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“Too far for what?” I ask, voice breathy.
By way of answer, Fallon just ducks his head and kisses me. With one arm still planted next to my head, his other arm moves to band across my back, tugging me tight to his broad chest. I soften against him, melting into the warmth of his arms. When he feels it, he lets out a low groan that travels straight between my legs.
I’ve never thought of myself as a sexual person. I’ve craved intimacy, sure, and I’ve spent many lonely years pursuing my own passions, wondering if I was missing out by not chasing marriage and kids and a white picket fence. But my near celibacy wasn’t always a choice. In my twenties, first dates were usually a disaster. My thirties were swamped with work, and then pastry school and all the grueling hours I spent trying to make it in this industry.
I didn’t have time for men—or maybe they just didn’t have time for me. I was too driven. I was “intimidating.” I balked at the idea of giving up my career, my passions, for the sake of a relationship. Once every few years, I’d go on a date—maybe even sleep with a guy—and always ended up feeling emptier than I did before. They’d use my body, I’d use theirs, and the whole experience would leave me feeling cold.
So I ended up alone, thinking my lack of sexual appetite was innate. I wondered, in the deep recesses of my mind, if something was wrong with me. Maybe I was broken.
But now, I feel starved. My hips rock gently against Fallon, as if some deep instinct has started to awaken. I love the heat of his body, the way he presses me into the wall. I love the way my breasts feel somehow more sensitive, as if I’m craving him to touch them, kiss them. My hands shake as I slide them over his shoulders, tangling my fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
“Missed this,” he groans. “Dreamed of kissing you for a year, Jen. Dreamed of having your arms around my neck like this.”
He did?
Pulling back, Fallon’s dark eyes look almost black when he meets my gaze. “I’m sorry about Amanda. Truly, Jen.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I invited her to town because I knew she could be the one to give you your recipe book, but I was too much of a coward to tell her that I cared about you. I thought if I ignored it, she’d back off. We broke up years ago, and I thought we were friends, you know? Cordial. I thought she’d give up.”
“Stop, Fallon. I pushed you away. I chose the book over you and I didn’t even try to talk to Amanda and see how she would react. I just turned my back on you. If you were a coward for not speaking to her, I was a double coward for not even entertaining the possibility.”
His thumbs sweep over my cheeks. “Why would you? You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You didn’t owe me anything. You still don’t.”
“I didn’t give you a chance.” And it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. Me, who restarted my career in my thirties, who stepped into the unknown and put my entire life savings into Four Cups, who has jumped from one opportunity to the next—I didn’t take a chance on Fallon.
Fallon’s lids grow heavy as his eyes study my face. “What about now?” His thumb traces my cheekbone again, sending tiny thrills racing across my skin. “Would you give me a chance?”
I like this, I realize. A lot. I like having him near me, his arms around me. I like when he looks at me like I’m special—like he wouldn’t change a thing about me.
“Now…” I say, stretching out the word, “I could be convinced to give you a shot.”
His lush lips tip up, hand sliding to tangle at the back of my head. “That’s all I ask.”
Then Fallon kisses me, and it sets my body on fire. I arch into him, pressing my aching breasts into his chest, squeezing my thighs together as my hips roll of their own accord. Everything is tight, aching, in need of release. When Fallon slides his hand down my sides and back to grip my ass, I gasp against his lips. He touches me like he’s dreamed of it, wants to memorize my body. Like he’s starved for just a taste of me.
And that feeling is heady. Addictive.
For once, I don’t feel awkward. I’m not in my head. My body is in the driver’s seat. I move my hands to his waist, clawing his shirt up so I can put my hands on his body, feeling the warm, smooth skin, the writhing slabs of muscle beneath. He groans at my touch, sucking in a breath when I use my nails across his back.
Fallon’s kiss turns frenzied. He nips at my bottom lip and the small bite of pain electrifies me. My nails dig into his back, and then Fallon is palming my ass, groaning as his hands sweep over my hips, my waist, up to my breasts. He tears his mouth away from mine to kiss my breast through my top, biting at my nipple like a man crazed.
I’m no better. I’m losing my damn mind.
My hand slides to his front, the coarse line of hair diving down from his navel directing my touch downward. When I palm his hard cock over his jeans, Fallon bucks against me. He’s big. I trace the outline of his shaft with my fingers, trembling at the thought of all that length inside me.
“Woman,” he growls.
“What?” I lean my head against the barn, stroking him, eyes open but unseeing as my lungs heave with fresh night air.
“You’re going to make me embarrass myself.” He pulls his head back, eyes frenzied, just in time to see my grin. Like an animal, Fallon growls, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants. I’m wearing loose drawstring pants that are comfortable to bake in. It doesn’t take much for him to rip them down my narrow hips, and then his hand is cupping between my legs.
When he feels my heat, he drops his head to my shoulder with a pained groan. “Wanted to touch you for so long.” His fingers slide over and back along the gusset of my panties, stoking me like a flame.
“Me too,” I pant as I palm him, and I realize it’s true. No matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it, deny it, pretend it’s not true, the truth is I’ve wanted Fallon to take me like this for many, many months. I’ve wanted the tension between us to snap. I’ve wanted his hands to brand my body, for his teeth to rake across my skin.
So, when the heel of his hand grinds against my swollen bud, I widen my stance as I lean back against the wall. Fallon takes that as an invitation, and before I can react he rips my panties to my ankles. Then he’s dropping to his knees in front of me, freeing one leg from my clothes and hooking my knee around his shoulder.
