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I returned to washing, sliding the washcloth over a bowl. “I’m more carefree, more relaxed. I feel safe with you.”
He stepped back from the counter, setting the plate down. “You don’t feel safe with other people?”
“Other guys. Other people I might’ve dated. I’m always cautious. Always. That’s why. She’s worried because she thinks I’m not being myself.” It made so much more sense now. I went back to washing, moving faster, now wanting to be done. “That’s also probably why she was rooting for Travis so much, ’cause he’s a cop.”
A shadow flashed over his face before he straightened. “Right. And I’m a big guy.”
“Big and athletic. You’re not big big. You’re strong big.” I dried my hands and reached over, touching his stomach, feeling him still. “You’re all muscle. And fast. Threatening.” His stomach twitched. “You’re not the biggest guy on the team, but you’re not wide-receiver size either.”
“Yeah?” His voice was low, guttural.
I glanced up, and my train of thought vanished. His eyes were blazing. I knew he wanted to back me up against a wall.
My breath caught and held in my throat because that feeling was spreading inside me too. Fast. Frenzied.
It overpowered everything else.
I forgot what we were doing completely, the room melting away.
My hand flattened against his stomach. I moved closer, feeling his heat, feeling his jeans, my fingers slid under his sweatshirt until they touched skin.
He groaned, but I was focused on his chest. I moved my hand up, smoothing over his very flat stomach, over all the dips and rises, all the way up, as if I could tunnel my way to his heart. Then he backed me against the counter and stood right in front of me.
His front pressed against my front, and it felt so good. I wanted to feel more of him, and my hand moved south, between us—over his stomach to his jeans. My fingers curled over the waistband, brushing inside.
“Billie,” he rasped out on an exhale.
My hand went to the top of his jeans, outlining the button. I tipped my head up to see his face in shadow, rimmed by the light behind him. I took inventory, putting all that data away so I could remember it later. I never wanted to forget the way my pulse sped up, knowing he was about to kiss me.
I lifted my mouth up, drawing him in at the same time.
He moaned, his hand catching the side of my face, and his lips were on mine.
I surged up.
Yes!
19
BRETT
I wanted to press her against the counter, destroy those lips of hers, rip her clothes off, and surge inside. But I needed to curtail everything because it wasn’t right. Not for her. Not yet. I needed to go slow. I needed to savor this, be respectable.
She deserved the world.
It took every ounce of willpower, but I ripped my mouth from hers.
“No,” she whimpered, leaning forward, chasing me.
I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling. “Babe.” I panted, my forehead to hers.
Jesus. I was standing between her legs, my hands half down her pants, and we were in the kitchen of the family who’d taken her in and loved her. Jesus Christ. The same people who’d welcomed me, fed me, and showed me a glimpse of what a normal family might’ve looked like, a tease of paradise.
Screwing Billie on their counter wasn’t any way to thank them.
She pulled me back, lust blinding her.
“Billie,” I said, my voice low. It took everything in me to step away from her, especially as she tried to pull me back, back to her warm honey. That’s how she tasted, how she smelled, how she felt. Pure fucking honey. Men everywhere would salivate for just one taste of it. That was Billie.
