Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
TOM
The door closes behind us with a soft click that seems to echo in the sudden quiet. Kelsie stands in my entryway, snowflakes melting in her hair, her cheeks flushed from cold and something more.
"Would you like some coffee?" I ask, then immediately feel ridiculous. Coffee is not what either of us wants right now.
She smiles, a slow curve of lips that sends heat coursing through me. "I think we've had enough caffeine for one night."
I take a step toward her, hyperaware of every detail. The way her glasses sit slightly crooked on her nose. The rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat. The lingering scent of vanilla that follows her everywhere.
"Kelsie." Her name emerges as barely more than a whisper. "Are you sure about this?"
She closes the distance between us, rising on her tiptoes to bring her face closer to mine. "I've never been more sure of anything."
The last of my restraint crumbles as I bend to capture her mouth with mine. This kiss is different from those we shared under the mistletoe and on the porch. Those were explorations, questions asked and tentatively answered. This is certainty, a declaration of intent that leaves no room for doubt.
She responds with unexpected fervor, her hands sliding up my chest to link behind my neck. The enthusiasm of her reaction emboldens me. I deepen the kiss, my tongue seeking entrance which she readily grants, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her that vibrates against my lips.
We break apart only when breathing becomes necessary, both of us slightly dazed.
"Your coat," I manage, helping her slip off the winter layers. My fingers brush against her neck as I unwrap her borrowed scarf, feeling her shiver at the contact.
"Yours too," she insists, reaching for the buttons of my sheriff's jacket.
There's something intensely intimate about watching her undress me, even just my outerwear.
Her expression is focused, almost reverent, as if each layer revealed is a discovery worth savoring.
When she pushes the jacket from my shoulders, her hands linger, tracing the breadth before sliding down my arms.
"You're so sexy," she says softly, her eyes meeting mine with disarming honesty.
The compliment catches me off guard. Sexy is not a word I've ever associated with myself. Functional, maybe. Intimidating when necessary. But sexy? The sincerity in her gaze makes it impossible to dismiss.
"I was just thinking the same about you," I tell her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
Her laugh is self conscious. "I'm a mess. My hair's probably frizzing from the snow, and I'm pretty sure my mascara is halfway down my face."
"Perfect," I correct her, tilting her chin up with gentle fingers. "You're perfect."
The vulnerability that flashes across her features makes my chest ache. How long has it been since someone looked at her and truly saw her? Since someone valued her for exactly who she is rather than who they wanted her to be?
I bend to kiss her again, pouring every ounce of my appreciation into the contact.
Her response is immediate and eager, her body pressing against mine as if seeking maximum connection.
The feel of her curves against me sends blood rushing south, my body responding with an intensity that would be embarrassing if she weren't moving her hips in small, maddening circles that tell me she's affected too.
"Upstairs?" I ask against her lips, unwilling to assume.
She nods, eyes dark with desire behind her glasses. "Please."
I lead her up the stairs, our fingers interlaced, each step building anticipation. At the door to my bedroom, I pause, suddenly aware that no woman has crossed this threshold in sixteen years. But, it feels right that Kelsie is the one to end the drought.
The room is spartan but neat, a king sized bed dominating the space.
I've never been one for unnecessary furnishings, but seeing it through her eyes, I'm aware of how impersonal it feels.
No photographs, no mementos, nothing that truly marks it as mine beyond the uniform hanging in the open closet door.
"I haven't brought anyone here since Caroline," I admit, needing her to understand the significance.
She turns to me, her expression softening. "Thank you for letting me in."
Those simple words carry weight far beyond the physical space we're occupying. She understands what this means.
Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, each one undone with careful precision. "May I?"
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. When she pushes the shirt from my shoulders, her fingers trace the scar that runs across my collarbone, a souvenir from a bar fight in my twenties.
"Tell me someday," she murmurs, pressing her lips to the raised tissue.
The promise of future conversations and discoveries, sends a wave of tenderness through me. I cup her face in my hands, kissing her deeply before reaching for the hem of her sweater.
"Your turn," I whisper.
She raises her arms, allowing me to pull the garment over her head.
The sight of her in a simple black bra, her skin pale and perfect in the soft lamplight, nearly stops my heart.
I've imagined this moment more times than I care to admit over the past week, but reality surpasses fantasy in every way.
"You can touch me," she says, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. "Please."
The slight tremble in her request reminds me of what she's shared about her ex-husband. How he criticized more than he appreciated. How he took without giving. The thought of anyone treating her as less than the treasure she is fills me with a protective fury I channel into worship instead.
My hands slide around her waist, mapping the dip and flare of her shape before moving upward.
When I cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra, her breath catches, eyes fluttering closed.
I watch her reactions carefully, learning what makes her gasp, what draws those small sounds of pleasure from deep in her throat.
"Ready?" I ask, fingers finding the clasp between her shoulder blades.
"Yes," she breathes, and the garment joins her sweater on the floor.
The sight of her bare breasts sends desire coursing through me with renewed intensity.
They're perfect, fuller than her clothes had suggested, tipped with dusky rose nipples already tightened with arousal.
I bend to take one in my mouth, and her gasp turns into a moan that vibrates through both our bodies.
"Damn," she whispers, fingers threading through my hair to hold me closer.
I lavish attention on each breast in turn, using lips and tongue and the gentlest scrape of teeth to draw increasingly desperate sounds from her. Her hips move restlessly against mine, seeking friction, her body communicating what she wants even as words fail her.
When I straighten to claim her mouth again, she clutches at my shoulders, her kisses turning hungry, almost frantic. I slow us down, gentling the contact, reminding both of us that we have time. All night if we want it.
"Bed," I suggest, and she nods eagerly.
I guide her backward until her legs hit the mattress. She sits, looking up at me with those incredible eyes, her glasses slightly fogged from our shared heat. When she reaches for them, I stop her hand.
"Leave them," I request. "I want you to see me. And I want to see all of your expressions."
She smiles, surprised and pleased. "No one's ever asked me to keep them on before."
"Their loss." I kneel before her, slipping off her boots, then her socks. Each inch of revealed skin receives attention, my lips following my hands up her calves to her knees.
When I reach for the button of her jeans, she tenses almost imperceptibly. I pause, looking up to check her expression.
"Still okay?"
She nods, but I see the shadow of insecurity in her eyes. "It's just... it's been a while. And I'm not exactly model thin."
"Thank God for that," I tell her honestly, pressing a kiss to her soft stomach. "You're gorgeous, Kelsie. Every inch of you. Let me show you how much I appreciate your body."
The trust in her eyes as she lifts her hips to help me remove her jeans nearly undoes me. I slide the denim down her legs, revealing matching black panties and thighs that are strong and shapely. Not a model's body, no. A woman's body, with curves and softness that make my mouth water.
I take my time exploring newly revealed terrain, paying special attention to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. When I press a kiss to the damp fabric covering her center, her whole body jerks, a startled "Oh!" escaping her lips.
Looking up the length of her body, I ask a silent question. Her nod is eager, if slightly nervous.
"You don't have to," she whispers.
"I want to," I assure her, hooking my fingers in the waistband of her panties. "More than you can imagine. But only if you want it too."
"I do," she admits, her voice small but certain. "Marcus never... he said he didn't enjoy it."
Anger flares briefly at this unknown man who took so much and gave so little. I push it aside, focusing instead on the gift of trust she's offering me.
"He’s a fucking idiot," I tell her, sliding the last barrier down her legs. "I’ll savor every inch."
She's beautiful here too, pink and glistening with evidence of her arousal. I take a moment just to appreciate the sight of her spread before me, completely vulnerable and trusting. Then I lower my mouth to her center, giving her a long, slow stroke with my tongue that makes her cry out.
"Oh God," she gasps, her hands fisting in the comforter. "Tom!"
I settle in to learn her body, discovering what makes her writhe and what makes her whimper. When I circle her clit with my tongue, her thighs tremble on either side of my head. When I slide a finger inside her tight heat, she arches off the bed with a sound that's almost a sob.
"So good," she murmurs, one hand finding my hair. "Please don't stop."