Page 22 of Gobble Me Up

12

oliver

It’s official. Cydney’s moving in with me, and I couldn’t be fucking happier. Well, I could if she were wearing my ring, but I’ve already got a plan to make that happen, so I’m biding my time.

She’s got her hair up in a messy knot, bright turquoise leggings hugging every curve, and a shirt that says “Do Not Disturb Until Caffeinated,” even though she’s already downed half a carafe before I made it to the bakery. Two seconds in and she’s barking orders like a five-foot-tall general with a vendetta against empty wall space.

The universe’s cruel joke? I’m so obsessed with the way she makes this place feel alive, I’d carry every last box by hand up twelve damn floors just to make her happy.

Not that I’m letting her do any heavy lifting. Not on my watch.

I wedge the biggest box between my arms and my chest, nearly popping a vertebra in the process.

“Careful,” Cydney pipes up from behind, “that one has my fancy pots in it.”

“I’ll treat it like spun glass,” I grunt, deliberately flexing as I haul the box into the elevator. She snorts behind me, balancing a bag of throw pillows on one hip and waving a rainbow shower caddy like a traffic conductor.

“I hope you don’t mind pillows.” She gives me a look, full of mischief. “I love decorator pillows.” She bites her bottom lip and shoots me her come-hither look that causes my cock to turn to stone. “They really make me… happy.”

I can’t resist the dirty comeback. “I live to make you happy, sweetheart.” I drop the box in the hallway and turn to drag the pillows from her grasp. I drop them on the sofa and pull her into my arms. “Now, stop torturing my ass so we can get your shit moved.”

She laughs, loud and bright, her head tipping back so I get a perfect view of her throat. For a second, I just stand there and stare, totally caught up in the way she lights up the whole damn apartment with nothing but a smile and a handful of pillows.

I rally. Gotta stay focused if I want to survive this move-in without throwing my back out or spraining something more vital.

We tackle the next round of boxes like a well-oiled team, but I make damn sure Cydney doesn’t lift anything heavier than a throw blanket. If I even think she’s about to haul something awkward, I snatch it out of her hands before she can blink.

She rolls her eyes and tries to lecture me about “partnership” while I carry three full tubs of baking supplies in one trip. I catch her trying to drag a laundry basket down the hallway and swoop in before she gets five feet.

“Oliver, I’m not made of glass,” she grumbles. My girl is full of fire, I’ll give her that. But there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting her lift heavy shit, not when I can do it for her. I snatch it away while the glare she throws my way could melt steel.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she huffs, all bluster and sass, but her eyes are sparkling.

“That’s the plan.” I wink at her, then haul the basket into the bedroom like it’s filled with feathers instead of what has to be her entire collection of books.

Cydney tromps in behind me, hands on her hips, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “If you keep this up, I’m going to be spoiled rotten.”

I drop the basket and turn, crowding her up against the door. “That’s the idea.” I nuzzle her hair, and she wraps her soft arms around my waist. I let myself soak it in. The feel of her pressed against me, the faint vanilla-sugar scent of her hair, and that wild, contented little sigh she lets slip when she thinks I’m not listening. I slide my hands down to cup her ass and haul her closer. I could hold her here for hours. Hell, forever.

“You’re home now, sweetheart.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean for it to, but I don’t care. “You get used to letting me take care of you, or I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

She laughs, nose scrunching up in a way that’s so damn cute I almost lose my train of thought. “You’re impossible, Burkhardt.”

“That’s not what you were screaming last night.” I drop my head and nip her jaw, loving the way her body melts against mine.

Her cheeks go cherry red, but her eyes spark pure mischief. “I seem to remember you loudly professing how much you enjoyed my talented little tongue.” Fuck. My cock wakes up and urges me to forget all about moving. Or better yet, I could pay someone to do this shit and concentrate on my girl instead.

I grab her jaw and drag her up for a filthy, tongue-tangling kiss. “Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the moving boxes and fuck you until you scream the damn building down.”

She moans, goes limp in my arms, but she’s got that stubborn glint in her eye. “You said you wanted to finish moving today. I’d hate to screw up your to-do list, boss man.”

“Sweetheart, fucking you IS my to-do list.” I back her into the wall, pin her there with my hips, and drag my hands down her sides. Every little curve, every shiver, belongs to me now. “You want to test me?”

She grins, pure trouble. “Maybe I do.”

Fucking hell. I don’t know whether to haul her straight to the bedroom or fuck her right here on the floor. My cock is already hard as iron and threatening to burst out of my jeans. I let go of her hips and yank her shirt up and over her head, drinking in the view of her perfect tits under the thin cotton bra. Fuck, she’s so beautiful I almost forget where I am. I want to rip that bra clean off and bury my face in her cleavage until she begs for mercy.

Instead, I hook my finger under the strap and snap it, just to hear her gasp. Her eyes go wide, cheeks flushed, breath coming faster. I can barely keep my hands steady as I drag the bra down her arms and toss it somewhere behind me.