No sane man could. And it had been several months since I’d been deep inside any woman.
Nadia scooted close to me.
Inhaling her sweet perfume, I carefully tipped the assembly and put it face down. The back panel slid into the grooves at the sides.
Intrigued, she asked, “What do you need?”
“A hammer.”
She grabbed and handed it to me. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m so impressed. It takes me days to do this. You’re so fast.”
I could’ve had it done thirty minutes ago. But who could blame me? Her body called to me. I yearned to have my hands all over her.
I hammered the side. It went in.
I stood and glanced at the stack of boxes in the corner. “Those are all full of books?”
“I have an addiction to buying books.”
“You write so it makes sense.”
“I see a pretty cover and I want it. Half the time I don’t even read it.”
“My mom says that books are furniture.”
She nodded. “I agree.”
“Mom has a thing for colorful spines and how they go with the room. Our living room was all white, so only white books could go on the shelf.”
“She had a white living room with two boys in the house?”
“When we were teens. And we weren’t allowed in there. If we wanted to watch TV or hang out, we did it in the family room.”
She opened one box. “And what color was that room?”
“Brown.”
“So, only brown books?”
“No. Fall colored books could be in there. It was an earthy theme.”
“I like your mother’s style.” She gestured to the opened box.
I walked over, took it in, and laughed. “You color code your books?”
“I have a problem with organization too.” She scanned the living room. “This mess and all the boxes are killing my soul.”
“At least you have your shelf up.”
“One of many.”
“Where are the other shelves?”
“The movers dumped most of the Ikea stuff in the dining room.”
“Good. I’ll start on the next one.” I headed off, happy to have more time with her.
“No,” she called after me. “I didn’t mention them for you to do it. I’m glad you did this one—”
“I’m putting them up. Just talk to me.”
“Fine.” She chuckled. “Tell me more about your parents. Your mother liked to decorate with books. Did your father like books too?”
“Reading was the most important part of his life.” I picked up the next shelf box and brought it into the living room. “Dad thought my mother’s book decorating reduced the story’s importance. Which was funny. She was an English teacher and he was a taxi driver.”
“My mother taught English too.” She had a sad smile. “She passed ten years ago. . .from cancer.”
“Sorry to hear that. My father died from a heart attack six years ago.”
“So sorry.”
“That’s fine.” I pulled out all of the shelf’s pieces. “And your father?”
“I never knew him well. He left my mother when I was five and barely came around after that. I stopped even thinking about him by the time I became a teenager.”
“That’s sad.” I pulled out more shelves and returned to work.
“It is what it is.” She carried over four red books and placed them on the bottom of the shelf I’d put together.
I quirked my brows. “Why start with red?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”
“I do.”
She set them down and went back to the box. “The pattern of a rainbow starts with red on the outside and changes through orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and then to violet on the inside.”
“O-kay.”
“Yeah. It’s a sickness.”
I chuckled. “And there’s no pills for that?”
“Not that I know of.” She winked at me.
I studied her. And for those few silent seconds. Our eyes connected and I could’ve sworn I saw her lick her lips.
Sighing, she shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and pulled out orange books. “Thanks again.”
“Stop thanking me. I’m your neighborhood handy man. You’re to call me for all forms of maintenance.”
“Really? And what’s your fee?”
“Homecooked meals.”
“Good. I’m the bomb in the kitchen.”
I paused from building the shelf. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep.” She stacked orange books next to red ones. “I planned to make you something yummy tomorrow for dinner. Don’t cook anything.”
“Don’t worry. I’m shit in the kitchen.”
She laughed.
“If the plate is good, then definitely call me over for anything. Broken pipe. Car won’t start. Mouse appeared. One of the boys accidentally kicked a hole in the wall. And. . .” I shouldn’t have, but I shifted into flirting. “I’m here for physical maintenance too.”
She arched her brows at me. “Physical maintenance?”
“For the body. Massages. Foot rubs. I’m here for all forms of maintenance.”
She blushed. “I’ve got that taken care of, but thank you.”
We’ll see.
She was definitely an independent type. Thought she didn’t need a man. Probably didn’t need one. But I liked the idea of showing her that she did.
You’re going to need a good fuck one day and I’ll be right there to give you this cock.