Page 73 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
He kisses me, and yet again he proves to me why I’ve fallen so hard for him—he can kiss me stupid, kiss me until I’m gaga and breathless and helpless and boneless and absolutely stupid.
“It’s never gonna end, Nova,” he whispers back.
Chapter 14
I sit on the bed and wait.
Naked, aching from almost coming but not, needing more of James, racked with irrational fear that he won’t come back. I sit on my bed and wait. I run through ridiculous scenarios in my head—he gets in a car accident, he changes his mind, a robber holds up the drugstore while James is there and James tries to play the hero and gets killed…each one more stupid than the last.
He’s been gone less than five minutes, but I miss him so bad it hurts—an agony in my chest, a need in my gut…in my core. I taste him in my mouth.
I have a thought, and immediately act on it.
I have a lingerie set in my underwear drawer—brand new, still with the tags on. I had an idea of splurging on lingerie in an attempt to make myself feel sexy, but after trying it on, I just felt dumb. What’s the point of lingerie if no one but me will see? So I find the set and tear the tags off. I put it on, and admire myself in the mirror. Expensive pushup bra, see-through white lace, with matching thong panties. All but naked, just covered enough to be sexy, all my assets on display. Goddamn, I do look hot.
I go into the bathroom and rip a brush through my hair until it’s smooth and tangle free, running a hair dryer over it until it’s less damp and my natural curls pop out a little. Not as good as it can look when I spend forty-five minutes drying and brushing and curling, but not bad for two minutes. Then I put on makeup—minimal, just a touch of eyeliner and lipstick to bring out my eyes and make my lips look pouty and red.
I hear my truck in the driveway, and then James’s distinctive heavy tread clomping on the back porch. I feel a thrill sizzle through me, feel a renewed jolt of need as I hear James in the kitchen, then in the hall.
I sit on my bed and try to pose without looking like I’m posing. James halts in the doorway, a giant box of magnum condoms in one hand, and a single red rose in the other. My alarm clock says he’s been gone seven minutes.
He looks up as he leans against the doorframe, and when he sees me his eyes widen and his jaw drops open. “Holy motherfucking shit, Nova.”
I can’t help but actually vibrate with excitement at his presence, and thrill at the awe in his voice. “Hi,” I murmur.
He tosses the box of condoms onto the bed and prowls with wolfish, predatory grace toward me, thick arms swinging at his sides, stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt, muddy jeans hanging low on his bare hips, the zipper straining. His eyes are deep and dark and afire with need.
“Jesus.” His voice is ragged, gravelly. “I musta died and gone to heaven, ’cause you look like a fuckin’ angel, Nova.”
I can only smile. I don’t know what to say.
He crooks a finger at me. “C’mere, sweet thing.”
I stand up and go to him. Rough, strong hands close around my face, thumbs ever so gently brushing my cheekbones. His warm brown eyes invite me to see into his soul, to explore the depths of his heart. His breath comes in hoarse, shallow gulps, almost grunts, as if restraining his primal need for me requires all of his reserves of strength. I gaze up at him, tangle my fingers in his beard and pull him closer, taste his breath, steal it for my own. His fingers trace and traipse across my shoulders, down the serpentine column of my spine, exploring each vertebra in turn, dancing with a fiery, sprightly gentility over my flesh. I keep my fingers in his beard and nip at his lips, demanding the ravishing kisses I’ve come to expect from him—the dizzying, mind-melting, panty-wetting kisses that make me shiver and shudder and whimper…
Oh, yes. There’s the kiss, his mouth slanting across mine, his breath hot and his tongue insistent. One huge hand spreads open and carves over my lower back, fingertips grazing centimeters above the lace of my underwear, and his kisses ravage me, leave me gasping into his mouth, whispering his name in awe of the crackling energy coursing between us, the connection he’s opening himself to, finally—letting his heart and soul reach out, blossom and seek mine like the fragile shoots of a flower reaching for the bright heat of the sun. I feel him—his soul tangling and wrapping around mine, in this kiss.
