“You’re trying to keep me awake all night,” he says before taking a sip.
Guilty as charged?
I’d like to keep him awake all night, but that fantasy involves my bed, his cock, and a few orgasms for me.
The man is looking for records, not a hook-up, so I shrug awkwardly. “You can’t handle something that strong at this hour?”
He downs the rest of the steaming hot espresso in one gulp. “I can handle anything.”
Those words speak to me in many ways.
I don’t think he’s talking about grief, but it’s an experience we share. Granted, he lost his life partner, and I lost my mom, but grief doesn’t discriminate or label what level of loss is most difficult to accept.
I glance around my store. I turned on the small white twinkling lights when we entered. I didn’t want to hit the switch to the chandeliers because that might draw curious onlookers to peek inside the windows.
I don’t need that distraction tonight.
“Are you looking for more recommendations?”
“Recommendations,” he repeats in a low tone. “Sure. What have you got?”
I brush past him, wishing I had kept my jacket on. I dropped it on a chair in the backroom when I was making his espresso. I feel exposed even though I’m still wearing the green sweater.
“There’s one that I think you’ll really like,” I say as I thumb through a shelf at the front of the store.
“I know I will.” His voice carries through the silence.
I turn to glance at him.
He’s gorgeous. It’s not all about how good-looking he is. He wears confidence like a badge. It shines through whenever I see him.
“You haven’t heard it yet,” I tease.
“If you like it, I will,” he insists as he steps closer to me.
I find the album I’ve been searching for. Raising it above my head, I smile. “This is it.”
“Play it for me.”
My brow furrows as he comes even closer to where I am. “What?”
“Play it.” He stops just short of where I’m standing. “I want to dance with you, Astrid.”
The song I was going to play for him was upbeat, but as soon as he suggested that we dance, I chose a slow song with a languid melody.
It’s the type of song that fills the space you’re in. It seeps inside of you and stays there, popping into your mind when you least expect it.
The fact that the singer is belting out soulful lyrics about life and love only adds to this moment.
Berk reaches out both hands toward me when I turn to face him. “Something tells me you’re an amazing dancer, Astrid.”
“I’m a better singer,” I joke in a playful attempt to lighten the mood.
Until tonight, I was sure he was only interested in me as a friend without any orgasm related benefits, but now I can’t tell.
“Come here,” he demands in a soft tone with a curl of his fingers.
I approach him with steady steps, surprised that I’m not shaking in my boots.
Once I’m next to him, he pulls me close, wrapping one arm around my back near my waist while the other takes my palm.
It feels good, almost too good to be this close to him.
He’s taller than me, but we somehow fit together perfectly like this.
I move to the music with small even steps, keeping my gaze trained on his shirt.
“Look at me, Astrid.”
Afraid that he’ll see pure need in my eyes, I glance up but to the side.
“At me,” he repeats softly.
I draw in a quick mouthful of air before letting my gaze wander to his striking face.
I’ve been close to him before, but not like this. Not with the scent of his cologne filling my lungs or his lips parted ever so slightly.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks in a low tone.
Any doubts I had about whether he was interested in me beyond my knowledge of music disappear in an instant.
Shaking my head, I answer softly, “No. Are you?”
“If I were, I wouldn’t be asking you that question.”
A half-smile scoots over my lips. “Fair enough.”
“I’m not interested in anything serious, Astrid, but I am interested in you.”
Reading between those lines is easy since I’ve done it with men before.
The translation is curt and to the point: I want to fuck you, but that’s all I want.
It seems that we’re on the same page, so I nod. “I feel the same way.”
Surprise lures one of his brows up. “You do?”
“I’m not looking for a relationship.” I stare into his eyes. “I enjoy having fun, though.”
His gaze travels over my face. “Just to be clear, you’re telling me that you are open to a fuck? You’re not searching for more?”
It’s crude, but it’s honest, and I’ve found that it’s always best to lay your cards face-up on the table. It’s the only way to avoid unmet expectations and bruised hearts when one person inevitably decides that they’ve had enough fucking fun. Literally.