Often (Book Two)

Chapter 3

Hanni

I'd had big plans for tonight: make dinner, eat dinner together, finally decide which apartment we were going to rent in New York, discuss what to keep from both her place and mine, figure out when in the hell we'd find time to pack it all in the first place.

Oh, and spend the remaining eight hours relearning every inch of my bastard's body. Twice.

But that itinerary was before she'd walked through the door of her house to find me cooking dinner in her kitchen. Before she'd tossed her jacket and keys to the couch and practically sprinted across the room. Before she pulled me back against her and sucked at the skin below my ear as if she hadn't tasted me in weeks.

Needless to say, the plan had been downsized dramatically.

One: dinner.

Two: naked.

Even so, Minji seemed inclined to skip steps.

"We're never going to eat at this rate," I said, tilting my head back as she kissed along my neck. Her warm breath curled over my skin and the knife I'd been holding clattered to the cutting board.

"And?" she whispered, pressing her hips to my ass before turning me to face her.

The cabinets Were hard against my back. Minji was harder against my front. She bent down, towering over me without the benefit of my shoes, and brushed her lips over my throat.

"And . . ." I mumbled. "Food is overrated."

She laughed softly, hands skimming my sides to rest at my hips. "Exactly. And God, it feels like I haven't touched you in weeks."

"This afternoon," I corrected, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "It was this afternoon, you know—when I sucked you off at your desk?"

"Oh, yes. I seem to remember something like that. It's a little hazy, though. Perhaps you could refresh my memory . . . tongue, cock . . ."

"Nice mouth, Kim. Does your mother know you're such a pig?"

She barked out a laugh. "If the way she looked at us after we fucked in the coatroom at my cousin's wedding in February is any indication, then yes."

"I hadn't seen you in two weeks!" I said, feeling my cheeks warm. "Don't look so smug, you ass."

"But I'm your ass," she said, and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. "Don't pretend like you don't love it." I couldn't argue. Minji might have spent more time out of Chicago than in it lately, but she was all mine. She never left any doubt about that. "And speaking of asses"—she reached down and squeezed mine, hard—"the things I'm going to do to yours tonight . . ."

I started to reply—to argue or say something smart in return that would put me back in the verbal driver's seat—but I couldn't think of anything.

"Jesus. You've been stunned silent," she said, eyes wide in surprise. "If I'd known that's all it'd take to get a little peace and quiet, I'd have brought it up ages ago."

"I . . . um." I opened and closed my mouth a few times but nothing came out. This was new. When the oven timer cut through the air, I forced myself to pull away, still a little off balance.

I pulled the bread from the oven and drained the pasta, feeling Minji move up behind me again. She hooked her chin over my shoulder, wrapped her arms around my waist.

"You smell so good," she said. Her mouth went back to work on my neck, as her hands began a slow descent down to the hem of my skirt. I was more than a little tempted to let her finish.