Chapter 27 #2
“Her feeder is set to go off soon,” George explains. “She gets antsy around dinnertime.”
“Me, too.” I offer a solemn nod. “It’s good to know you have experience with high-maintenance females.”
George stares at me, his gaze growing heated the longer he looks. “Is that what you are? High maintenance?”
“Extremely.” I heft the armful of books I plan to take with me when I leave.
He smirks, then finds me a reusable bag to tuck them into before digging some beers out of the refrigerator.
While I sip mine and continue to explore, George settles on his large sectional, seeming content to simply watch me.
I wander closer to the window, intending to admire the view, but I’m distracted by a haphazard pile of packing material in the corner.
“Are you moving?” I nod toward the cluster of cardboard boxes.
George rolls his eyes. “Those are Jet’s. Apparently a three-hundred-dollar cat tower is shit when compared to the box it was delivered in.”
I laugh because his weird cat is funny, and I ignore how George quoted an amount I spend on a month’s worth of groceries.
At least Jet is getting him used to a cheap date.
But it’s a bleak reminder that this, whatever it is, can only ever be a casual thing. George and I come from different worlds. One where he’s financially stable and I save quarters and dimes because those coins matter, damn it.
Some people in my position might see George as a ticket out. Get the rich guy to fall for me, and the crumbling highway of my life will be repaved in gold asphalt. That’s exactly what Tiffany was after with Shawn.
But even if George gave me free rein with his money, that’s not a relationship I could ever feel comfortable in. Not after what my mom went through.
Maybe I shouldn’t think that way. I know George is different from Karl.
At least, I think he is.
The truth is, I never met the version of my biological father that had my mom swooning for him, however briefly.
For all I know, he could’ve wooed her with insightful words and thoughtful gestures.
Maybe he kissed her in airplanes and brought her to a condo in the city so they could be alone together.
All this to say, relying on a wealthy man is not something I ever plan to do. Even Shawn. When I reveal the truth, I can’t trust that my brother will stick around even after I pay him back. In that situation, though, I get it. The mistrust will be my fault.
But with George, it’s best to take the good as it comes but keep my expectations low. For both our sakes.
As if sensing that my thoughts have turned dark at the edges, George snags my hand.
He reels me in, claiming my beer to set it next to his on a side table before guiding me to straddle his lap.
The man’s thighs make for a spacious seat.
I expect him to start kissing me immediately, taking control of the situation, rekindling the heat from the cockpit.
But instead of diving into ravishment, George wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in for a firm hug. He presses his face into my neck, and I could swear the man is breathing me in.
“You’re a hugger,” I accuse, trying to sound put out, even as my body naturally melts into his embrace.
George’s chest rumbles with a laugh, and because the center of me is pressed against his lower belly, I can feel the vibration in an erotic way.
“Is that bad? That I want to hold you?”
“I guess not.” My hands, which I initially rested on his shoulders, find their way up to his head.
If I’m going to be here for a minute, I might as well explore.
I glide my palms over his close shave, smiling at the soft bristle of his hair against my skin.
“I wanted to touch you like this in the motel.”
Now that we’ve kissed, I feel like I can admit to my opossum ruse the last time we were in a bed together.
“The motel—” His body stiffens as my words register. Then he slumps back on the couch with a groan, and I fall with him. “You were awake.”
“Just a little.” Awake enough to have memorized the comforting weight of his skull on my stomach. “That’s when I should have realized you’d be a hugger. Even in sleep, you’re a clinger.”
There’s a gentle twinge on my collarbone, and I gasp when I realize George bit me.
“Excuse me, sir.” I scrape my nails along his scalp, and he shudders. “That is no way to treat your human pillow. Oh god,” I let my voice drop into mock horror, “is that what this is?”
George tilts his chin back enough to meet my gaze, his silver eyes shining with confusion. “Is this what?”
“Some elaborate ploy to get me to share a bed with you again. Because I’m the best pillow you ever had, and now you’re desperate for a good night’s sleep.” I glare at him the best I can. “You’ve seduced me with planes and your melted-butter body all so you can use me as a piece of bedding.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Melted-butter body? Explain that, please.”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“Lickable. Indulgent. Salty and rich. I want to spread you on a griddle and cook pancakes on you.” I graze my nails over the skin of his strong neck and defined collarbone. “I want to rub you on an ear of corn and devour the whole cob.”
“The whole cob?” He grins wide. “You think you can handle that?”
“How will I know if you keep hugging me and don’t show me?” I whine the words, thoroughly enjoying how I don’t have to paste on a pleasant smile with this man. If I’m feeling petulant and give the hot pilot shit, that only seems to turn George on more.
He likes my cynicism.
Greedily, I slip a hand between us and palm his length through his jeans.
George sucks in a breath and drops his head back on the couch, the muscles in his neck straining, a vein bulging. I lean forward and lick along it.
Salty and rich, just like I said.
The last time I slept with someone was over two years ago. A nurse I met on a few of Mom’s trips to the hospital. He was good-looking with a big laugh. Both of our schedules were hectic, so the few hookups were random, fast, and—I thought—pretty hot before they fizzled out after a couple months.
But the frantic, needy energy coursing through my body right now eclipses what I felt for that nurse whose name I can’t even recall.
And George seems to share the hunger.
“How could you think I only want you as a pillow?” George mutters the question as he slips his hands under my shirt and palms my boobs, dragging his thumbs over the bra cups to rub my nipples until they’re hard against his touch.
“Well, my pussy was right there that day.” I’m breathy, leaning into his hands.
“You think I don’t remember that?” The question is almost a growl.
“How close I was to those red curls? Every fucking night, I replay that morning. Only I imagine I’d buried my head between your thighs.
Licked until you screamed my name. ’Til you were so wet that when I finally pressed my cock in, you took it so well. ”
I groan and my hips writhe, wetness gathering at the fantasy he builds.
“But you weren’t mine then, Beth.” He leans forward, thumbs still circling, breath hot against my lips. “Now you are.”
My mind doesn’t have enough focus remaining to refute the possessive nature of his words.
George kisses me like we’re back in that plane on that first flight and it’s going down without a road to land on. Like this is the last kiss we’ll ever have, so he’s going to make it count.