Page 62 of Rebel Bride
Hatch
* * *
I was pretty damn happy and it wasn’t even about the sex.
Okay, the sex was a big part of it. I wanted more sex with Summer because I suspected it was going to be amazing. All of the interactions so far had been: the kiss, the hood, even my early fucking arrival. However, if full-on, fist-the-bedsheets, break-the-bed sex wasn’t on the table, I would still have been thrilled.
Because I was connecting with this woman in a way I’d never connected with anybody. Whenever I thought of the reasons why this was a bad idea—Carter, Carter, and what’s that you say? Carter?—a rain cloud zoomed in and dumped a shit-ton of water on my Summer-filled head. So I raised a metaphorical umbrella, put on a mental windbreaker, and blocked it the fuck out.
Summer had shared with me her fears, her insecurities, things that made her relationship with Carter clearer. It didn’t fix the fact that he was my teammate, but it gave me more clarity about her.
That was all I needed.
The drive home was about ten minutes, and we spent it sharing goofy smiles and linking fingers. I was holding hands with Summer Landry and heading home to spend the night with her. Maybe more …
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
As soon as we parked in the driveway, we turned and looked at each other. The lightheartedness of before had vanished, leaving gravity in its wake.
I broke the silence. “Would you?—”
“Yes.”
“How about?—”
“Definitely.”
We exited and circled the hood—ah, memories—to meet in front of the car. She still wore my shirt, but no bikini so her sweet, suckable nipples poked against the thin fabric. Her shorts, the ones that belonged to my great-grandmother, hung loose on her hips. That should have made it weird, yet I had never wanted anything more.
Instinctively we moved into each other’s arms and kissed, the force of our melding like a flash fire throughout my body. After embarrassing myself tonight, I knew I had to pace this better. First, privacy. Second, a bed. Assuming I could make it.
I would make it.
I scooped her up, loving the sexy gasp she expelled, and loving even more the raised eyebrow she gave me as I walked around the side of the cottage, the pool house my goal.
“Show-off,” she murmured as she applied gentle kisses to my cheekbones and nose and eyelids (one at a time, thankfully, so I didn’t trip). The house was unlocked, which was probably not the most sensible, but I was sure as hell glad of it now. I would stand for no barriers.
Once inside, I moved toward the bedroom on the first floor. Finally, I lay her down, but I didn’t let her go. Parting from her seemed like the worst idea, so I lay over her, cupped her sweet ass and wrapped her leg around my hip.
“How long do you think you’ll last this time?”
I shut my eyes. Smiled. Opened them again.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope. As a first-time story, it’s one for the books.” A first-time story. As if we were building a history here, with that hood fumble as one of the building blocks. “I might even have to invent a nickname for you,” she added.
“No nicknames. I have enough nicknames.”
“Right. Dino Boy. Boat Boy.” She thought on it, though not for long. “Maybe Minute Man or Hatch the … Flash! You’ll need to show me a hundred more orgasms before you make me forget The Hot Hood Chronicles.”
“Think I can manage that. If you let me.” I kneeled up and peeled off my T-shirt, forcing the laugh to die on her lips.
“You are something else, Hatch Kershaw.” She leaned up on her elbows and shrugged off the shirt. I helped with her shorts, then kicked off my own.
Brushing a hand over my cotton-clad erection, she curled a finger in the waistband and pulled me toward her.
“You don’t have to take it slow,” she said, clearly pitying me for my earlier performance.
