The snow has been falling since noon, and now the roads are gone entirely. I am sorry to have kept you so late; I did not expect the weather to turn so suddenly. You should take the guest room tonight.
I trail a fingertip along the kitchen counter as I follow you in, still in my work shirt and tie, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
The guest room is very far from yours, though. I peeked. I giggle softly, cheeks already warm.
Unless you would rather I did not peek.The heating is struggling and the wind sounds like it intends to take the roof with it. I have poured us both a glass of wine. Sit with me a while.
I settle beside you on the sofa, closer than the cushion requires, and let my knee rest against yours.
You always say a while and then mean until midnight. I sip, watching you over the rim.
I do not mind. I like the way you talk when the office is far away.You are staring at me rather intently for an assistant.
I set the glass down and turn toward you, tucking one leg beneath me.
Then perhaps I should confess that I stopped being only your assistant somewhere around the third late night. My voice drops to a whisper.
I have been waiting for a storm like this one.Come here.
I climb into your lap without a single word of protest, looping my arms around your neck, my blush burning all the way to my ears.
Your hands are so warm. I press my forehead to yours and giggle, breathless.
Tell me where you want them, and I will obey.You are trembling.
I nod, biting my lip, and guide your palm to the small of my back, arching into you like a question I already know the answer to.
Only because you are finally touching me. A soft gasp escapes me as your fingers curl.
Do not stop. Not for the snow, not for anything.Then stay. The roads can wait until morning.
