Page 80 of Take Me Home

Soon, his teasing at her nipple turned aimless as he rocked his hips, pushing himself into her grip. Even his mouth fell away when his breathing turned ragged. He curled over her, their chests touching, their wrists and hands brushing with each pull and thrust. He was right there, almost where she wanted him, so tantalizingly close. His weight now resting more heavily on her, fingers still filling her, pushing deep while she ground hard against the heel of his palm, their bodies simulating what they were barely not doing, she could imagine the real thing, and she broke.

With a sharp cry, she buried her face into his neck, and somehow, in the midst of his own quickening, unsteady thrusts, he cradled the back of her head so sweetly, holding her to him. He saw her through it, her body shuddering, and then he followed, falling against her and groaning her name.

Chapter

Eighteen

“This is my best sandwich,” Hazel said, dropping his mother’s apron around her neck.

When she reached back for the ties, Ash pushed her hands away and knotted them for her. He lingered, sliding his palms over her hips. She gathered her hair to twist it into a bun, and he bent to kiss the back of her neck. He could do this now, see a part of her he wanted to touch and do it.

Less than an hour ago, in the barn, before his shaky breaths calmed, before the full-body shudder leveled back out, reality had flooded in—the cold, sawdust-covered table beneath Hazel’s bare butt, the rusty wrench that had clattered down by his feet, and the mess between them, his fingers still curled inside her, her hand still loosely gripping him. He might have joked about the cringey convenience of blue, industrial strength paper towels within reach above the workbench, but he was still coming down, still too cracked open to say a word before he tore one off and set about cleaning them both up.

Had it ever been like this, after? This fragile feeling, like he’d break if she breathed a certain way? He couldn’t remember. But then, he couldn’t remember aduringlike they’d just had, either. Never had he felt so desperate to worship every inch of a partner before he chased his own need. And then, Hazel had demandedreciprocity—not a plea for her own pleasure but forhis, for himto fall apart with her—and the vulnerability in her eyes had snapped something in him, whatever final thread of restraint had allowed him to savor her while keeping himself at bay. All of this with only his hands and his mouth. How would it be when they managed to get where they both so desperately wanted to go?

Hazel had let him wipe at her stomach, sighing contentedly back against the pegboard.

“Sorry,” he muttered, self-conscious when she took over with a fresh paper towel.

“For what? That was…” She shook her head slowly, abandoning the search for words. She bit into one side of her kiss-swollen lip to stop a grin, and the gesture was so sweet and reassuring, he wanted to thumb her mouth free so he could see the full force of her smile.

Instead, he zipped up his pants and searched for the rest of their clothes.

“Now thatthat’sout of the way,” Hazel said, “whose barn is this?”

Ash was grateful for the question, light, pushing them straight past any awkwardness. He pulled his T-shirt back on, keeping his body half turned in case she needed privacy. “Travis and Derek’s.”

He heard her hop down off the table, her zip rise. “Okay, now I’m certain we could have found condoms in here.”

“But we would have had to stop what we were doing.”

She made a sound of reluctant agreement and touched his shoulder, prompting him to turn. She took her clothes from his hands. “Rain check, though. Right?”

She was so goddamned pretty, swollen lips, unruly hair, skin still flushed from her cheeks down to her— Ash had to physically retreat to keep from escalating things again. “Absolutely.”

Now, she was preparing to make him a sandwich in his kitchen, and he was almost dizzy with the fact that he got to be with her here, like this, unfiltered, unrestrained, so achinglycasual. He was most at home here—a thought that made him huff a laugh against her skin. Of course he felt at home, it was his literal home. But it was more than that. Shebelongedhere.

“So, tell me about your best sandwich.”

“It’s not that fancy,” she warned, setting a skillet onto the stove. She broke their contact as she fetched things from the fridge and their grocery bags, and he gave her space, leaning back against the counter.

“Don’t downplay it now, Hazel.”

“I shouldn’t have built it up.”

“My expectations are very high.”

“You’re the worst.”

He nodded solemnly. “Can I help?”

“No. The main thing going for it is that it’s unexpected. So, if you watch, it’ll lose its mystery.”

Ash laughed. “Okay, but just know that this is still a lot of buildup.”

“Do you want to…” She spread butter across four slices of bread, and he felt how intentionally she didn’t look at him. “Do you want to stand over there and not watch me cook and finish what you were saying before? About the golf balls?”

Earlier, once they’d dressed, and he’d returned the golf balls, club, and nearly empty bottle of whiskey to their place in the corner of the barn, she’d asked, “So hitting that oil pump is something you guys do for fun?”

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