Page 95 of Naughty November

“Yes.”

He writes on my skin again, covering my back with words.

“Jools.”

“Mm?”

“Move in with me.”

I suck in a breath. I’ve been anticipating this question since he wrote ‘stay’ on my skin.

“You need somewhere to live. I have a spare room. I don’t want to give it to anyone else.”

“We’ve never lived together before.”

“So? No one has until they do.”

I smirk. “I might have awful habits you don’t know about.”

“Do you?”

I think about that. “No. You know them all.”

He kisses my nape. “Exactly. I know you, Jools. You know me. Stay.”

My heart does a giddy loop-the-loop. “Okay.”

He writes something across the small of my back.

“What are you writing?”

“Our story.”

I raise my eyebrows and turn my head so I can see him from the corner of my eyes. “Our story?”

“Yes. I’m no poet, so don’t expect a sonnet or a love song.”

“I don’t need a sonnet or a love song. Anything you write will be beautiful.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it will come from the heart.”

He sighs and kisses a path down my spine. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Let’s never miss each other again.”

“Never.”

He puts the pen down, wraps me in his arms, and spoons around me. I put my hand over his and reach back to stroke his soft, fine hair.

“Do you want to shower?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to risk losing the words he’s written. Not yet. “Will you write on me again?”

He nuzzles my neck. “Whenever you want me to.”