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She sipped the coffee. He should be trying to fix food for her. He usually microwaved a random container but that seemed careless in the light of the current milk, sugar situation. He’d rather look at her, wonder what it would be like to clamp his teeth down on her earlobe while he slid his fingers inside her, than futz about with food.
“Oh, lots of factors.”
How many fingers was too many? “Like.”
“Sometimes it’s a one-time thing.” Part of him might feel actual physical pain if that was the case.
“Otherwise it’s about compatibility. How much two people like being together? If they have fun. How good the sex is?”
“I’m a bum who only has one stool, but I really like being with you, Zarley, and the sex was—”
“Best you’ve ever had.” She rolled her eyes and laughed.
He shook his head and rounded the counter. That robe was hellishly short. She was all neatly crossed legs on the stool. He put his hand on her knee and swiveled her so she faced him. And she let him do that. That had to be a good sign. Did she have underwear on under there? He trailed his hand up her thigh under the silk, flicking it aside, as he skated around to her ass. No underwear. He moved his hand over her sacrum looking for those dimples.
“That was mean, Flygirl, and you’ve been nothing but generous.” He meant that to sound jokey.
She didn’t take it that way. She sighed, stood on the stool rung and wound her arms around his neck. She was almost eye to eye with him. God, she still smelled of sex. Fantastic.
“I wasn’t being generous. I like being with you. I’ve never stayed over. I’ve never woken up in someone else’s bed or had anyone wake up in mine. If I didn’t like you, I’d be out of here so fast you wouldn’t see my triple salto dismount. You are my first too.”
He went to object to the comparison but she put her hand over his mouth. “Have you been thinking about sex the whole time we’ve been talking?”
Her hand drifted into his hair. Zero point lying. She only had to look at him to know it. “Yes.” She tightened her fingers on his skull but she didn’t seem put out.
“I don’t think we’re finished with this thing yet.”
Oh thank fuck. Would it be okay to kiss her till his lips burned?
“I think we should go back to bed and put that attraction to me you have going on in those sweats to good use.” She leaned in, her mouth close to his ear. “What do you say?”
He pushed into her, his hips to hers. Ah, that was good, that press of hardness against her body, the feel of her almost sitting in his hands, his thumbs resting in those dimples.
“I find myself agreeing with you about the merits of a second stool.”
“Is that right?” She ran her nose over his, one hand grabbing a good hunk of his hair and tugging before he could finagle
a kiss. “And about making use of this thing we have?”
“Completely on board with that.”
Did words come out of his mouth? Did they make sense? She got him so quickly to the point where his brain went reptile and all he wanted was the pleasure hit. He was reduced to heart rate, breath, body heat and balance, everything else was instinct and his instinct said his very survival depended on getting her on her back and burying himself deep inside her.
She nibbled along his jaw, made it worth the shave. “This is a very nice kitchen counter.” That spot, right there on the neck, that felt—son of a . . .
“The right height.”
“What?” Too much talking. If there was a question there he missed it, because she had her hands under his shirt and danger, danger, danger, he wanted more of that so the shirt had to go, urgently. He brushed her hands aside and pulled it over his head, then grabbed her off the stool and lifted her to the counter.
“That’s it.”
No, it wasn’t because her robe had a belt and there was a knot and his fingers weren’t working. Reptiles didn’t have fingers, that was the problem.
“Reid. Take a breath.”
Yes, that he could do, but the knot, the knot was stopping him getting . . . Ah fuck it, he pushed the robe off her shoulders and now he could get his hands on her glorious skin, his lips, his tongue. Going for her neck like she’d done to him. And she was the right height to wrap her legs around him, look at that, feel that—good goddam, Jesus Christ.
He ran his hands down her thighs and jerked her closer till he slotted against her but there was still too much fabric and she was laughing. It broke through his haze and he snapped his eyes to hers, stilling his hands. He’d fucked this up somehow.
