Page 121 of Falling for Mr. October

I squeeze her thighs, then head to the fridge to get the cheese and butter.

“He really has a love life?”

“He’s interested in Judy from The Rotten Apple,” I say as I start buttering the bread.

Bianca watches me with an expression of wonder. “How do you know more about the people in this town than I do?”

“I doubt that’s true, but people like to talk to me. They always have. But I have to say, poor O’Connor isn’t much good at talking to anyone. He said he had a question for her and then asked if she regularly serviced her car. The next thing I knew, I was offering to make them a picnic.”

She shakes her head slowly, still smiling at me as if I’m some puzzle she can’t work out. “You’re pretty wonderful, Mr. October. This town isn’t going to know what to do without you.”

“I wasn’t much of anything before I got crowned King of October.”

“You were,” she says flatly, as if she’ll accept no counterarguments on this one. “You listened to the wrong person is all.”

I start to tell her about seeing Whit and my plan to find out who’s on the judging panel for the bake-off, but she slides down from the counter.

“I thought we had an agreement,” I protest as I position the sandwich on the hot pan.

“I just changed the terms.”

I groan when she gets down on her knees in front of me. “I’m going to see if I can make you come before you finish making that sandwich.”

“Bianca. I don’t know if I can⁠—”

She looks at me through her lashes as she reaches for the waistband of my favorite gray sweatpants and pulls them down. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, Giovanni.”

I was hard before, but something about the way she says it—like she means it, and also like a super fucking hot guidance counselor—makes me even harder. Then she wraps her hand around my ass and licks her way down my jutting dick like it’s a popsicle on a hot day.

I swear as I flip the sandwich, hoping it gets golden brown really quickly. I can already tell I’m not going to have much in the way of staying power tonight.

She sucks in the tip of my dick, swirling her tongue around it, and I can barely breathe, it feels so good. More so because she’s kneeling before me while I’m making her dinner. There’s something so deliciously domestic about it, as if I’m taking care of my wife, not the woman who said she’d only be mine for the month.

And that’s the thought in my head as she takes me further, sucking me down before pulling away and coming down for more.

I lower a hand to her hair, needing to touch her, to show her how much I worship her, and my hand forms a fist. I don’t want to hurt her—couldn’t bear to—so I make sure my grip is loose.

“God, you’re beautiful. Sei perfetta.”

She meets my gaze as she takes me deeper again, her tongue swirling around me, her hair in my grip, and I feel an almost painful longing for the woman who has my dick in her mouth. Because remembering this won’t be enough for me. I don’t want to lose her. The thought of losing her is impossibly painful.

I’m marveling at the intensity of my need when I remember I’m making her a sandwich, and I will not burn my girl’s sandwich. No fucking way.

I flip it, even as she runs her teeth lightly down the side of my dick, barely a whisper but enough to send sensation flooding through me, and when she sucks me down again, her hand flexing against my ass, I’m a goner.

“Bianca, I’m going to come,” I say softly, strained, not wanting the nonnas to storm in here. “You can stop.”

She shakes her head and tightens her grip on my ass, her mouth lifting slightly before lowering again, the suction even stronger, and I come down her throat.

She swallows, and the sight nearly makes me hard again as she pulls away and tugs my sweatpants up. There’s a satisfied smile on her face as she rises to her feet, like she knows how gone I am for her, and she likes it.

Good. I hope she loves it.

“Is my sandwich ready?” she asks.

“What’s a sandwich?” I ask, as I flip it onto the waiting plate.

Her smile stretches wider.