as his warm breath tickles my skin.
His deep voice rumbles through me. “It won’t happen again.”
I lean back. “You won’t kiss my neck?”
“No,” he says with a grin. “I will definitely kiss your neck and your collarbone and...” His grin grows as his finger teases the neckline of my top. “You won’t fix your hair this way...ever...that you don’t think about my lips on you.”
I reach up and run my fingers through his messy mane. “As long as you think of me whenever you forget to comb yours.”
“I always forget to comb it.”
“Then think of me—always.”
He twists the stool until I’m parallel with the counter, and he’s in the space between my thighs. “My lady, since last May, you’re all I think about.”
“Is that why you forget to comb your hair?”
“It’s why I can’t think of anything else. Are you sure you’re hungr—”
We both laugh as the rumble from my stomach interrupts his question.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t eat much lunch.”
With a kiss to my cheek, Trevor backs away. “Sustenance first. With the plans I made, you’re going to need it.”
“I like the way that sounds.” As he steps around the counter, I ask, “Can I help you with anything?”
“Your job is to relax. This weekend is our no-plans weekend.”
“So...what do you have planned for our no-plans weekend?”
As he places two large wine goblets on the counter, he glances at me through his lashes. “Do you think I planned something?”
“Yes, Trevor Willis. I think I’m starting to figure you out.”
“You are?”
“Well, you just said that with your plans I need sustenance. And besides, you’re not a seat-of-your-pants kind of guy.”
Trevor twists around and looks at the back of his jeans.
“Don’t be so damn cute. Yes, you have a great ass. I like the seat of your pants. What I mean is that you plan your breakfast before you go to bed. I’d put money on the fact that we have plans.”
His brows rise and fall. “First, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. What if you don’t plan and then when it’s time, you’re out of eggs or cereal? The possibilities are numerous and would have lasting effects on the entire day.”
“See. I’d win the bet.”
“How much are you willing to bet?”
I feel the warmth in my cheeks. “Me.”
“So if you’re right, I can’t have you all weekend?”
“If I’m right, I get to decide when and how you get me.”
His chest grows as he inhales. The stream of wine coming from the bottle he’s pouring grows precariously close to the rim of the glass as the muscles in his arms tense, bringing forth a beautiful array of bulging tendons and veins. Once he places the wine bottle on the counter, he exhales and replies, “Sorry, my lady.”
“You won’t take my bet?”
“Not for this weekend.”
“Then you do have plans.”
He hands me a glass of red wine. “I do but for more than a weekend. I understand that we don’t know what the future will bring, but, Shana Price, my goal for this weekend and beyond is that no matter what I do, how I ravage you with unbridled passion or torture you with slow and thorough lovemaking, that you are in full agreement.” He clinks our glasses. “You have my word, I’ll never do anything you don’t decide is right, but I will do my damnedest to convince you to let me give it a try.”
I bring the rim of the glass to my lips as I think about his toast and take a drink. Once I sip, I place the glass back on the counter and say, “I’m not very good at giving up control.”
“You don’t have to. I’d never expect that.”
“I don’t? You wouldn’t?”
“No, my lady, you have all the power.”
“Then tell me our plans.”
He reaches for two paper plates and grins. “See, I like it when you’re bossy.”
I take another sip of the wine. “You may like it, but you suck at obeying.”
He hands me a plate overflowing with a warm slice of pizza. “Yes, I do. We can work on sucking later. First, we eat.”
“And then sucking...?”
“And then...you trust me to keep my word.”
I wake to the soft sound of Trevor’s breathing. The window in his bedroom is open, allowing the soundtrack of city noises to float through the warming air. Cars and horns and brakes and voices have been our background music for the last incredible night and day and into this night.
I roll toward him, making out his features in the dim illumination. My fingers itch to comb his hair back and feel his soft, short beard. I marvel at the slope of his nose and the way his forehead protrudes. It’s a comforting combination as if he’s still planning and thinking in his dreams, yet relaxed and content.
It isn’t often that I’m the one awake. It seems that when we’re together, I’m the one who wakes to his sexy smile. The few moments of seeing him at peace gives me a strange sense of satisfaction.
I can’t deny that he makes me happy, and with all my heart, I believe it’s mutual. I’m not sure a man can fake the gratification he’s shown.
Our plan-free weekend has been filled with marvelous options that I never expected. It has consisted of everything and nothing—from pizza to shower concerts, to wrapped-in-towels Netflix marathons, to dressed in his shorts or maybe just his T-shirt and sitting on the fire escape, to long torturous, thoroughly gratifying sexual encounters and finding sustenance. Except for accepting deliveries, the door to his apartment hasn’t opened, and we mutually decided to turn off our phones.
After the mess that has been the last three weeks of work, I had no idea how much I needed a do-nothing-but-sleep-eat-screw-and-relax weekend. It’s been perfect and yet as I lie here beside him, my chest aches.
If I were smart and sensible, I wouldn’t wait. Instead, I’d ease my way out of his bed now and slip out of his apartment and his life.
I just know that this time next week I’ll be back in London. I also know that it won’t be to pack.
Don’t ask me how I know.
I do.
And yet I can’t pry myself away from this man.
It’s an attraction like I’ve never known. From his warm, naked body beside mine and his plans for our plan-free weekend, to the knowledge that I’m supposed to meet his parents tomorrow...or is it today?
I search for a clock.
Two in the morning.
It’s today.
As much as I don’t want to hurt him when I tell him I’m moving back to London, I can’t make me hurt myself by giving up one minute we could be together. Even if it is the smart thing to do, I can’t pull myself away.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll be able to make myself step onto the plane next Friday.
I’ve never before considered a relationship over my career, and I find it puzzling that the thoughts are even occurring. Yet they are.