Chapter 6 EMMETT #2
“I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to make promises I know I’ll break. I don’t want expectations that I won’t meet. That’s why I don’t want names.”
“I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Then no, I don’t want you to take me to my car.”
A no-strings arrangement was fine by me. “Kiss me, Nova.”
She jerked at the name, her eyes flashing panic. “W-what did you call me?”
“Listen, as much as I like calling you baby in the bedroom, that’s not going to work for me all the time. You can call me Ace. I’m calling you Nova after that sweet-ass car you drive.”
“Oh.” Her frame relaxed and she shook her head. Then before I could ask why that had surprised her, she was up and straddling my lap, giving me the kiss I’d demanded.
I took her on the couch, and after we were spent, we went to the deck, where I cooked us burgers. We lazed on our respective chairs, watching the sun set behind the trees.
“Do you like whiskey?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I stood and went inside, getting two tumblers from the kitchen and pouring us each a drink. I found her exactly where I’d left her, completely content in a chaise.
It would be hard for me to see that lounge chair as anything but hers for a while.
I might as well have bought it for her. It was the chaise that matched my own but the one I never sat in.
After dinner, she’d stolen a hoodie from my closet.
It billowed around her, draping past her fingertips and hanging to her thighs.
She looked perfect there, her face fresh and makeup-free. Her hair in loose waves from air-drying. Her delectable body covered in my clothes.
I sipped my whiskey, enjoying the chirp of birds in the evergreens.
“What’s your favorite food?” she asked.
“I’m not picky.”
She turned toward me. “That’s not an answer.”
“Tacos. Burgers. My mom’s chicken parm.”
“Favorite cocktail?”
“This whiskey.” I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, the ice cubes rattling.
This whiskey had been Dad’s favorite. It wasn’t top shelf or imported. But on special occasions, when he wanted more than a beer, he’d have a glass on the rocks. Sometimes, Mom would have one with him too.
“What’s yours?” I asked.
“Depends on my mood. When I’m home after work and cooking dinner, I usually go for red wine. When I’m at a restaurant or bar, a martini.”
“And how about when you’re barefoot, sitting on a deck, wearing my clothes?”
She raised her glass. “This whiskey.”
“Good answer.” I grinned and took another sip. “What’s your favorite place you’ve ever traveled?”
“Cabo. I went with a couple of friends for my twenty-first birthday. I laid on the beach and drank the entire week away. You?”
“Alaska. Took a month-long trip up there. Drove through Canada. Camped and hiked along the way. Got there and considered staying for good.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Can’t wear heels camping.”
She giggled. “I own shoes without heels. I just prefer heels on a regular basis.”
“Considering how sexy your heels are, I prefer them too.”
She laughed again. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“Braveheart.”
“Is that why you’ve got the long hair? Going for a Mel Gibson look?”
“Just too lazy to cut it all the time. It grows fast and it’s easier this way.” I hit the barber shop every three or four months, either that or have Mom cut it straight across the bottom. When I’d kept it short, I’d had to go in every two weeks.
“When’s the last time it was short?”
“When I was in my early twenties.”
She took a sip, a smile on her pretty mouth. “I like it. I’ve never been with a man who had long hair. Gives me something to hold on to. Sort of like you do with mine.”
Because she had great fucking hair. Thick and soft. Silky, and there was so damn much. Every chance I got I buried my hands in those strands and held on tight.
The questions continued, questions about nothing and everything. Questions that didn’t get into our personal lives but were personal questions. We talked until our glasses were empty and the lingering ice cubes had melted.
“What’s your favorite sexual position?” she asked.
“You riding me on this chair like you did the other day wasn’t bad.”
She stood and picked up our empty glasses, taking them inside.
I found her in the kitchen, rinsing them clean at the sink. Walking to her, I pressed my chest against her back and snaked my hands underneath her hoodie and T-shirt, finding her nipples pebbled and waiting. Then I dropped my lips to her neck. “What’s your favorite sexual position?”
“You’ll know when you find it.” She leaned back, pressing her ass into my cock.
It took me three times to narrow down her favorite, but when I had her in my bed, pounding into her from behind, she came harder and faster than any time before.
“I changed my mind,” I said, my head spinning and my body totally spent.
“About what?” she panted.
“That’s my new favorite too.”
She laughed and no sound had ever sounded so good in my bedroom.
Then she fell asleep in my arms. Despite my better judgment, I wasn’t ready to let her go.
When I dropped her off at the grocery store the next morning, I kissed her slow and long, not giving a shit who saw us making out in the parking lot. If this was the last kiss, I wasn’t going to hurry.
“Thanks for the fun weekend, Ace,” she said after we broke apart.
“Welcome. Don’t be a stranger, baby.”
She flashed me that breathtaking smile. “Oh, I think you’ll see me again.”
I hoped so. Because for the first time, riding home alone and walking into a quiet house didn’t give me the normal sense of peace.