Chapter 16
Sixteen
Colt
The doorbell rings as I’m sliding the pan into the oven.
It’s nothing special, just some roasted potatoes and chicken breasts seasoned with breadcrumbs, rosemary, and a dash of hot honey.
The dessert that’s percolating in the fridge is killer, though.
Lemon parfaits with freshly whipped cream and strawberries that cost almost ten bucks for a tiny carton.
But they’re ripe and fresh and Kylie’s favorite.
One of her favorites, anyway.
Because her favorite food is dessert.
Yup. Just dessert.
Mouth twitching, I close the oven, snag a towel to wipe my hands and hurry to the front door, pulling it open and—
My lungs freeze.
She is so fucking beautiful.
She’s changed since I saw her at school, trading her slacks and fitted tee and cardigan for a long skirt and a sweater that caresses the curves I’m desperate to touch, to stroke, to lick and kiss and bite.
But it’s the pumps that are currently on her feet that have my dick going hard.
High and sleek, made of a dark brown material and with a slender, spiked heel I want digging into my back.
“Colt?” she whispers.
And I realize I’ve been staring at her, thinking about those heels, that skirt rucked up around her waist.
And not about stepping back and letting her into my house.
A house she was uncomfortable in the last time she was over.
A house I want her spending a fuck-ton more time in.
Something that won’t happen if I just stand here like an idiot, staring at her.
“Sorry, Teach,” I say lightly as I move so she can come in. “I like the shoes,” I can’t help but add.
She pauses, glances over her shoulder, eyes filled with a feminine confidence that has my already hard dick going harder. “Thanks.”
And then she just click-clicks her way down the hall, hips swaying in a way I know isn’t intentional…but is still inflammatory.
At least for my dick.
Shaking myself, I close and lock the door.
“Something smells delicious,” she says as I join her in the kitchen.
“Nothing fancy.”
“Nothing fancy like your lasagna with the homemade noodles?” she asks. “Or nothing fancy like us normal people would make on a weeknight?” She holds out a bottle of wine I didn’t even realize she’d carried in, I was so distracted by those heels.
By the way the fabric of that ankle-length skirt cups her curves.
How the sweater clinging to her breasts looks soft and pettable…
And how I want to pet every inch of her.
My dick goes harder, straining against my zipper.
“I like how you look at me,” she murmurs.
“It doesn’t scare you?”
She shakes her head. “No.” Teeth pressing into her bottom lip. “It makes me want.”
Fuck.
“Don’t say that, Teach.”
“Why?” she whispers. “I keep thinking about the kiss on the couch, keep thinking about how I missed you when you were gone, keep thinking about how good you were with the kids today.”
“They’re good kids,” I manage to push out.
“Yes, they are.”
“And they clearly like and respect you.”
A slender shoulder shrugs. “I bribe them with candy.”
I chuckle. “Nice try, but I didn’t miss the adoring looks.”
Her cheeks go slightly pink, but she nods to the bottle. “Will that go with whatever it is that you’ve cooked up?”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“Then it goes with my food.”
“Colt,” she begins.
I shake my head and move to the cabinets, pulling down two glasses, then digging through a drawer to retrieve the wine opener.
I pour the chardonnay, pass her a glass. “It’s not that serious.” I pick up my own glass. “I promise. Now, tell me how the rest of your day went.”
When she doesn’t immediately speak, I lean back on the counter and prompt. “Adrian seemed like he was having a good first day back. Did you hear anything from his other—”
Clink.
It sounds dangerous—like the glass is breaking—but even as I turn to ask Kylie if she’s okay, she’s launching herself into my arms, her mouth seeking mine.
“Baby,” I begin, pulling back, not nearly in enough control to do this right now.
To feel her body against mine and not take.
To have her kissing me, her tongue in my mouth, her hands on me…no, I need to sip her up in slow, controlled draws, be patient as I give her something good—and only something good.
I can’t have her looking at me with fear and panic in her eyes again.
I fucking can’t.
She freezes when I draw away, hands clenched on my thighs again, fingers desperate to touch, to stroke, to tease. “You don’t—” Bright red cheeks. “I thought you coming to school…” She drops back onto her heels. “I thought dinner…” A step back. “You don’t want to?”
I snag her wrist, staying her. “Do I need to show you how much I want you again?”
A shudder, her body swaying toward mine. “Colt,” she whispers.
“No?” I ask lightly.
“I don’t want to think about it.” Her throat works. “About him.”
Slowly, I draw her back against me. “I don’t want you to think about it either. About him.” I slide my hand along her spine, soaking in the feel of her. “But we need to move slowly, need to be patient.”
“I just want to get it over with.”
My mouth quirks. “Are you saying my kissing skills are that bad?” I tease.
“I—” She breaks off on a sigh and closes her eyes, wincing. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s just…the other night was so good and you’re so wonderful and…you came to school today.”
“Did you forget about the tires?” I joke.
“No,” she whispers, settling her hand on my chest. “I didn’t.”
Tenderness blooms in my belly and I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the soft floral scent, feeling the silky strands cling to my beard. “Baby.”
She shudders, hand sliding to my stomach and pushing back, those blue eyes unfathomable…at least until she asks, “Kiss me?”
“Are you ready for that?”
Her face goes soft. “I’m ready to try.”
I wait for a long moment, giving her time to change her mind, then lean in and brush my lips over hers, once, twice, three times.
A long, slow exhale, her body relaxing against mine.
I brush again, a little harder this time, and when she only sighs again, I deepen the touch of my mouth against hers, dipping my tongue in to tangle with hers.
She moans softly and I slide my hand up her back, drawing her more firmly against me—
And there.
Stiffness between her shoulder blades.
The slightest tremble of her fingers on my stomach.
I pull back, drop my hand.
Her eyes are closed and she sighs, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“I can’t even—”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
Another shake. “I should—”
I press my finger to her lips, trying to find the words to make my words clear.
But they don’t come.
Because I…sniff.
Then groan, hurrying to the oven and pulling open the door.
Black smoke billows out.
“Nothing to be sorry about except for distracting me so much that dinner’s toast,” I say, slamming it closed and turning off the heat.
When I spin around her expression is chagrined…
And still fucking beautiful.
Especially when she holds up her glass and says,
“At least we have wine?”