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“Who says I was going to kiss you again?”
I stop. Turning to him, I copy his expression from just a minute ago, and hold my palm over my heart as if he hurt my feelings. The only difference is, he really did hurt mine.
12
DALLAS
She doesn’t look me in my eyes, her gaze is set to something just behind me. Clearly, something is bothering her, and I know exactly what it is. She can tell me all day long that I don’t mean anything to her, that we were just fooling around, and she is staying completely unattached. What a load of bullshit.
We clearly have a connection beyond physically. Now I only have to figure out what the problem is. Is it because I’m so much older than her? Or is she worried about what Mason is going to say? Of course there is Griffin too. She probably has unresolved feelings for him. Hell, it could be all three combined or something completely different. She has built her walls higher and thicker than Fort Knox. Getting to the core is going to be a hard task, but one I’m very much up for.
“Would you like a drink?” Nat asks. “I could use a glass of wine.”
“I’d prefer a beer,” I answer, as I get comfortable in the living room. Since her apartment is an open floor plan, I can still watch her in the kitchen.
“Coming right up.”
“How old are you again? Thirty-one?” I question, knowing damn well she is a few years older than that.
“Nice try. Thirty-six,” she yells over her shoulder while her head is in the refrigerator. The sound of glass bottles clinking together as she searches for our drinks.
“I’m fifty-two. I’m only sixteen years older than you. Not a terrible age gap.”
She closes the fridge and walks over to the counter where she places a bottle of Yuengling and a tall bottle of wine. She pops the cork out of the wine and pours herself a healthy glass. “I wouldn’t care if you were sixty-two,” she says, looking me straight in the eyes. Her large baby blues never waver as she walks over to where I’m sitting on the couch. She isn’t lying. I mentally cross my age gap theory off my list.
She hands me my beer, and I twist the top open before taking a swig. Natalie takes a sip of her red wine and sets it on the coffee table before kicking off her boots and lying down beside me. She props her head onto a large couch pillow and her legs over my lap. Her eyes twinkle mischievously as her calves rub purposely over my crotch.
“Are you worried about what Mason will think if he ever finds out that you fool around with Griffin or me?”
“Not really,” she answers, unbothered by the question. “I don’t care what he thinks. It’s none of his business what I do in my off time.”
Another checkmark off my list.
“What about Griffin? Do you have feelings for him?”
“Can we please not talk about another guy right now?” She moves her legs up, rubbing the sole of her foot over my hardened cock. “At the cabin, you said you wouldn’t turn me down if I came onto you.”
“What gives you the impression that I’m turning you down?”
“You talk too much.” She giggles before twisting her body to get on her knees next to me. She moves to straddle me, and I grab her hips to position her right where I want her. Her heated core is pressed against my now aching cock, and I use my hold on her hips to pull her closer.
Her eyes dilate, turning her light blues dark and dangerous. She smirks, grinding herself shamelessly against my bulge. “You are a naughty girl, Natalie Grant.” Me calling her by her full name does something to her. Or maybe it was the naughty part. Nat’s breathing hitches and her lips turn to a full-blown smirk.
“I’d like to think of myself as a good girl.”
“Is that what you want me to call you? My good girl.” At my words, she closes her eyes and hums a soft moan.
Her hips circle while her hands find my shoulders. She digs her manicured nails into my skin. Ever through my button up shirt, I can feel the sharp bite.
“I want this off you,” she whines, tugging on the collar of my shirt.
“Take it off then,” I challenge.
Her grin widens as she unbuttons it slowly. So painfully slow, I almost slap her hands away and rip my shirt open. When she finally finishes with the last button, the white fabric slides off my shoulders.
“You definitely don’t look fifty-two,” Nat whispers as she runs her fingertips over the ridges of my muscular pecs and down my defined abs.
I grin, enjoying her touch. I’m grateful that I spend many hours a week in the gym to keep my body in shape. Her fingers smooth lower until they reach the waistband of my slacks. She doesn’t take her time here, unfasting my pants quickly. She slides back a few inches to get better access as she reaches her small hand into my pants and frees my very hard cock.
