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“What?”
“How do you taste?”
“What do you mean?”
My hand fists my confined cock as my mouth waters at the memory of her taste. Swallowing it down, I drag in a breath before I tell her, “Suck your wet fingers clean, and tell me how you taste.”
There’s a trembled gasp as I imagine her coy innocence tingeing her cheeks a deeper shade of pretty. Then I hear her hum followed by the low pop and release of her fingers from her lips.
“Tell me, Angel. How do you taste?”
There’s a pause, before she states, “Yours. I taste like I’m yours.”
Goddamn! “Now that’s hot. So damn—”
“Shit!” Her curse makes me pause. There’s an urgent call of her name before she tells me, “I’m gonna call you back later. Is that okay?”
“Call me anytime, sweetheart. Any fucking time.”
“When I get home. It’ll be morning for you.”
We say everything but goodbye before we end the call, and I like it that way. I never want to say goodbye to her. I hate the thought of ending or pressing pause on us, even if it’s just on a phone call or for a couple weeks. I’d rather always leave us open and ready for all the possibilities that come our way.
It’s been the longest three weeks of my life. But the second I touched down in Silverbell again, it felt like coming home. I’ve never had that feeling of belonging somewhere, something constantly pulling me back to a specific place. It’s always been about the next race and the next podium that will take me closer to another championship. However, as I walk into the busy pub, none of that matters. It’s a faraway thought.
The only thing in my sight is the pretty redhead behind the bar. The golden glow of the lights gives her skin an ethereal luster that halos around her while I slip into one of the booths tucked away to the side of the bar. Rosie looks every bit as gorgeous as I recall in a pair of loose shorts and a unicorn slogan t-shirt. Her normally wavy hair is silky straight, curtaining her face every time she pours a drink or checks her phone. It’s funny how one person can turn your entire being upside down, flip it on its head, so that your priorities change.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I wait for a calm moment before I call her cell. It takes a few rings until she answers, a broad smile cutting her face. One that scrunches her nose in that adorable way that makes my chest squeeze.
“Hotshot.”
“Angel.”
“Are you in Texas already?” Rosie checks and looks up at the large nautical clock behind her. “You’re not meant to land for another couple hours.”
One of the patrons waves her down, while she takes his order, I ask, “Do you miss me?”
Spinning to pour a draft pint, she grins with her phone pinched between her shoulder and ear. “Of course not.”
Even from where I’m sitting, I can see the vibration of her chest as she snickers quietly. But still, there’s a slight frown that pinches at the corners of her mouth.
“It’s not what your face is saying, sweetheart.”
“You can’t see my face or what my face is saying.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep,” she chuckles, handing the guy his beer before collecting a few empty glasses that litter the bar and then moving on to the tables around it. “How’s the Texas heatwave treating you?”
I wait until she’s close, her back turned to my booth before I make my move. While she’s leaning over one of the tables, talking to the patrons, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her to me. Her back slams into my chest as I tuck my face to the side of her neck. “I wouldn’t know.”
A gasp of surprise draws her deeper into me. “You’re here?”
“I am.” I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with her sweet scent as I spin her to face me.
“But I thought…you…you said you had to go straight to Texas?”
“I did, but I also told you I was coming back, I promised.” Soft eyes flutter as her hands mold to my face. “I’m many things, but above all, I’m a man of my word.” Pausing to savor the moment as I hitch her up my body, I nudge her nose with mine. “And I missed you,” I whisper over her lips. “Too damn much, Angel.”
