AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mmhm.”
We step together, me moving forward, Cat moving back, before transitioning into a perfect sidestep and closing the box. There is no music, just Los Angeles at night. There is no rhythm to follow and yet we are perfectly in sync. Every time she moves, I can feel the give of her body under my hand.
“Certain skills in a man just drive women crazy.”
“Is this a trade secret?”
“You want to know how to bring women to their knees, Lieutenant?”
“Just one woman.”
I don’t even realize we’ve stopped dancing until she tilts her head and looks up at me, her eyes dark with what my imagination conjures as the ripest fantasies.
I find that I can’t move at all. My hands are frozen in place, still in a waltz, closed position. My feet are slightly spread as I steady myself for the onslaught.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her tone deeply serious.
I nod.
Leaning forward, she brings her lips close to my ear. I instinctively lower my head to accommodate our height difference. For a moment she says nothing at all. She trails the tip of her tongue along the very edge of my ear, pulling an involuntary shudder from deep within me. When she blows gently on the path she just trailed with her tongue, her warm breath cools against my skin.
And then she whispers, “Laundry,” her tone laced with seduction.
Time stops for one moment. The wordLaundrytakes a moment to gather meaning as my discombobulated brain tries to make sense of it.
And then I laugh.
I laugh like I have not laughed in years. Possibly, ever. My shoulders shake with it. My stomach knots as I try and take in a breath. Catherine’s giggle merges with my own deep, rusty laugh, and when I look down at her, she is grinning, her smile young and, just for that moment, carefree.
Right then, she is just a twenty-eight-year-old woman, sharing a joke with a date. And I promise myself that I’ll try to put that look on her face as often as possible.
With my arms still around her, I ask, “Is it safe to assume that folding is a requisite part of laundry?”
She pretends to consider my question, her face a mask of seriousness. “Not necessarily. But it does count towards bonus points.”
“Damn.” I feign disappointment. “My folding skills need some practice.”
She shares a wicked grin with me, and when she crooks a finger at me, I lean down again, giving her access to my ear. I’m prepared for another one of her secrets, so when she sucks my earlobe into her warm, wet mouth, I can do nothing but freeze. And then the onslaught comes.
She tugs my earlobe with her teeth, teasing me. With a tortured groan, I lower my head, giving her access to my mouth but still letting her lead.
Her arms move to rope around my neck—as if she needed a reason to keep me closer. Mine snake around her waist, pressing her curves against my aching body.
This time when she kisses me, there is a promise made, and it is as much hers as it is mine. It’s as if we both know that this is the start of something neither of us has experienced before. And it is sealed with one word, murmured from between her lips: “Soon.”
Chapter 15
Catherine
The taste of himis still on my lips when I let myself into the house, making sure to be quiet in case Lyla is sleeping. Instead of a dark interior and silence, the lights are on, and the low cadence of masculine voices reaches to me from the lounge.
Leaning on the door with one hand, I reach down and take off my heels. In the back of my mind, there’s a random thought that someone should study the correlation between nights gone horribly wrong and women’s physical discomfort, be it too-tight dresses, too-high shoes, or the general angst of having to carry your crap in your hands because your cute dress doesn’t have a single pocket.
Although my night was anything but a disaster, the moment my feet are flat on the floor, a sigh still escapes. There’s something so magical about flat feet after a night out in heels; it feels so good, it’s almost carnal, the way your soles regroup into their natural setting and your toes stretch out from their cramped confines. It’s not quite like an orgasm—depending on how long you’ve worn them, removing your heels can be better.
In the lounge, Lyla is sitting on the sofa. She’s completely immersed in an episode ofGrey’s Anatomy, and, while I don’t watch the show, I know enough to see that McDreamy and McSteamy are having a tenseconversation. All I hear is, “She has a right to be damaged. And us, together, is a big step for her.”
Lyla is sitting forward on the couch, her ass barely on the sofa, her entire body tense, her eyes absorbing everything.
