Take Me to Bed: A Collection of Naughty Bedtime Stories

by Michelle Windsor

She frowns and shakes it, then rolls her eyes when the kitten appears out of nowhere and tries to climb up Jana’s leg.

  I’m sure that’s annoying, but it gives me a reason to slide my gaze down her body. Her jeans are snug, dark and stretchy, and they curve around her hips and down her slim legs just right.

  I’d like to do the same.

  When was the last time I saw a woman in hot pink socks? With matching pink cheeks and an indulgent smile that makes me jealous of a cat, for God’s sake.

  I need to get her signature, but that can wait. “Is her name still Underfoot?”

  She laughs and shakes her head as she lifts the kitten into her arms. “No. Although today she got halfway up my curtains and I threatened to call her Miss Climbs-A-Lot. You can see why.”

  The kitten makes a squeaky sound, half purr, half chirp, and I get it. She’s adorable. I lean in and rub the soft white spot under her chin. “I can. What a little minx.”

  Jana inhales, and I realize I’m close to her—my hand is next to her arm, and our heads are close together, too.

  She’s not wearing any makeup, but there’s something on her lips, maybe a fruity lipgloss, and she’s just gorgeous. Bright eyes, soft mouth, and creamy skin.

  “Do you have pets?” she asks softly, and I’m close enough I can feel the faintest brush of her breath against my skin.

  I shake my head. “Travel too much, work too hard. My—” I cut myself off before saying that my housekeeper only comes in twice a week and I’m pretty sure cats need more attention than that. “Maybe one day.”

  She makes a little humming sound, and I want to kiss her. I want to haul her close and bite her bottom lip. Make her smile and kiss her again.

  Heat roars through my body, and I jerk back at the same time as she lifts the kitten up a bit more. Before she can offer the cat up for adoption, or before I kiss her—maybe both things, I don’t know.

  What the hell am I doing playing with Jana and her kitty?

  “I need your signature,” I say, and it comes out kind of harsh, but I do.

  That’s all I need. I don’t need some domestic fantasy. I don’t need pink socks or jean-clad legs. Pink socks on bare legs, the jeans discarded somewhere along the way to the nearest bed.

  She swallows hard and I feel like an ass, but then she puts the kitten down and takes the clipboard, scrawling her name quickly on the digital signature pad at the side. “Thanks for the delivery,” she says, and it’s sweet and kind and I feel even worse.

  So I gruffly try to make it right. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She jerks her head up. “Tomorrow?”

  “You usually get something on Tuesdays.” And even if she didn’t, I don’t think I could stay away.

  Her cheeks turn pink. “Right.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  She nods, her brows pulling together ever so slightly. “See you then.”

  The next day I’ve got her usual Tuesday delivery, as expected. It’s another that’s signature-required, and again, I think about waiting until the end of the day to deliver it.

  But it’s work stuff, and I’m not so driven by my dick that I’d hold back her delivery just so I can have more time with her.

  And then there’s the pesky reminder in the back of my mind that I don’t get time with her.

  I can’t do this. I can’t crush on a woman who thinks I’m a delivery driver, because I’m not, and the last thing Aston Corp needs is a scandal about the CEO slumming it incognito and hitting on customers.

  But all of that goes out the window when she answers the door.

  Today her socks are orange.

  And she starts talking before I get a chance to hand over the clipboard. “I feel like I should apologize for yesterday,” she says, and fuck, no, that’s not right at all.

  I can feel myself frowning at her. “Nothing to apologize for,” is what I should say. Instead, I open my mouth and the world’s dumbest question tumbles out. “Why?”

  Her lips part and her cheeks flush. “Well, because I asked you about your personal life, in a way. I wasn’t trying—”

  “You could try,” I say. What the hell? No trying! But I’m grinning at her now, like my mouth has been severed from my brain. And the rest of my body goes with it, apparently, because I lean against the doorframe. “Maybe I’m the one who should apologize to you, since I gave you the wrong impression.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Oh.”

  “This is a bit complicated for me,” I say. Understatement of the year.

  “Ah.” She shrugs. “I don’t do complicated. But that’s okay. No harm, no foul.”

  This is my out. This is my chance to shift us firmly back into the professional relationship category, where I don’t know what her lips look like up close.

  I don’t take it.

  “Not a bad kind of complicated,” I say. “I’m not married or anything shitty like that.”

  “So a non-shitty kind of complicated.” Her lips curl up in an almost-smile. “That’s rare.”

  “I’m rare.”

  “And modest?”

  “So modest.”

  She laughs. “Good to know. I was starting to think you were perfect. Now I know you’re full of yourself and cocky, too.”

  “Guilty on both counts.” I wink, and this feels good. She sees me for what I am—at least on a base level—and I’m being as clear as I can about what I’m not.

  “Is the complicated part about your job? Are you a temporary worker or something?”

  Fuck, this is dangerous territory, but I find myself nodding. “Just until Christmas.”

  “Right, that makes sense.” She holds up the box. “Increased number of deliveries and all that.”

  “People love shopping online.”

  “Mmm. Something like that.” She tips her head to the side. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  I laugh, and it surprises me, how good it feels to share this kind of easy conversation. When was the last time I talked about nothing with someone? And I don’t want to leave. Which is…damn it. “Listen, we don’t need to see each other just when…” I gesture to the box in her hands. “Do you want—”

  From inside her apartment, a phone rings. She winces. “I think it’s my turn to say I’ve got to get that.”

  “Go. I’ll…hopefully see you tomorrow.”

  She beams at me and that’s it. I’m stopping here again tomorrow whether or not she’s got a package on the truck. We can talk some more about how I’m not nearly good enough for her, but maybe worthy of a scrap or two. A smile. A kiss. An afternoon spent exploring all the different places that blush could touch if she was teased just right.

  It's not how I expected our conversation to go, but fuck it. Sometimes life is too short to play it safe.

  6

  Jana

  Seven days after Thanksgiving

  Most mornings I watch the news while I eat breakfast. Not because I’m a news junkie—I’m not—but because when I went to New York for my first editorial meeting, I kept getting lost in conversations that I should’ve understood as a grown-up, but I didn’t because I’m more Netflix than CNN.

  Not nearly enough conversations about Gilmore Girls, which I found weird for a greeting card company.

  Anyway, so now I have this little morning ritual, and I learn enough to skate through grown-up conversations. Some days I just watch the headlines. Today, I linger over my toast because one of the stories is about SwiftEx, and all the B-roll footage makes me think of Delivery Guy. The news reader promises more information about that story after the break, so I put on another piece of toast. Then I do some counter push-ups, because bonus toast needs to be burned off.

  When the program comes back on, they get into more detail. Apparently some of the computer infrastructure is really old, and last night there was a server crash and it accidentally tripped a cascade effect, and most of the Eastern seaboard system is in chaos.

  I don’t know what th
at means, but I can say it with some authority, and that’s all that matters. Well, I know what chaos means. It means I’m probably not getting any packages today.

  For the first time since Nina and Daisy started inundating me with cat toys, I’m disappointed to think I might not be getting another shipment.

  I should have had more faith in Delivery Guy. His truck rumbles to a stop in front of my building in the middle of the afternoon. I meet him at the door after distracting the cats with treats, but from the set of his mouth to the way he quickly hands over the box—this one heavier than the last few—I’m not surprised when he says he can’t stay.

  But my heart does a little twirl at the idea that he thought I might expect him to linger, if only for a few minutes.

  “It’s been a crazy day,” he adds.

  No kidding. I try to make a joke. “I heard on the news. Plus, on top of the regular holiday packages, some people get way too many…” Cat toys. No, I can’t admit that out loud. “Regular things.”

  Wow, Jana. Way to really nail that punch line.

  One side of his mouth pulls up in a half-smile anyway. “Hey, we’re just grateful that you’re still an appreciative customer.”

  “Did you get yelled at a lot today?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Did my fair share of yelling, too.” My eyebrows shoot up and he laughs. “Not at customers.”

  “Is it madness behind the scenes right now?”

  Another half-smile. They light up his face, his eyes softening as he admits the truth, like he’s sharing a secret with me. “More than I can explain. But it’s a good kind of madness. We’ll get it sorted out.”

  “Too bad this job is just temporary,” I say.

  He hesitates before nodding. “Yeah.”

  “Well, you’re very good at it,” I tease. But it’s true, he is. “Maybe they’ll hire you on full-time.”

  I’ve clearly way overstepped, because his face goes all tight. No more softness, no more light. “Jana…”

  I wave him off. “Ignore me. I’m sorry. None of my business.” I lift the box in the air. “And thanks for this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.

  Flirting with your delivery guy really should come with a manual. I suck at this. I give my best attempt at a bright smile and step back, ready to close the door and pretend that entire awkward mess didn’t really happen.

  But Delivery Guy is smoother than I am. He flips a quick glance at his watch. “Probably twenty-three hours or so until we do this again.”

  “Barring any further technological meltdowns.”

  He laughs. “I think they have some of the best people working to make sure that doesn’t happen, but the countdown to see you again is definitely good motivation to make sure everything is fully back online by the morning.”

  I snicker. “Right. These conversations are—”

  “The best part of my day.” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and I try not to overreact to that, but oh my God. “I gotta go.”

  “Yeah. Bye.”

  A quick wave and he’s gone, and I make myself wait until I’m inside the apartment before I squeal and jump up and down.

  In the kitchen, I open the drawer where the scissors live, and all four cats come running. They know what’s in the box, and they’re not wrong.

  But underneath the now-expected package of cat toys is another box.

  A vibrator.

  Well, a “personal massager” according to the packaging, but come on. We all know what this is for, and oh my God, my friends are perverts.

  Doesn’t mean I’m not going to use it.

  7

  Jana

  Eight days after Thanksgiving

  “You again,” he says with a grin as I open the door. “Sorry it took longer than twenty-three hours. You had three packages, so I left them to the end of my run.” He hands over two boxes, then disappears momentarily. I tuck the first two away on my hall table and toss some catnip mice at the cats.

  When he comes back with the third one, I imagine I can hear the bells jingling inside. I really need to tell Nina she’s achieved her goal, and she can stop spoiling my pets now.

  “I’m really not ordering all of these packages,” I mutter, trying not to blush.

  “Was it your birthday?” He hands over the clipboard and I scrawl my name.

  “I have meddling friends.”

  “Meddling?”

  I can’t tell him I confessed my crush to my friends—maybe ex-friends now—and that’s why I’ve had a steady stream of deliveries over the last week. “It’s a long story.”

  “At least you get presents out of it.” He gives me another grin that makes everything inside tighten up. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, but pretty much everything he does now means something, at least to me.

  Which is as good a reminder as any that I need to keep it real. Light. I shake the box and sure enough, it rattles. “They’re all cat toys. I have weird friends.”

  He flips his clipboard around and leans against the doorframe. “This sounds like a story I need to hear.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  He reaches out and presses his finger to my lips. “You can, and you will.”

  He’s touching me. Everything inside me lights up, electric sparks zinging under my skin. And my heart is like, yes, sir. But my brain is smarter than that, so when I open my mouth, it overrides me telling him the story about my friends. “I don’t even know your name.”

  He grins and traces his finger over my bottom lip and down my cheek, until he catches a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. “It’s Jake.”

  “Jake,” I repeat. “Not Dane.”

  He shakes his head. “Not Dane.” We stare at each other for a second, maybe two, and then he leans in. “Story time.”

  “You sure you don’t have other deliveries to do?”

  “You’re stalling. This must be a good one. And I’ve got all night.”

  I hesitate, but we both know this has been coming. “Do you want to come in?”

  8

  Jake

  As soon as Jana asks me the question, I know I’m done for. Do I want to come in?

  “More than anything,” I say, lightly touching her hand with my fingertips because I can’t fucking help myself.

  I really shouldn’t be touching her.

  But I’m captivated by her wry laugh, her soft mouth, that sweet blush. This woman… This woman. Whose friends clearly love her enough to send her a ridiculous number of packages for some bizarre reason. She’s a woman of secret stories, and I think the parcel parade is just the tip of the iceberg.

  I want to know that story. I want to touch her lips again and a hell of a lot more. I want to hear her laugh because I’m kissing her neck, and then I want to hear her sigh.

  I’ve probably got a couple of hours before they’ll wonder where the hell my truck is. So when she grins and steps back, I follow her inside.

  “Do you want something to drink?” She’s twisting away from me, and I let her go.

  A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I’m good. I want a story, remember?”

  She stops and glances back at me, her hair falling across her forehead. She shoves the glossy waves out of the way. “But it’s mortifying.”

  That makes me laugh out loud. “I once locked myself out of a dorm room in nothing but a pair of yellow ducky slippers. That was mortifying. Your friends suddenly deluging you with cat toys surely doesn’t top that.”

  Her eyes go wide for a second, then she takes a step back as she shrugs her shoulders. “Sure, but that was in your past, when you were young and foolish. This is silliness that’s only a week old. You see the difference.”

  I prowl toward her. “Come on, that didn’t earn me anything?” I gesture down my body, and her gaze tracks right along. “Yellow. Ducky. Slippers.”

  “That is embarrassing,” she whispers.

  I stop two f
eet away from her and put my hands on my hips. Her eyes linger there, too, and when she finally drags her gaze back up to meet mine, her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright.

  “You were totally naked?” Her voice catches on the word naked, and need pulls hard in my gut. Lower. Need to find out what other words she might trip on. Blush about. Get breathless over if I whisper them in her ear.

  “Completely naked.”

  A little flare of her eyes, and she bites her lip before asking, “What did you do?”

  “I went to the bathroom and stole someone’s towel, then went down to the front desk and explained the situation.”

  “What color was the towel?”

  I laugh. “I don’t remember. Blue, maybe.”

  She nods, an urgent little wobble that makes my dick throb. “I like this story a lot.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She hesitates, and the tip of her tongue darts out to swipe her lower lip. “My turn now?”

  “If you’d please.”

  “Wait. Did you return the towel?”

  “Jana.” The word is a warning and a plea rolled together in one.

  “Yes?” She tips her face up, and I realize I’ve moved closer. A lot closer.

  I’m looking down at her, and fuck it. She’s right in front of me, sweet and soft, and I can’t think straight. I brush an imaginary hair off her cheek and behind the curve of her ear.

  She shivers, and like a heavy bass line, need starts to thrum in my blood.

  “Yes, I returned the damn towel. And maybe your story can wait,” I say gruffly, and she nods.

  That’s all I need. One nod, another shiver, and I’ve got her backed up against the kitchen counter. One hand is cupping the nape of her neck and the other blindly finds the curve of her hip.

  I’ve been thinking about her mouth for two weeks.

  The reality is way better than any fantasy I’d gotten hard over. One featherlight brush of my mouth against hers, then her lips part on a little gasp and we slide together effortlessly.