Page 223 of Breaking the Rules

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God, I want that.

I want that as much as I want to tear off his clothes.

And I really want to tear off his clothes.

I try to focus on the modern kitchen.

It's all stainless steel and high-end appliances.

Gas stove.

Enormous fridge.

High pressured sink.

Dishwasher.

Actual dishwasher.

God, I can see this. Making pancakes with Kaylee. Making dinner while she sits on the couch.

Or with Hunter helping chop and dice.

And sliding his arms around my waist. Setting his head into the crook of my neck. Pulling me close and kissing me like he'll never get enough.

I slide onto the counter. Press my knees together. Suck a breath through my teeth.

It does nothing to clear my head of delicious mental images.

It only makes them more vivid.

Be patient, Em. Wait for him to come to you.

But, God, he looks so good in that white t-shirt.

Those jeans slung low around his waist.

Those blue eyes fixed on me.

I can afford to push him a little.

I have to push him a little.

"Can you help me with something?" I press my lips together.

He moves closer. "Here?"

"Yeah." I spread my knees about six inches. My skirt is tight around my thighs. It's not exactly afuck me on the counterskirt.

Unless he slides it to my waist.

And peels my panties to my ankles.

And…

"With?" He moves closer. Closer. Until he's standing in front of me.

"I have to see if this place is the right height."

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