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“Hi, little beauty,” I rasp once her body is flush with mine. “I missed you. I almost came by last night to see you, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” she confesses right before her eyes widen as if she didn’t mean to.
I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose, both cheeks, and her forehead. I murmur against her skin, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
I’m already thinking about how quickly I can get her moved into my place. There’s not a single alarm sounding in my head trying to tell me it’s too fast. I want her—at my side, in my bed, infused into my life—and I’m not a little bit ashamed of it.
I need her.
I release her slowly before I grasp her hand in mine gently, loving the way my callouses feel against her soft skin. There’s something primal there, the need to rough her up and show her how strong and powerful her man is.
“Where are we going?”
I pull her keys from her other hand, making sure her door is locked when I pull it closed, before guiding her toward my truck. “There’s a movie playing in one of the parks. I packed a picnic.” Even I can hear how unsure I sound as I open the truck door for her, “If that sounds okay.”
Sarah beams up at me and all the worry about what I have planned melts away. “It sounds perfect,” she breathes out. “I’ve never gone before, but it sounds like fun.” She giggles. “The family has set up something similar, but I have a feeling it’s not the same.” She scrunches her nose up, a look of vulnerability covering her features. “Do you think there will be a lot of people there?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit honestly. “I’ve never been before. But we can set up on the edge and if there are too many people, we can leave. I just want to spend time with you, I don’t really care where or how I get to do that.”
“Okay,” she whispers and surprises the fuck out of me by tipping up on her toes and kissing the underside of my jaw.
I’m stunned and don’t realize she’s struggling to get into my truck, but I snap out of my stupor and grip her hips to help her in. The way she blushes as she looks back at me and bites her lip is almost too much for me.
My cock has been harder than a rock for days and no amount of jacking off has helped. Well, it’s helped, but only temporarily. Then I’d think of her light floral scent or the way her hair looked so damn soft, or her voice…and my cock would be raging to go again.
Now I’m going to have to show a great amount of restraint to keep it in my pants and not make her scream my name during our picnic. It’s one of the reasons I chose such a public place because there is no fucking way in hell that I’ll be sharing her pleasure with anyone.
It’s mine.
When she’s ready.
“Did you make what you brought, or did you go to the store and get pre-made stuff?”
When I glance over at Sarah, she’s giving me a small, impish smile, one which makes my heart pound harder in my chest. I have a feeling this playful side of her is one few people get to see.
I scoff, “Trust me, the pre-made stuff is better for you.”
“Oh? I would think homemade would be better,” there’s a teasing lilt to her soft voice.
“Not if you want to get through the whole date,” I grumble.
The sound of her giggling fills the cab of my truck and my body stills, my eyes trained on the road in front of us. Her laughter is beautiful, just like her. I reach over and rest my hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze and loving the sharp intake of breath I hear when I touch her.
Her hand is tentative as she rests it over mine and gives a squeeze. She might not be as bold as some women, but the fact that she’s trying is sexier than a woman with all the confidence in the world. I’ll build my little beauty up and make her forget about whatever has caused her to try and hide in the dark corners of life, not like she really could with how brightly she shines.
“I can cook some things,” I defend myself. “I grill a mean steak and can bake a potato, but when it comes to things like pasta salad, I’m a little at a loss.”
“I love to cook,” her voice has a wistful quality to it. “I don’t do it as much as I’d like because cooking for one is a little sad. Sometimes I’ll cook a big batch and then put it in containers for the week or take it in for the kids to eat the next day.”
“You light up when you talk about the kids,” I whisper.
She sighs and relaxes back into her seat. “I love them. They’re so innocent and curious. What’s not to love?”
The question slips out before I can stop it, “Do you want kids of your own?”
“Yes,” her answer is tentative, “I do. I just,” her words fall off, and I glance over to find her looking out the window.
“I’d love kids, Sarah,” I hope she hears the ‘with you’ I leave off at the end. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
