Page 86 of Drifter’s Heart

Talk in the morning. Shit went down at work with her crush.

So it’s not a booty call? Please confirm.

Talk in the morning. Sally likes pancakes.

Booty call confirmed. Talk booked. With all of us.

Fuck. Winnie will have my ass on a stick for this, but she’ll find out later. Right now, we have something else to talk about… or not.

I toss my phone on the small sofa that has served as a place for my overnight suitcase to rest for the past months between jobs and travel. The device bounces once and settles in a crease between two sadly stuffed pillows. I ignore it and head for the door in its short, dim corridor, turning off the remaining lights as I walk. My strides are sure and long, my heartbeat regular as I reach the door.

Winnie’s last knock is softer, more tentative.

Fuck. I took too long.

Her eyes are wide and her breaths are too short and fast when I open the door. Damp curls cling to her skin—I think she’s just left the hospital after a shower and changed at the end of her shift. A white cotton dress with tiny white flowers all over it hangs to just below her thighs, with soft puff sleeves that leaves a dip over her collarbone. She sways slightly and her feet⁠—

Are fucking bare.

Her tan ankle boots dangle from two fingers that also clutch her phone and keys.

That’s it. Nothing else.

What I see is what I get. Everything she’s brought with her. Raw and fucking perfect.

Whatever I planned in my head flies out the proverbial window in seconds as I grip the wrist that’s half-outstretched, probably the hand she used to knock with, and pull her sharply into me. Not a word passes my lips as I press a hand to her lower back, keeping her against me, and take a step backward. Rotating her to lean her against the wall, I let her go and step back, making enough space to shut the door. Deliberately, I lock it, holding her eyes, which stay wide the whole time. “West, I⁠—”

I take her boots from her fingers and place them neatly by the door next to mine. Her phone goes into one of them, turned off. That’s it. It’s all I take. The action quiets her. Confusion wells in her eyes as she bites back a multitude of questions. My hands skim her smooth ankles, her calves, as I rise, tracing the strong musculature there. Fuck, she’s stunning, the way that she’s always been. Seeing her dressed like this, for me? I swallow hard, trailing my fingertips across the hem of her flimsy cotton dress, but don’t go any farther.

Stepping back to lean against the opposite wall, I unbutton my shirt, one at a time, keeping my eyes locked on hers the entire time. Winnie licks her lips, her breath coming faster as I reach my navel and pull my shirt out of my slacks. The ends hang loose, rumpled.

Winnie’s hands drop to her waist, squeezing the material of her dress into fists. I don’t say anything or give her any pressure. Zero expectations. If she doesn’t want to take it any further, then we don’t. If she wants to lie in bed and snuggle for the next six hours, then I’ll will my hard-on down because that’s what she needs. Whatever she needs. And I pray that’s what my expression tells her, but the way she’s panting and raking her nails against her thighs where her dress hitches up…

I’m guessing not.

When I drop my thumb to rub across the leather of my belt, she stops breathing altogether. Just watches me. I let my hand drift across the leather, across the buckle… and drop it back, leaning my head against the wall.

Watching her as she watches me.

“West,” she whines. Her toes work in the carpet, and I’ll come from the way she writhes for me, still dressed and innocent-looking and uncomfortably turned on.

One hand drifts to her stomach. Her short nails squeeze the soft flesh there, pressing inward. The material of her dress creeps upward, then falls. Her eyes drift shut, but then she pushes away from the wall and comes to me. Hesitant, tiny steps, considering the hall isn’t that damn wide.

It takes her an age to cross, or it seems that way. Then she’s before me.

I don’t touch her and she doesn’t touch me. The scent of her, coffee and something berry that she’s washed her hair with, drifts around us. The need to cup her nape, pull her into me, and kiss her senseless is so strong I want to drown in her. But tonight is paced. No rush.

So when the next contact I have with her is the lightest touch of her sweet-as-fuck hands framing my rock-hard cock through my pants, a ragged groan I can’t hold back rips free.

I swallow the next sound lodged behind that one, staring her down, unflinching in the face of her needy curiosity. Unable to keep my hands to myself, I explore the soft cotton of her dress, only grazing, light touches. The sort of touches that leaves her moaning in the sweetest way until I’m fit to burst, and I’m not even bare in her hands yet.

Iron blooms across my tongue, pain the best distraction I have to clear my head and reset my arousal. My thumbs circle her nipples, dark and puffy beneath her pale dress even in the dark light where the city lights cast a reflected glow into the room. Her peaks strain against my fingertips where I don’t provide half as much contact as she wants. Winnie arches gently, pushing her breasts into my hands.

I pull back, leaving her aching. If I’m not drooling for a taste of her by now, there’s something wrong with me.

The hands on my cock move. I try not to flinch as she teases me, and from the look in her eyes, she knows exactly what the hell she’s doing. But this is new ground for us. She’s exploring, just like me. Her own personal discovery tour that will end with one of us on our knees.

I can bet everything I own that it will be me.