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When our food comes, I’m thankful for the reprieve in our conversation because the words she spoke hit a spot in me I wasn’t sure any woman could ever touch. After Maggie, I’d held it closed, hidden it away. Luckily for me, this woman found it, and I don’t think I’m ever going to ask her to give it back.
CHAPTER 8
KARINA
WatchingMason drive has jumped to the top of myfavorite things in the worldlist. There’s something about watching his big hands rest on the steering wheel, his long fingers wrap around the cylindrical shape, and the way his forearms flex as he easily maneuvers through the streets of Laurel Springs.
“You okay?” His shit-eating grin is proof he knows exactly what I was looking at.
At dinner, I had a few margaritas, and I might possibly be replaying every second of what happened in the backseat of this Jeep the last time we were together. Crossing my legs to ease the ache between them, I let my gaze meet his. “Fine.” The word is breathless and husky, even to my own ears. I sound like I should be on the other end of one of those sex-operator phone lines.
“You sure? A little tipsy?”
Maybe I am, slightly. He hadn’t been lying when he told me those drinks were potent. “Mmmm.” I make a non-committal sound in the back of my throat.
When he turns into my driveway, I want to extend the night, just like I did last time. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watch him get out and walk around to my side of the vehicle. The pair of worn jeans are delectable, loose enough to give him room to move, but tight enough so that I can see what he’s packing underneath. The t-shirt he’s pulled over his body tonight is just enough for me to see the smooth stomach lying just beneath. His hair? Tousled, but not as messed up as it would be if he’d give me half the chance to run my fingers through it. As he approaches and opens the passenger side door for me, I’ve gotten myself so worked up I can’t stop the words that fly out of my mouth.
“The tattoo on your forearm has been turning me on all night.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath when he hears what I’ve said. His arms go up, gripping the doorframe, and those forearms of his flex in the muted light of the night. Here there’s light given off by stars and the moon, and that glow makes him look like a dream come true. Given a moment, I quickly unbuckle my seatbelt. Faster than I’ve ever moved, I turn, open my thighs so he can stand in between them, and attack the man in front of me.
Sliding my hands along his waist, I push my fingers up under the t-shirt, welcoming the feel of his hot skin against the coolness of the night. Leaning up, I capture him in a kiss. Soft at first, we nip at each other’s lips, before I hook my legs around him, pulling him into me. My hands travel up his back, still under his shirt, before I slide my nails down the smooth skin.
The kiss deepens, his tongue tangles with mine as we strain against each other. I’m feeling lightheaded as I realize I can’t breathe, because he’s literally kissed the breath from my body. Ripping my lips from his, I drag a breath into my lungs before I hone in on the pulse at the side of his neck, going to work on that stretch of skin. The deep moan in return causes a reaction I feel from the hard nipples thrusting against my bra to the pulsing I feel between my legs.
“Rina, fuck, we can’t do this out here, and I have to be at work early,” he pants as he tilts his head back, giving me more room to work.
“Rina?” I whisper, a question as to what the nickname means to him. It feels as if we’re turning a corner.
“Yeah, my Rina. Is that okay?”
He’s asking me if it’s okay to give me a hot as fuck nickname while he’s literally blowing my mind? “Perfection, big guy. Absolute perfection.”
Opening my eyes, I pull away from him, taking in the picture he makes. His arms are up, gripping the doorframe of the Jeep where I sit, his forearms are straining, almost as if he’s afraid to touch me. Beneath the t-shirt, I see his own nipples hard, begging for my touch. His stomach tenses and relaxes, tenses and relaxes as he tries to control the intake of air. Further down, I see his erection straining against the denim. Without thinking, I pull my hands from around his waist, fumbling them down to grasp his hard length.
“Fuckin’ shit, Rina.” He pulls out of my embrace.
As his heat leaves me, I take a look around. We’re in the driveway of my home. I’m a teacher; he’s a respected cop in our town. He’s right. We need to rein this in and do it fast.
I take a cleansing inhale. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He cups my jaw with both hands, pushing his fingers up under my hair, forcing my gaze to meet his. “Don’t ever be sorry for going after what you want. This–,” he looks around, “–just isn’t the right time or place.”
“You’re right.” I lick my lips, tasting the flavor of his kisses on them.
“Goddamn, don’t do that.” His voice is tortured, tone guttural.
A feminine giggle escapes my throat. “I’m sorry.”
He crowds against me, pushing his hardness against me. “You’re not even a little bit.” His grin is as boyish as the one I see Caleb sometimes give.
“You’re right, not even a little bit.”
Ducking his head, he gives me a chaste kiss. This time, he doesn’t let it get out of hand, and neither do I. When he pulls away, he whispers an invitation. “Caleb and I are going to the fishing and hunting show in Birmingham on Sunday. Wanna come with us?”
My heart almost trips in my chest. He’s inviting me to do something with his son and him. A smile spreads across my face. “I’d love to.”
“Good.” He noses my neck one more time. “When we come pick you up, we’ll fix that porch light that’s out. See you on Sunday?”
