Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue)

by Andrea Randall

“What’s for dinner?”

  “Stir-fried veggies. Chicken for you, tempeh for me. And, Riesling.”

  “Tempeh, huh? What if I’m vegetarian?” He casually placed his hands in his pockets as he walked toward me.

  “You’re not. You had the steak sandwich at lunch. Take a seat in the living room; I’ll bring your food in.” I did my best to hide my grin.

  “You’re good, Harris. OK, hand me the corkscrew.” He grabbed two wine glasses, the wine, the corkscrew, and headed to the living room.

  Over dinner we talked about singing, food, wine, and the music he wanted to play on Saturday. I told him I’d love to hear more of his original work before I brought up the meeting.

  “I’m really sorry about your sister and your parents, Bo. I can’t imagine what a stressful few years it’s been for you.” I looked into my wine and shook my head.

  “Thank you, really, but I’m OK. Rachel struggled more after they died than I did. I went into protection mode and she fell back into drugs for a while.”

  “But she’s okay now?”

  “She is. She’s studying at UNH and devotes as much free time as she can to DROP. She was really a mess the year after our parents died.” He took a deep breath and grabbed my hand. “If I can help one family to not go through what we went through with Rachel, I’ve succeeded.”

  He kissed my hand gently, then stood up and began gathering our dinner dishes.

  “You don’t have to do that.” I started to stand.

  “Sit.” He pointed at the couch. “You made this delicious food. Helping to clean up is the least I can do.”

  He took everything into the kitchen and I heard the faucet run. I waited exactly one minute before heading in after him.

  “You don’t have to rush out, do you?” I asked, pausing in the doorway.

  “Not if you don’t want me to.” He set the wine glasses down and turned toward me.

  “I don’t want you to.” I padded toward him, a feline grin pulling at the corners of my suddenly dry mouth.

  My blood raced faster as the space between us closed. He leaned back with his palms behind him on the edge of the sink, his knuckles white against the counter. He watched me with intense eyes. When I reached him he wrapped his arms around my waist, and I wrapped mine around his neck.

  “How do you do this to me?” I asked as our noses touched.

  He shrugged and smiled, carefully placing a kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “We are doing this,” he interjected between thick kisses down my neck, “and I don’t know how either.”

  “This is so wrong . . .” I wanted to be wrong about that, but I wasn’t.

  “Do you want to stop?” He did stop, waiting for my answer.

  The little voice in my head that tried to remind me why this was wrong choked on the current that hummed between us. In that moment, all reason and responsibility vanished.

  “I don’t want to stop.” I tightened my grip around him and our lips fell into each other.

  Bo pulled away and twirled me around. My back was thankful for the cool release of the granite countertop. He ran his hands down the back of my shorts, stopping where the shorts stopped. His firm hands lifted me to a seated position on the edge of my sink. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, but started to pull them away at the risk of seeming too forward. He countered by grabbing my calves and twisting my legs back to where they’d been before. His body pressed in closer.

  We were silent, staring at each other, searching each other for answers to unasked questions. I sighed as my heart tried to keep pace with the intensity my soul felt. As heat radiated from his body, I craved him more. This time, when his lips met mine, a high pitched sound released from somewhere in the back of my throat; as if I were taken by surprise. My hands wrapped around the bottom of his shirt and I guided it up his chest. He conceded, releasing his arms from around my waist and over his head, dropping the shirt to the floor. He scooped me off of the counter with my legs still around his waist.

  “That way,” I panted as I pointed down the short hallway that held my bedroom.

  “You sure?” He barely pulled his mouth from mine.

  “M-hmm,” was all I could manage as I tried to hold myself together.

  He skillfully opened my bedroom door with one hand, while still holding and kissing me. In that instant I was relieved that I had cleaned my house and made my bed. My deep purple comforter cushioned my back as he lay me down and backed away. I slinked up to the head of the bed and stared at him, but he seemed frozen. I rose to my knees and made my way back to him. My fingers curled around the waistband of his pants and I urged him onto the bed. He pulled back and put his hands on mine.

  “Are you really sure?” His question was infused with rasping want.

  “Are you?”

  “November, I’ve been sure since you caught my eye when I played my first song at Finnegan’s. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

  I pulled my hands away and took off my shirt.

  Those were the last words we spoke. He cupped one hand under my breast as I pulled him onto my bed. I began grinding my hips into his as my body absorbed his weight; neither one of us bothered coming up for air. I shifted my weight to one side and rolled him over, my knees straddled his waist. He was rock hard beneath me. I tossed my bra to the floor and reached for his belt. He moaned beneath my touch, causing my hands to fumble for a second. With his belt on the floor, he slipped out of his pants and rolled me over to take off my shorts. When our underwear found their way to the floor, he reached down for his jeans, searching the pocket.

  I reached blindly to my bedside stand drawer and pulled out a condom. “No, I got it.”

  I was always prepared in the bedroom, but all at once I hoped he didn’t think I made a habit out of this. He smirked as he took the foil from my hands, but ignored my confused look as he set it on the pillow next to me.

  Bo adjusted his position. His torso was on mine and his lower half was off to the side of my body, resting on the bed. His hands were like silk as they massaged my breasts, quickening my breath. I reached for him; I could feel him on the outside of my thigh, but he took my hand and placed it authoritatively on his back as he kissed each one of my nipples. My hips were rising involuntarily against his touch. He traced a line of supple kisses from my breasts to my navel. He did this for an eternity before he rose to meet my mouth. His tongue danced across my lips and I parted them, welcoming him in. This all feels so right. He hooked one arm under my hips, leaving his body over me. I was gloriously pinned to my bed.

  Our tongues got reacquainted as I tried again to reach for him; he stopped my hand for a minute before he gave in, and his tongue quickened its search of mine as I gripped him tightly.

  I want him so badly.

  “Damn.” He pulled away from my mouth, biting his lip with his eyes closed tightly while I glided my hand up and down. He buried his forehead into my shoulder, and tried to control his breathing as I worked faster.

  “I’m not in a hurry,” he breathed as his hand rode up my inner thigh. All the air left my lungs as he expertly manipulated his fingers. I released him and dug my hands into his shoulder blades. He didn’t protest. He didn’t stop. I dragged my fingers across his expansive back and up his neck. My sighs of pleasure were punctuated by the tightening of my fingers through his damp hair.

  Every inch of me bowed in wonder at his attention. He wasn’t in my room for anything quick and meaningless. No, he made that clear as he moved his hands up the length of my body and interlaced his fingers behind my head. I shifted my hips a little so he was positioned between my slightly bent knees. His kiss was enough - more than enough - to make my soul weep in jubilation.

  Any other sexual experience I had up until this point was focused on the intercourse itself, getting there and hurtling through it until a climax on his part, and acting on mine. It was hard to omit a comparison to Adrian, when everything about Bo, and his touch, and his kiss, was so st
aggeringly different. I mattered to Bo; it wasn’t just my body he was trying to please - it was my spirit, my soul, my core.

  “Bo . . .” I turned my face just enough to speak. He pulled his head back and looked at me.

  “Are you OK?” His thumb crossed my lips.

  “Perfect. God . . . Bo . . .I want you.” My body was trembling under him, begging me for a release.

  Bo’s lips turned up at the corners as he reached for the condom that was lying in wait on my other pillow.

  “Are you sure, November?”

  “A hundred percent.” I wound my arm through his and gripped the back of his head, pulling his mouth to mine for a reassuring kiss.

  Bo sat up to roll the condom on. He replanted his hands on either side of my shoulders. My knees rose higher as he kissed me from my ear to my navel once more. I shifted restlessly beneath him, anxious to feel him inside me.

  We moaned simultaneously as he slowly and carefully entered the deepest part of me I could physically offer. It took no time at all to find a rhythm, as if we were made to do this with each other only. I lifted my hips to meet his movement, and he hummed through clenched teeth as he increased his speed and pressure. I braced myself on my headboard as I arched my back.

  “Bo,” I panted as my breath ran out of control.

  He slowed for a minute, studying my face carefully.

  “No. Don’t stop.” I hitched my knees up as I spoke, forcing him deeper in to me.

  “Ahh . . . Ember, Jesus!” He cried out in ecstasy as sweat rained from his forehead, splashing gratuitously across my breasts.

  We resumed our rhythm, and our rise to perfection. He offered all of himself as he

  kissed my neck and chest. He slowed almost to a stop, forcing me to open my eyes; when I did, I saw him staring back at me. His pupils swallowed my form as they worked over me and spoke with ocean blue words. His regard pulled me out from inside myself. He seemed to drink me in - it was invigorating.

  Oh my God. November, you love him.

  My climax began its swell from deep in my body; I released the headboard and dug my hands into his tight back once more. His pace resumed, and I kept my hips moving beneath him until I felt all the muscles tense across his rock hard torso. He was close. I sat up, and with skillful expertise I rolled him beneath me. The surprised look on his face nearly sent me over the edge, but I maintained my grip on reality. I clasped his wrists above his head and slowly rode him as my tongue hunted through his mouth. I carried his hands to my hips and he responded dutifully, guiding me up and down. His fingers buried into my hips as he moved me faster. I wanted to bring him there. I drew my knees out as far as they would go, forcing him as deep inside me as he could be. I was there.

  “Bowan!” I wailed as my insides tightened around him.

  “Oh my god, Ember, I’m…ahh.” He heaved beneath me.

  My climax carried on to a foreign destination as I leaned back. Bo placed his hands on the front of my thighs, quickening his hips beneath me. He flipped me onto my back, and in another minute he was pulsing through me with audible satisfaction.

  He carefully slid out of me and drew his forehead down my body as his heart jumped through his chest.

  “Fuck,” he said into my stomach, “I’ve never felt . . .”

  “Yea,” I tried to catch my breath, “me either.”

  You love him. You are holy-shit in love with him.

  Chapter Seven

  I’d slept so heavy, that the sunlight blazing through my window at 6:45am startled me. Did I really sleep through the whole night, naked, with Bo in my bed? Or, worse, had I dreamt it all?

  I jumped up and took inventory of my surroundings. Bo’s shoes were tucked under my bedside stand, and his jeans lay on the floor where I’d tossed them. I paused for a moment and breathed in the memory. Never had anyone looked at me with so much intention, or given me so much attention. My body held more memories. I felt him from head to toe; I had never felt this way before. Words I swore I wouldn’t use carelessly again - not since Adrian - pushed against my gated teeth. Despite their silence, their presence tore through my veins. It was all too heavy to evaluate at such an early hour.

  A clink of glass in my kitchen startled me back to reality and I suddenly smelled coffee. I hustled over to my dresser and threw on an oversized t-shirt. I was about to head out of the bedroom, when I heard feet cautiously approaching my room. I gasped internally as he entered my room. Morning did him justice; his “morning after” hair was a perfect mess of wild ebony set against his light skin, and he wore only his boxer briefs. It was the only cup o’ Joe I needed.

  “Did I wake you?” He seemed startled to see me standing there.

  “No, not at all. For a minute, I thought you’d left.” I swayed back to the bed and hitched myself against the headboard, drawing my knees to my chest.

  “What made you think I’d leave?” He flashed concern as he handed me a warm mug of coffee.

  “I’m just surprised I slept so heavily. I’m glad you didn’t leave. How’d you know how to fix my coffee?”

  “I saw the creamer in your fridge and took a guess.” He smirked as he slid next to me and mimicked my position.

  I sipped my perfectly made coffee, closed my eyes, and smiled again at the memory of last night. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling too. He turned slightly and, for the first time, I caught a glimpse of his perfectly sculpted back in the daylight - and that tattoo I’d meant to investigate. Between his shoulders, starting at the base of his neck and running to the bottom of his shoulder blades was a huge Celtic cross. It was intricately decorated, all in black, and read like a topographical map over each one of his muscles.

  “Wow, that’s gorgeous.” I reached out and barely touched it, waiting for his approval.

  “Thanks, I got it after my parents died. Their initials are in the center.”

  He shifted so his back was square to me, and stayed quiet as I traced my fingers up the cross and landed on the initials S.C. and V.C. I rested my hand there for a beat, trying to picture what it would be like if my parents were gone - taken from me at the same time. These shoulders have carried so much . . .

  “Do you have any?” He turned back around.

  “What, you didn’t get a good enough look last night?” I joked.

  “Ha. Well, not at your back.” He winked as he leaned in for a kiss.

  “Well, I don’t - yet. I’ll get one, but I’m waiting till something calls out to me.” I smiled thinking of all the times my parents suggested I get a tattoo.

  “I had a great time last night,” I said, breaking the silence that draped comfortably between us.

  “I did too. It was more than great, Ember . . .”

  Jesus, my body was already responding to his voice. And, Ember sounded just as great coming from his mouth as November did. He could probably call me “bar stool”, I realized, and I wouldn’t care. He just needed to be the one saying it.

  “Listen, you should know I don’t usually do this sort of thing. I just - it just felt so right with you.” I found myself looking at him out of the corner of my eye, hiding behind my coffee.

  “Hey, I don’t think anything bad, Ember. I don’t usually do this either.” He set his coffee down.

  “Look,” he continued, “I feel a little nuts here. I mean, I’m here for business, I decided to play at Finnegan’s to pass some time and, damn it, in you walk. When we sang together I felt like I knew all I needed to know about you, but I wanted more. Then you were at the meeting . . .” Tension made quick work of filling my room.

  “Don’t do that.” I put my coffee down and faced him, my legs crossed. “I’m still here. You’re still here. We’ve got this week. I felt the same things when we met, Bo. I had to force myself to pull away from you after our first kiss. I thought it was a dream; this couldn’t be happening at some bar that I’ve been to every weekend for the last four years. But it did - you did.”

  I pressed my hand into his cheek. He lean
ed into it, kissing my wrist as I spoke. “Can we just enjoy this week and weekend and just see where it takes us? That’s what you said yesterday, right? If our agencies end up working together, we’ll sort out whatever needs to be at that time.” I tried to sound positive, but the thought of only seven days left weighed heavily on my words. There would be no way we could carry on like this if we were coworkers.

  “God, could you be any more perfect?” He whispered as he reached for my face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, perfect. You’re smart, driven, you sing, and last night . . .” a grin overcame him, “last night was amazing.” He looked up at me, his eyes still dancing with excitement.

  “I’ve never felt anything like that before, Bo.”

  Suddenly my room felt like it’d been transported south of the Equator. My palms began to sweat and I felt like my shirt was made of wool. I wanted him even more than I did last night.

  Bo leaned forward, kissing me deeply with little regard for morning breath. Thankfully I’d at least sipped my coffee, but I realized I didn’t notice at all - I just loved his taste. He pressed me back into the bed with kisses so soft it was as if he worried I would crack beneath his weight. So, naturally, the phone rang.

  “Ugh, it’s probably Monica,” I said as I absentmindedly reached for my phone. I let out a grumble when I saw the number.

  “What?” Bo laughed.

  “It’s her.” I rolled my eyes. “We didn’t talk about my plans for last night. This is as long as she could contain herself.”

  Bo’s smile faded, but I waved it off.

  “Hey Mon, what’s up,” I answered, maybe a little to blasé.

  “What’s up? Do you mean after the Spencer revelation yesterday you two didn’t get together last night?” She sounded annoyed, and I pictured her arms folded with a tapping foot.

  “Monica. It’s fine. Look, we’ll talk about it when I get to work, okay?” She’ll see right through it.

  “November Blue Harris, is Bo Cavanaugh in your apartment right now?” A fifteen-year-old girl took over her voice.