Somehow, she digs out a jar of olives I forgot I had, adding some along with a can of tuna while cooking pasta. “I would have stocked up if I knew I was having a guest,” I offer, but she only chuckles and waves a hand.
“You learn to make do with what you have.” She sounds so cheerful about it, too. “It’s always a good idea to stock up on non-perishables.”
I wonder what it would be like, having her around all the time. Somebody who seems to enjoy doing this kind of thing, which I certainly never have. Somebody to bring light and warmth into my house. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal prepared by anybody other than myself since my mom passed.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” There’s a touch of sadness in the small smile she wears when she turns my way. “I’m glad I can do a little something.”
I want this woman. Not only her body, but her. Her ability to love so deeply, so fiercely. There is so much sweetness to her to contrast with all of her sharp edges. I can easily imagine myself sitting here every night, talking over the day while she cooks dinner, and I set the table. I’ve never been able to imagine that for myself before.
Yet here I am, seeing it very clearly while in the presence of someone young enough to be my daughter. What is wrong with me?
I can’t stop thinking about it after dinner is over and the dishes are washed, and we settle back in to finish the first season of our show. I couldn’t personally give two shits about what’s happening on the TV, but she’s into it, and I’m content that she’s content while I mull over this problem that only gets deeper and thornier with every passing hour.
It isn’t until the final credits roll that I realize she fell asleep at some point during the last episode. She’s tucked in the corner with her feet pulled up, her head resting against the cushion behind it. She’s so peaceful, lying still, giving me the chance to watch her without her questioning my gaze when she inevitably notices me staring.
She is gold that’s been burnished and shines brighter because of it. I can’t imagine the bravery it took for her to keep going at that young age, living with three brothers, one of whom had his pack to lead. The way she talks about them with so much love and fondness that it warms my heart, even as I wonder if there would ever come a time she could speak about me that way. I’m being selfish, imagining having her love, but the thought won’t go away, no matter how I try to force it out of my consciousness.
Her delicate profile is something I could stare at for days. She’s a work of art, her symmetrical face surrounded by that cloud of thick, black hair. When I imagine it spread out across my chest, my heart skips a beat and a different, deeper yearning fills me. What if I could keep her here with me? What if this could be our life?
Turning off the TV, I set the remote on the coffee table and stand, watching her a few moments longer before sliding my arms under her and lifting with ease. She weighs barely as much as a feather. Incredible, the amount of turmoil she’s throwing my life into. Something so small. I can’t resist the urge to hold her close to my chest as I carry her to the bedroom, then set her down after pulling back the blankets.
She’s an angel. Peaceful and serene, almost smiling in her sleep. Dreaming about her family? Probably. Why would she smile if she was dreaming about me?
That mouth of hers, so full and inviting. I can’t help it. I have to. Leaning down, I savor the feel of her breath hitting my skin before indulging in the sweetness of her juicy, plump lips.
She’s still half asleep when she starts to slowly kiss me back, when her lips soften under mine, when she parts them to let my tongue slip through. Her soft sigh gets lost in my mouth and makes my need for her grow into something I can’t fight anymore. Not when I know how much she wants it, too.
Slowly, her arms wind around my neck. Now she’s awake, returning my kiss, moving under me when I stretch out on top of her. She is desire in a living, breathing form. The ultimate temptation. I’ve been fighting so hard for so long. How can I resist when I have her like this?
I need to touch her. My hands slide under her T-shirt to where she’s warm and silky. How can anything be this soft? She helps me take the shirt off, and I can barely keep myself from devouring her, painting her skin with my tongue, sucking her rosy nipples until her head rolls from side to side in helpless abandon.
“Kyran…” she moans, her hair a dark fan against the pillowcase, her face a mask of pure pleasure. It’s not enough. I want to give her more. I won’t stop until she screams my name.
I work my way lower, tugging her waistband, raising her legs to pull the sweatpants free before spreading them wide. “You have the most beautiful pussy,” I groan, watching as wetness seeps from her and runs down onto the mattress.
“Please,” she whispers, tight and high-pitched.
“Please, what?” It’s torture, dragging this out, but I need to hear it. “What do you want me to do, Tara?”
She bites her lip, driving me crazy, before working up the courage. “Please, fuck me. I need you inside me. Please.”
The bear roars in my head. It’s like winning a victory, even if this won’t be what we both want. That can’t be.
But I can settle for this. Stripping down, watching her take in my body as I reveal more and more of it. When she reaches for me, I lower myself on my forearms so her hands can roam my back and shoulders, my arms and ass. Her touch is electric, lighting up what’s been dark for so long while I soak in one kiss after another. I’ll never get enough of her. This alone will never be enough.
That doesn’t stop me from nudging at her quivering entrance while she links her legs behind my back. “Please,” she begs again, nails running along my shoulders before I fill her with one slow, deep stroke.
Exquisite. The closest thing to heaven I could ever imagine, being wrapped in her silky heat. So tight. Made for me.
“Feels so good,” she moans, running her lips over my shoulder before grazing me with her teeth. Fuck, that’s good, unlocking an even deeper craving as I bury my face in her neck. Her pulse throbs wildly under my tongue—the impulse to give in and complete the bond is dangerously close to breaking my willpower.
It’s safer to roll over and take her with me, letting her straddle me so I can watch her. “Ride me.” Taking her by the hips, I pull her down until her clit grinds against my base.
And her eyes almost roll back in her head while her mouth falls open. “Oh, fuck!” she whines, then begins to move, letting instinct take over.
All I can do is let it happen, totally absorbed by the sight of her taking her pleasure. Her tits sway hypnotically with every determined stroke. Her forehead wrinkles in concentration. “Kyran… Kyran…”
My fingers dig into her flesh, my hips jerking upward to match her strokes. She swings her head from side to side, her hair brushing my chest, her lusty moans making my heavy balls lift in preparation. So close—she’s tighter all the time, racing for the finish line.
