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I don’t sleep around and just kiss willy-nilly. But I have kissed enough guys to know that they don’t hold a candle to this man.
Everett’s lips taste like cinnamon and his skin smells like pine trees and his hands are callused as they hold my face, but somehow they don’t feel rough against my skin. They feel worn and welcome.
I melt into this kiss. Leaning over this wooden table, it could be awkward. But it isn’t. Something about Everett is so self-assured, so self-reliant. He didn’t ask to kiss me. He didn’t tiptoe around what he wanted. He took it. Plain and simple.
And I like it.
Our lips part, his tongue presses in against mine, full of heat and wanting. My belly flutters; nothing about me is cold anymore. Everett swept me away from the blizzard and brought me inside. Now I’m burning up.
“Evie,” he whispers between kisses, his breath warm on my neck, then hot against my ear. “I never knew a piece of paper could turn me on so fucking much.”
I smile, turning my head as his tongue tickles my ear. “Just wait till you see what I can do with my hands.”
He laughs, that low gravelly laugh.
“Show me then,” he says. “Show me what your hands can do.”
That’s when I decide I’m going to take this mountain man at his word. There’s not going to be any coy questions about what happens next, no nervous looks considering what both of us clearly want.
This is happening.
Still, I can’t help but tell him the truth, that his kisses caught me off guard. “I had no idea you wanted this. Wanted me.”
Everett pulls away, looks at me intently, and then leans back to kiss me once more.
This time harder.
Leaving no questions in my mind.
“I always know what I want,” he tells me. “But I’m not one of those men who use a lot of words to make that clear.”
“I might have enough words for both of us.”
Everett shakes his head. “Right now, I don’t think we need many words.” He stands and reaches for my hand.
His hand is so warm and big as it reaches around my waist and pulls me to him. I’m not a tiny girl, rail thin and petite. I have curves, and sometimes they get in the way of whether a guy wants me. I enjoy my white chocolate mochas and Frappuccino’s with an extra pump of caramel.
And sure, I post a lot of crafty ideas on my blog, but there’s a fair share of recipes offered as well. I make a mean cheesecake and award-winning meringue.
Sugar and spice and everything nice: Guilt-free goodies.
And in Everett’s arms, I feel like I fit.
Serendipity.
Everett's hands wrap around my waist, and then he reaches underneath my sweater. I inhale sharply, relishing this moment.
His palms press against my bare skin and when he touches me a shiver of pleasure runs over my spine.
“This is really happening.” It’s a shock that my day has turned out like this.
“Yes, Evie. This is happening.” He lifts my shirt over my head, my arms raised, and takes it off in one fell swoop. I’m wearing a red lacy bra, and you can see my hardened nipples through it. Everett’s eyes take in my body slowly.
There is no room for insecurity with this man. There’s no space for me to cover my tummy or drop my gaze. But I wouldn’t want to -- the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s relishing everything he sees.
“Damn, woman,” he says, shaking his head. “What would have happened if I hadn’t found you in the woods?”
“I suppose I would’ve frozen to death?”
“Good thing that didn’t happen.” His finger runs from my chin down to my neck, then between my breasts and to my bellybutton. When he gets there, he uses both hands to unbutton me, then pulling the zipper ever so slightly, folding back my jeans, revealing a triangle of my matching red panties in the space between.
“Fuck, I know this will sound like I’m a selfish bastard,” he says. “But God, woman, my life would be incomplete if I hadn’t had the chance to see you. To see this. Evie, you are perfection.”
I know my face must now be matching my undies, but I don’t care.
I’m loving the attention, loving the fact I’m not asking or fishing for compliments. He’s just giving them to me.
Usually, I’m the one who initiates dates or meet-ups. It’s not often that I’m the girl guys are lusting over.
I talk a lot. I say what I mean. I dress for myself more than anyone else, and guys aren’t typically into hot pink rain boots and patterned leggings with slouchy sweaters.
It seems like most guys prefer faux leather corsets and booty shorts.
But with Everett... he’s seriously looking at me like I’m his teenage wet dream. Like I’m the kind of girl he’s always wanted.
