Mister O(70)

I rub my thumb and forefinger together, as if that can stir the memory to the surface. It works, and I smile inside as I remember her offhand remark.

Does she write those cheesy sex scenes where the guy tells the girl he loves her while he’s inside her or right after?

I might not know what to say, but I definitely know when not to say it. I get out of bed, brush my teeth, pull on my workout shorts and a fleece, and go burn off some of this energy, running all the way downtown to Spencer’s house, where I feed Fido, trusting that this cat and his master will have to be okay with this turn of events, because I’m going to be so damn good to Harper. I’m going to treat her like the royalty she is to me. All I have to do is tell her.

I don’t have a plan, a skywriter, or a bouquet of flowers, and frankly, I don’t think she’d be impressed with any of those. That’s not the kind of person she is.

But I know the most important part of my plan—there’s no way I can let these lessons with Harper end. Not until I tell her I want to be so much more than friends with her, more than her teacher, more than her love coach. I want to be hers.

Too bad her train is really late that night. She texts me at ten to tell me it’s stuck in Bridgeport for some sort of engine repair.

I write back immediately with the only possible solution.



I’ll come pick you up.

Princess: Seriously?





You have no idea how much I want to see you.

Princess: As much as I want to see you?





Yes. THAT MUCH.

Princess: You won’t use emoticons, but you’ll use shouty caps?





SHOUTY CAPS ARE MANLY. Get over here, woman. I need your naked body under me.

Princess: WHAT IF I WANT TO BE ON TOP?





I DON’T CARE. JUST GET HERE. How’s this? I’ll order a car service. I’ll send one to you. Whatever you want.

Princess: This is where apparating would come in really handy.





Now you’re really turning me on, talking Harry Potter and magic spells. But seriously, princess—can I send a car for you?

Princess: They say the train is going to start again in twenty minutes. I’ll be there soon. If not, I might chew my leg off with waiting.





Um, I like your legs. Please refrain from all chewing of limbs.

Princess: Ooh! We’re moving again!





A little later, I check the time. It’s eleven, and a new text says she should arrive in Grand Central by midnight. I figure fifteen minutes in the cab will put her at my door at twelve-fifteen. I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, and wrap a towel around my waist.

A new text from her lands on my screen.

Princess: Ugh. Still more trouble. Train arriving at 12:45 now. Should I just go home?





My reply is instant.



NO FUCKING WAY.



I lie down, read a book, and drift off to sleep.



The ringing in my apartment is loud. I wake with a jolt, sitting upright in bed. I rub my eyes, orienting myself. I grab my glasses. It’s a little after one. I get out of bed, and answer the phone. The doorman tells me I have a guest, and I say to send her up.

I pad out of the bedroom, then slide the lock off the chain, crack the door a sliver, and peek down the hall.

The gears on the elevator crank, then slow, and the lift opens.

She turns and heads to me. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, and she wears jeans and her pink jacket. Her eyes widen as she nears me. They turn planet-size when she’s inches away, and they drift down my body.

I glance down. Oh. Seems I’m wearing my birthday suit.

“I should always show up after midnight if this is my greeting,” she says, her eyes roaming my naked body.

“You play your cards right, and that can be arranged,” I say, raising an eyebrow. She doesn’t know the half of it, though. She doesn’t know how true that statement is. If she wants me, she can have me any time, all the time.

I grab her hand and tug her inside. She drops her bag to the floor as the door clinks shut.

I waste no time. I kiss her as if it’s been weeks. Her tongue slides between my lips, and her hands travel down my chest, across my abs, down the happy trail, and I’m oh so happy that her journeys have taken her there. She skims her palm over my dick, and my breath hitches.

Her touch is spine-tingling. She dips her head to my neck, kissing me. I shudder, then bite my lip, because I can’t let on all that I’m feeling for her yet. She kisses up my jawline, then to my ear. “I have to run to the little girls’ room and pee. Wait for me in bed.”

I salute her and retreat to the bedroom, following orders. I take off my glasses, set them on the nightstand, and park my hands behind my head. Slivers of moonlight slice through the blinds, and my room is cast in shadow. The water runs in the bathroom sink, then it’s silent again. Her heels click on the floor, and three seconds later she stands in my doorway, illuminated by the moon.

She strikes a pose. If she was surprised by my attire, then color me ten shades of shocked by hers.





33





“Holy shit,” I say slowly. My jaw might be on the hardwoods.

Her hair falls loose on her shoulders. She’s wearing a black cape, stilettos and white lace panties with pink polka dots. That’s it. No bra. My mouth waters. My dick imitates the floor and is hard wood, too. My heart does a wild foxtrot as I sit up in bed and scrub a hand over my jaw.