Chapter 19
NINETEEN
“ Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing, but the age of emotion she certainly had not.”
~Jane Austen, Persuasion
T here was debate on what number tonight’s date with Clayton was. It was either date nine if Clayton was counting, or date two if she was. Either way, as she pulled on a denim jacket over her flirty red dress, she was excited. It was a departure from her signature purple, but tonight she wanted to be the woman who wore a red dress on a date with a very attractive man.
Despite the fact he was cooking at his place, he’d insisted on picking her up like a real date.
“Hey.” Elle flung the door open at the first knock.
“Wow,” he breathed out. “You’re stunning.”
Elle’s face erupted in a giant smile. “You look pretty stunning yourself.” Biting her lower lip, her gaze roamed over Clayton’s muscular body. His blue jeans and fitted button up plaid shirt hugged him in all the ways she wanted to. Elle wanted to run her fingers through his freshly cut sandy blond hair, the sides shorter than they’d been this morning.
With an almost bashful smile, he slipped his fingers in hers, they were a perfect fit. Hands linked they strolled to the farmhouse.
The clack of nails against hardwood floors greeted them when they walked into the farmhouse. Fitz bounded up to Elle in the small foyer. Crouching, she massaged his velvety ears and got a smack of his tongue on her face in return.
“I see the ma?tre d’ at this restaurant is very affectionate,” she giggled.
“He’ll also help with any leftovers.”
“Full service.”
She rose and slipped off her sandals. Clayton placed his big shoes next to her smaller ones.
“So, you can either come help me in the kitchen or go snoop around the house.”
“Oh, snoop please.” Elle imagined her grin was reminiscent of a five-year-old’s on Christmas morning. “Any rules or forbidden zones?”
“Nope.”
Elle wrapped her arms around his neck in an excited hug.
His lips quirked up. “I’ll come collect you when the food is ready or, if you get bored, I’m in there.” He gestured to the large entry to the right of the front door.
Peeking around Clayton, Elle spied a large, open kitchen and dining area.
With a squeeze of her waist and gentle press of his lips, he slipped away.
Curiosity buzzed in her bloodstream as she wandered. Passing a set of steps leading upstairs and a narrow hallway that ran toward open French doors, she shuffled into the living room. A navy sectional couch sat across from a large flatscreen suspended over the fireplace. She could picture Clayton with his feet kicked up on the coffee table binging a cooking show or reading a book from one of the oak bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. She traced the well-loved book spines that lined the shelves. Each book organized by genre. He had an entire row of Austen.
Swoon.
A copy of Wicked and the Wallflower by Sarah MacLean lay on the circular coffee table. Elle skimmed the back cover, eyebrows raised at the historical romance’s description. Keeping it in her hand, she headed down a narrow hallway.
The French-style doors at the hallway’s end opened to his study. More books sat on two bookshelves flanking a cushy leather chair. Envy swept over her at the plush pillow-top window seat overlooking the treelined backyard. As a kid, she’d push two chairs together against the large window in the dining room, and pretend it was a real window seat.
“Hey.” Clayton leaned against the door frame, his mouth curved into a grin.
“How much extra to use this window seat during my stay?” She nestled into the cushy window seat.
“No charge. I can give you a key, so you can come over here anytime.”
“A key isn’t nec?—”
He raised a hand, shaking off her protest.
“Well, thank you.”
“Dinner is ready.” He held out his hand.
Still holding the book in her left hand, she took his hand with her right, allowing him to lead her to the kitchen.
Two settings of blue stone plates, silverware, cloth napkins, glasses of water, and stemless wineglasses sat on the oak table. Most people would have sat the plates across from each other, but Clayton placed them side-by-side. A bowl of fresh salad, grilled chicken breasts, grilled parmesan-encrusted asparagus spears, and a bottle of Riesling sat on the table. The herby aroma of the chicken flooded Elle’s nostrils. The room was lit with the soft light of candles in the center of the table and the orangey glow of the setting sun.
Conversation over dinner included a spirited discussion of favorite recipes. Both were amateur chefs in the kitchen with a healthy obsession with cooking shows.
After her last bite of the tasty chicken, she decided to tease Clayton about the historical romance she’d found. Kind of like the chicken, it was juicy reading.
He smirked as she displayed the book. “Book club.”
“The book club you’re in with your mom and Noah’s?” she teased. “You realize this book screams heaving bosoms and randy dukes, right?”
“Nothing wrong with a heaving bosom or two.” He winked.
The first rule of book club, he explained, was when it’s your month to select the book, nobody complains, they just read. Noah’s mom was a huge fan of historical romances, so Clayton had a shelf in the bedroom filled with books about feisty women and the rogues who loved them. Discussing the “sexy bits” with his mom had thoroughly traumatized him.
“I haven’t read a historical romance before,” she admitted, studying the book’s cover which featured a curvy, sexy brunette in a pink dress.
“We could read it together.”
“Okay. I noticed the bookshop on Main Street. I could stop there tomorrow. How late are they open?”
“Nah.” He took the book from her hand. “We can read it together.”
“Like reading aloud to each other?”
“Our own adult version of story time.” He winced. “That sounded far dirtier than I meant it.”
“I wouldn’t mind a little dirty.” With a bat of her lashes, she pointed her fork at him.
Grinning, he ate the small piece of asparagus at the end of her fork.
Damn. Her vagina clenched.
“Noted.”He speared his last piece of asparagus and held it out.
She took it.
“When was the last time you had a…little dirty?”
“Sex?” She blurted almost spitting out her bite.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat.
“Ten years ago. It was fine, but I… I wasn’t ready then.”
“I haven’t had sex since Marianne, and that was at least a year before we separated,” he said as he started clearing their empty plates.
Elle rose to help. “You weren’t ready either?” She turned on the sink and squirted in dish soap, lemon-scented steam rising from the hot water and bubbles.
“Nope. I’m not the casual kind of guy, remember?”
“I’m not a casual kind of girl.”
“I know.” He stared at her.
A beat passed, their gazes caught and held. He saw her, and she saw him. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Like the time she’d gone zip-lining with Willa in Catalina. Weightless, she dangled twenty feet in the air but felt secure in the anchored sensation of being tethered to the safety line.
“So, you can help, or you can go explore. There’s a whole second floor and basement.”
“I should probably help you clean.”
He kissed her cheek. “Go snoop. I’ll find you after I take Fitz out.”
While he had his arms elbow deep in sudsy water, she glided out of the room. Choosing the second floor, she glanced at family photos dotting the wall leading upstairs.
There were three doors in the upper hallway. The first was a guest room, decorated in simple shades of gray, with a single picture of Letchworth in the fall. The next door opened into a bathroom with the smallest counter space. That would never do for all her hair products. At the end of the hall stood the last closed door. It was Clayton’s bedroom.
Entering the dark room, she hit the switch turning on the overhead light and two small wall sconces. Two large windows were draped in navy-blue curtains, flanking a king-sized bed. The matching navy blankets were soft under her touch as her fingers skated along the neatly made bed. More bookshelves, including the promised row of books filled with feisty historical heroines, lined the walls. A barn-style door separated the bedroom from the bathroom.
Her gaze drifted to the closet door on the other side of the room, and she squealed. The hat! On the drive to Buffalo, Clayton had mentioned a cowboy hat that he’d worn to a Garth Brooks concert with Noah as teens, which he still owned. Swinging open the door and switching on the closet light, she observed his organization. Shoes neat on racks at the bottom, clothes hung by type. On the top shelf sat several rows of baseball caps. That’s where she found the black cowboy hat. Rising on her toes, she reached for the hat and slid it to the edge of the shelf. It tumbled into her chest. Laughing, she placed it on her head, turning to check herself out in the long mirror that hung on the wall across from the closet door.
“You look good, cowgirl,” Clayton drawled in a twangy accent, leaning against the door frame.
“I bet you’d look better,” she said.
Sauntering to her, he reached for the hat. Skimming her fingers with his, he took the hat and settled it on his own head. The brim obscured his eyes just enough to leave anyone looking at him puzzled at the story hidden within.
“I think I need you to answer the door wearing that hat, jeans, and nothing else.”
With the rise of his lips, Elle knew that she’d said that aloud. Perhaps don’t speak all your thoughts.
“Noted,”he said, those gray eyes smoldering. His chest bumped hers as he returned the hat to its spot.
Heat from his body lapped against her skin.
He settled his hands on her waist. “Any other discoveries?”
“Do you make your bed every day?” Her breathy voice kept cadence with the thump of her heart.
“Yup.”
Oh, god. He’s perfect.
“I think we should muss it up,” she purred.
“Are you sure?” His throat bobbed.
In response, she lifted to her toes, placing her lips against his.
Pulling inches away from her, he whispered, “I want you so much, but I don’t have protection. I tried to buy condoms, but they have them in the same aisle as the lady products and I ran into your aunt. I pretended I’d gone down the wrong aisle until she left and when I attempted to sneak back over, my mom walked into the store.”
“Small towns.” She rolled her eyes.
“I know.” He looked sorrowful.
Elle thought for a moment before speaking. “I’m on birth control to regulate my periods.” Period? Really? She closed her eyes in embarrassment, but then opened them with certainty.“It’s been years since I had sex and I was tested after the last time. I see my doctor annually. I’m safe.”
His eyes were soft and sincere. “I’m safe.”
“Ok.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, his mouth scant inches from hers.
“Yes!” She sloshed an eager breath.
“We can stop at any time.” The heat from his breath was a ghost of a kiss on her.
“Kiss me already,” she almost growled.
With that, he sealed his mouth to hers. Strong hands splayed across her arching back taking their kiss deeper, and his exploring tongue danced with hers. Elle threaded her hands into his hair, tugging him closer. A small whimper left her lips as his hands gripped her backside. The firmness of his body pressed hard against her softness.
He moved her backward until she was against the door frame, then lifted her, settling her legs around his waist. The giggles returned but were soon replaced by a soft moan as his rigidness rubbed against her. The friction of the layers of satin panties and his jeans sparked a deep need.
“Bed. Now,” she gasped.
Clenched firmly against his body he carried her to the bed then set her on her feet in front of it. With his eyes tethered to her, she slid her denim jacket off and let it fall to the floor. He found the zipper of her red dress and lowered it. The soft fabric fell down her curves, pooling at her feet. Arching her brow, she unclasped her bra dropping it on the pile of clothes at their feet. Holding his gaze, she tugged her underwear off. Stepping away from the pile of clothes at her feet, she stood naked in front of him.
“Say something,” she whispered resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms.
“I’m afraid if I do, I’ll wake up from this dream,” he rasped.
“Your turn.” She bit her lip, both amused and eager.
Clayton’s swift fingers unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop behind him. Before the shirt hit the ground, he had pulled his white undershirt over his head and tossed it aside. With a sexy glint, he undid his belt, then stepped out of his jeans and kicked them to the side.
His muscular body clad only in black boxer briefs was a work of art. The planes of his sculpted chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. The proof that he truly liked what he saw tented the fabric. Maintaining their locked stare, he dragged off his underwear.
Wow. She swept an appreciative gaze up his impressive length. A twinge of need contracting in her pelvic muscles.
“Come here,” she ordered.
Crossing the distance in two steps, his arms pulled her in close. His mouth demanded, while his hands explored. Elle teased her fingers up and down his spine reveling in the clenching of his back muscles. The wet heat of his mouth traced down her throat to her collarbone. A pleasurable groan escaped as his teeth grazed one nipple then drew the tip deep for a sharp nip followed by a soothing suck.
Elle’s back arched as he repeated the action on her other breast. The liquid heat between her thighs surged as he raised her right leg to his hip. Holding her in place he lowered one hand between them, his fingers finding her throbbing clit.
His capable fingers moved in a slow circular fashion. Tingles raced through her, taunting her with promised release. Gripping his shoulders, she melted into his increased pressure against her. Sweet sensation built with each flick, swirl, and press of his finger until she panted his name as she came.
Hungry and wanting more, she slipped out of Clayton’s hold, pushing him onto the bed. Like a prowling lioness, she crawled over him. Positioning him at her entrance, her eyes locked with his as she sank onto him. His guttural moan of satisfaction filled the room as he was sheathed in her, inch by slow inch.
The brief pinching sensation morphed to a decadent fullness as her body stretched to accommodate his girth. Placing her hands on his at her hips, she squeezed as they moved in a gentle rhythmic pace.
"You feel so good.” His whisper was hoarse.
She moved her hands to his chest and braced herself as their movements became more frantic. She lowered her chest to his, an angle that reached deeper and sent shockwaves of ecstasy through her. The pleasurable waves inched closer, hazing her vision.
Clayton’s fingertips bit into her hips, then he moved a hand between them, pressing just where she wanted him.
“Clayton!” she screamed with release. Her thighs trembled and she pressed her mouth against his neck to stifle her cries.
“Don’t hold back. I want to hear you,” he growled, thrusting up into her, drawing out her orgasm and driving to his own.
Riding out her climax, she whimpered with each pleasurable aftershock.
“Fuck!” he gritted out as his release claimed him.
Spent, she collapsed on his chest, and Clayton wrapped his arms tight around her back, his fingertips tracing lines on her ribs. Elle remained on top with Clayton still inside of her, panting against his neck and pressing a palm to his cheek.
“That was nice,” she panted as she wiggled her hips and patted the side of his face.
The rumble of his laughter vibrated through them. His laugh really was her favorite song.