Page 33 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“It’s not?”
He laughs, a bark of sarcasm. “Don’t you feel how hard it is for me?”
I grind against him. “Boy, do I ever.”
He growls. “Don’t do that. I’m barely controlling myself right now, Imogen.” He sighs. “It can’t be like this, rushed out of desperation.”
“I don’t mind admitting I feel a little desperate, Jesse,” I say, reluctantly letting go of his amazing ass.
“Yeah, me too.” He laughs. “Okay, I’ve got to go. For real.”
I wait, but he doesn’t move, his hands still resting on my waist, just above my hips. “Jesse?”
He growls, backing away. “Go hide in the bathroom or something.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Absolutely.” He steps backward and waves a hand at me, gesturing from head to toe. “You, in that? How the hell am I supposed to voluntarily walk away when you’re standing there looking like that and all but begging me to do all sorts of dirty, wicked things to you?”
I feel a thrill bolt through me—flattered pride and renewed confidence. I have a pink terrycloth bathrobe hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door; I take the robe off the hook and put it on, cinching it tight, obscuring my body from throat to calves.
“There. Better?” I ask, gripping the edges of the robe to keep from grabbing him again.
He snorts. “No, of course not. Covering up your beautiful body is a goddamn travesty, but at least now I can make myself leave.” He turns to leave, but once again halts in the doorway; this time, though, he stays facing away from me. “Next time you feel compelled to tease me like that, you’d better be prepared for me to lose all my control. Because I just used every last ounce of self-control I have where you’re concerned.”
“Maybe next time I won’t be wearing anything under the scrubs,” I hear myself say.
“Goddammit, Imogen,” he growls. “What are you trying to do, woman? Kill me?”
“Sorry, sorry,” I say. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
His eyes narrow. “I haven’t even fucking started bringing out the worst in you.”
“Go,” I breathe, “before I do anything else rash.”
And so he goes.
And when he’s gone—really gone, his truck rumbling around the corner and out of sight—I strip off the robe and the underwear and throw myself onto my bed.
What the hell has gotten into me? What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m never this bold, never. Even with Lee, I wasn’t like this. I would go along with what he wanted, but it was always his idea, I just went along with it. Eagerly, willingly, voraciously—but none of the wild or daring stuff was ever my idea or at my instigation.
God, I have to be losing my mind.
I’ve clearly gone too long without sex and it’s warped my mind and rotted out my inhibitions and better sense.
I DO NOT KNOW JESSE AT ALL, I remind myself.
Yet I’ve stuck my tongue down his throat, he’s had a glimpse at my bare hoo-ha, I strip-teased for him down to my underwear, let him grab my ass, and grabbed his. I really have all but begged him to…
Well…
Fuck me six ways to Sunday, that’s what.
And I don’t know him.
Do I even know his last name? I don’t think I do.
I’m crazy.
This is stupid and crazy and irresponsible and reckless and even if I am officially divorced and single, getting involved with a guy right now is probably a bad idea.
A really, really bad idea.
If I had any sense I would call Audra and get her to talk some sense into me. Although, to be honest, she’d probably tell me I hadn’t gone far enough.
But, back to Jesse. Jesse is…
Too much.
There has to be a flaw somewhere.
Because, honestly, I’ve never met anyone so hot, so skilled, so kind and generous, and so funny and easy to hang around with, and a great kisser, and his hands are so strong and… I’d put up with a whole lot of things for a guy like him.
That sends a blast of cold water through me.
Because that thought was a long-term kind of thought. A getting attached kind of thought.
But…how can I not get attached when he does the things he does for me, when he says the things he says to me, when he kisses me the way he just kissed me?
Not once, but twice.
Those hands on my butt? His hands are big and strong, so even my big juicy ass fits perfectly in them. I wonder where else his hands fit?
Sliding up my stomach, cupping my breasts? Thumbs flicking my nipples?
I let my hands be guided by my imagination, pretending my hands are Jesse’s. I cup my tits, flick my nipples until they’re hard as diamonds and sending bolts of intense sensation through my whole body. And then I let one hand drift down between my thighs, to my tense, wet core. God, I’m so turned on I don’t even need my vibrator. Half a dozen slow circles of my fingers around my clit and I’m gasping, wishing they were his hands, his fingers. Better yet, his tongue…
