Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laurel awoke with a sleepy grin. She’d had the best dream. A sizzling-as-all-get-out, wet dream, at that. The kind of dream that made you want to mainline melatonin, so you’d never wake up. And the best part? Jake had been the star. Not surprising, since she’d been fantasizing about him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him at Hannah’s. So, yeah. Awesome dream.
Stretching like a contented cat, she felt a pang of soreness between her legs. An avalanche of memories from last night, when Jake had taken her every which way to Sunday, engulfed her.
She shot bolt upright in bed.
It wasn’t a dream!
Realizing she’d probably had more sex with Jake in nine hours than she’d had during her entire last year with her ex, she smiled impishly.
The other side of the bed was empty, so she slid her hand across the sheet. It felt cool beneath her touch, meaning Jake had been out of bed for a while.
His bed.
And she was wearing his shirt. The one he’d been wearing last night. It smelled like him.
She pulled the material up to her nose, then froze mid-sniff.
Oh my heck!
She released the neck of the shirt like it scorched her.
“Great. I’m officially creepy now,” she muttered to the empty room.
But in her defense, Jake smelled amazing. And regardless of the fact she’d probably just earned a spot on a watch list somewhere, she’d never been happier in an article of clothing.
How did she even get here?
Okay, she obviously knew how she’d physically gotten to his house—it was a rhetorical question—but how did she get where she was with Jake? She was an average-looking grade school teacher whose fiancé had cheated on her. He was a blazing hot fireman with women falling at his feet. The pieces didn’t fit.
They fit pretty well last night.
Omigosh! Her head was in the gutter and her body was begging for round two—er—five? Six? She’d lost count. The man was insatiable with the stamina of an Olympic cross-country runner. And he’d wanted her.
He’d.
Wanted.
Her.
But what happened now that they’d had sex? Would he still want her? She really hoped so because she was ninety-nine percent sure she was in love with him.
Air stalled in her lungs as the weight of that revelation sank in. She didn’t know if Jake felt the same way, but what if he didn’t? It was a distinct possibility. Maybe even a probability. Did bad boys fall in love? She had no clue. As the saying goes, the only things she was certain of were death and taxes… and the fact that last one percent was dangerously close to falling in line.
Fudge.
That happening was too scary to think about. She needed to shut off her brain before it started crunching what-if scenarios.
Looking around the room for a distraction, she?—
Holy hotcakes!
Had a cyclone hit the laundry basket? Her and Jake’s clothes were strewn everywhere. She jumped out of bed and proceeded to pick up their things, taking in her surroundings as she moved around the room. It was neat. Way neater than she would’ve expected for a bachelor. Even the tops of the dresser and nightstands were dusted and organized. It was a nice surprise. Ethan had been a slob. It’d always driven her crazy having to pick up after him.
She looked at Jake’s boxers in her hand and grinned. This type of picking up she could get used to.
A few more steps to retrieve a wayward sock brought her next to a comfy-looking brown leather armchair in the corner of the room with a standing brass reading lamp next to it. A hardcover Tom Clancy novel was lying open over the armrest. It had that well-loved, been-read-a-dozen-times appearance.
Jake’s a reader?
Okay, that was kind of a turn-on.
Continuing her perusal, she noticed that instead of cookie-cutter, store bought prints, artsy, black and white framed photographs adorned the walls. They looked like professional photos and were perfect for him... the back of a firetruck with its flashing lights making star streaks across the sky, gloves tossed by a helmet lying on wet pavement, the silhouette of a firefighter holding a hose with a sparkling water spray illuminated by the setting sun. All of them were stunning and strangely calming. And surprising. Jake kept surprising her.
Not that she’d expected a hot coeds calendar tacked to the wall—okay, so part of her might have considered it, given his playboy reputation—but in the few weeks she’d known him, Jake had bucked stereotypes along with her preconceived notions.
Walking back to the bed, she straightened their clothes and had barely laid them on the nightstand when the door opened.
“Hey, good morning,” Jake said. His hair was disheveled, and he was shirtless. And if he didn’t already look yummy enough, he was wearing those sinful gray sweats again.
Good morning, indeed.
“Get back in bed.” His abrupt order came out of nowhere.
She blinked like someone had tapped her on the nose. “What?”
He disappeared, only to return a moment later carrying a tray table. He stopped a few steps past the threshold when he saw she hadn’t budged.
“Get your hot little ass in bed,” he said sternly.
Arousal and confusion had Laurel dutifully climbing back onto the bed. She pulled the covers over her bare legs.
Now that she was where he wanted her, Jake closed the remaining distance between them. The tray in his hands was laden with a plate of something that smelled divine, a glass of orange juice, a cup full of what she hoped was coffee, and a vase with a…? She squinted. Was that a…?
“Washcloth,” he supplied, reading her puzzled expression.
She cocked her head. “A… what is it?”
“It’s a washcloth,” he repeated as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have it partially stuffed into a vase with the other half hanging out. “I didn’t have any flowers, and this has a floral print, so I improvised.”
Her smile practically split her face. That was the silliest, cutest thing she’d ever seen.
“Scooch,” he ordered.
She moved over to the center of the bed. When Jake placed the breakfast tray down so it framed her thighs, her stomach gurgled loudly.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry,” she said, pressing a hand to her abdomen. It was as if the mention of food had sent a memo straight to her stomach.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He sat on the bed next to her. “We did kinda skip past dinner last night.”
The look in his eyes made her stomach flutter.
Choosing to pretend she hadn’t heard his comment, she gestured to the tray. “What’d you bring me?”
“Tell me you like spinach quiche.”
“I like spinach quiche,” she sassed, earning her a so-that’s-how-it’s-gonna-be expression.
The spread he’d laid before her was so gorgeous, it could be featured on the cover of a cooking magazine. Seriously, Gordon Ramsay would be impressed.
The huge piece of quiche looked light and fluffy and melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The bacon was crisp—just the way she liked it—and there was a fancy array of artfully arranged sliced, fresh fruit with a side of perfectly toasted sourdough.
“Did you make this?” she asked, somehow knowing he had. No denying, the man could cook.
He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m offended. Do you really think I’d give you frozen quiche to replenish all those calories you burned last night?”
Was he trying to embarrass her, or turn her on? Because… mission accomplished!
Quick! Think of something clever to say.
“Um… uh…”
You know that emoji with the woman’s hand covering her face? Yeah, Laurel and that emoji were best buds now.
“So fucking adorable,” Jake murmured under his breath. “Me too.”
She furrowed her brows. “You too what?”
“I keep replaying last night, like you are right now.”
Can he read my mind?
“No, I’m?—”
He cocked a brow, making her words skid to a halt.
“Those photos are beautiful,” she blurted in a futile attempt to divert attention from the fact she’d definitely been replaying last night, including reruns. “Where’d you get them?”
The look he gave her confirmed she sucked at diversions. “Jessa took them.”
“She did? Wow, she’s talented. Is it a hobby, or…?”
“She has her own photography business,” he said. “Specializes in pet photography, but those were a birthday present.”
“Pet photography? So, she takes pictures of?—”
“Yes,” he said, gripping her chin and turning her head away from the photos to face him. “Now, back to those replays.”
“Aren’t you eating?” she choked out.
He smiled knowingly, but didn’t press the issue. “Yep.” He handed her a fork, then picked up a second one from the tray and stabbed a strawberry. “Figured we could share.”
True, there was enough food to feed an army, but eating off of the same plate felt intimate, somehow. Like they were a couple and did this all the time.
Jake grinned and ate the strawberry.
She could get used to doing this all the time.
The scary question was, could he?
Laurel daintily cut off a piece of quiche. Jake loved cooking for others, but watching her enjoy his food gave him an odd sense of pride he didn’t usually experience. As caveman as it sounded, he liked providing for her.
He popped a halved grape into his mouth. He’d thought about bringing two plates of food, but had opted for one instead. He couldn’t explain it, but the idea of sharing…well… it felt right. With her.
God, I can get used to this.
Laurel wrapped her lips around her fork, moaning when she tasted the bite of spinach and cheese bliss. His groin tightened as he thought about something else he’d like to have her wrap those lips around.
They’d done a lot of things last night. Fucking amazing, definitely-doing-them-again things, but Laurel going down on him hadn’t been one of them. His gut had told him she wasn’t comfortable doing that, and he didn’t ask. In fact, he’d never asked a woman to give him head and never would. That should be her choice. Now, if one initiated it on her own, who was he to argue?
He’d always been demanding in the bedroom. He liked being in charge—he got off on it. But with Laurel, being in charge was tempered by wondering if she might take the lead. She was timid in bed, and he doubted she’d ever initiated. But then she’d straddled him on the couch last night and rubbed that sweet pussy of hers against him. That move had surprised him because it was so out of character for her, yet she’d still done it. She’d wanted him badly enough, she’d done it. That one little slide of her hips had humbled him… and fucking turned him on.
He was certain there was a sex kitten hiding inside her. A confident, femme fatale that some prick must’ve really done a number on. That’s all he could figure because even though she didn’t initiate, fuck, was she responsive. He’d led, and she’d followed. His little teacher was a great student, and he couldn’t wait to teach her more.
Laurel licked some crumbs off her pouty lips, and he was back to picturing them around his cock, sucking him off.
Fuck.
He had to stop thinking about that or he’d never let her leave the bedroom. He had things planned for today, so he needed a diversion in order to keep his hands off her, otherwise he’d?—
“Did you fold our clothes?” he asked, catching sight of the neat pile of clothing on the nightstand. She’d even folded his socks.
Laurel immediately took a bite of bacon, then motioned that she couldn’t talk because her mouth was full.
He smirked. “You know I’m just gonna throw them in the hamper, right?”
“This is really good,” she said after swallowing. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His smirk turned into a full-fledged smile. “And you’re totally avoiding.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her innocent expression was cute as fuck.
“Uh-huh.” He’d noticed her slight OCD tendencies before, and how it bugged her to have things messy or out of place. It was a quirky little part of her that made her who she was. And he really liked who she was. “Are you done?”
When she nodded, he lifted the breakfast tray so she was no longer locked in.
“Then, go take a shower before I keep you in bed all morning.” Damn, he wanted to keep her in bed all morning, but they had an appointment. “There’re fresh towels in the cupboard. You’ve only got forty minutes because we have someplace to be.”
“We do?” she asked.
Unfortunately.
“We do,” he confirmed.
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was hiding, but he had a damn good poker face. She could look all she wanted, but he wasn’t giving up anything.
Apparently reaching the same conclusion, she climbed out of bed and hiked a brow. “I can do it in twenty,” she informed him saucily as she turned to leave. She’d only taken one step toward the bathroom before she pivoted back around and pulled the washcloth from the vase on the tray. “I might need this,” she said with a flirty little smile.
As those toned legs and sweet ass disappeared into the bathroom, a song popped into Jake’s head that could’ve been written for this exact moment because… he hated to see her go, but damn, he loved watching her leave.