26. Sean
TWENTY-SIX
SEAN
Lizzie leaped over my legs, caught herself against the wall, then sprinted down the hallway with her pants still strangling one of her ankles. “My cookies!” she yelled as she skidded around the corner and into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, I picked myself up off the floor and dealt with the postcoital mess and the exploded wallet I’d tossed before following her. When I turned the corner, I got a wonderful view of Lizzie’s fabulous ass pointed in my direction as she pulled a tray of charred, smoking cookies out of the oven.
The smoke alarm began to blare in protest.
“Ahh!” Lizzie yelled, shoving the cookie sheet on top of the stove. She grabbed a dishtowel and started waving it wildly in the general vicinity of the smoke alarm while I flung the patio doors open to clear some of the fumes.
When I turned back around, Lizzie had given up on the dishtowel strategy and had resorted to glaring at the smoke alarm with her hands on her hips. Her pants and underwear were still caught around her left ankle.
I laughed, which made her turn that ferocious glare onto me. I threw my palms up. “Sorry.”
“Stupid thing,” she grumbled, and it went blessedly silent. Seeming to realize she was still naked from the waist down, Lizzie sighed and bent over, then struggled with the tangle of clothes until a cute little growl slipped through her lips.
I closed the door on a gust of cool wind, crossed the space between us, then slid my hands over her hips until she straightened and leaned against the counter. Her hands landed on my biceps, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel like heaven to be touched by her.
“You seem frazzled,” I noted.
“A lot has happened in the last few minutes.”
“That’s true.” My thumbs stroked over the soft curve of her hips. Touching her was a dream. “Are you upset about what happened?”
“Those cookies have been chilling in the refrigerator for two days. What a waste.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cookies, Lizzie.”
Her cheeks were red. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Lizzie flicked her dark-brown eyes up to meet mine. “Right. The other thing.”
“Yes. The other thing.”
“That was…nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers. “I thought so too.”
“So your date with Cindy didn’t go so well, huh.”
“It went fine.”
“Right. I just assumed, you know, since you broke my door down and then screwed me up against the wall, and all…”
My cock gave a twitch, which had to be some kind of record for speed of recovery past the age of forty. Then again, I’d never been attracted to a woman the way I was attracted to Lizzie. I let my hand slide from her hip to her mound, then lower. “That was something I’ve been wanting to do for a while.”
Her breath trembled as I touched her, softly at first, delving into the soft, wet, wonderland between her legs. “Sean?—”
“You want me to stop?” I slid my fingers up to tease the little swollen bud at the apex of her thighs, loving the way her eyelashes fluttered when I did.
“No,” she admitted, voice breathy. “Not really. But…”
I stroked her again and bit back a groan when her nails curled into my biceps. “But?”
“What’s happening right now?”
“I’m touching you.” I slid my fingers lower so I could tease her opening, loving how wet and plush she was against my hand. She was made for sex.
“Right,” she said, widening her stance another inch or two. “I meant in a broader sense. Like, what’s happening here, with us.” Her eyes, which had closed, blinked open again. I loved her hazy, pleasure-drunk look. Loved the way her rosebud mouth parted when I coaxed a finger inside.
“I’m touching you so I can watch you come on my fingers,” I clarified. “So I can enjoy the look on your face when you do.”
Her laugh was little more than a puff of breath. “Okay. I still don’t understand, but okay.”
I took my time. The kitchen was warm and smelled like burnt sugar and Lizzie. She let her hands roam over my shoulders and arms, and I learned the way a hitched breath or a twitch in her fingers told me what she liked. I drank in the flush on her cheeks like it was sustenance, then let my lips roam over her soft, soft skin. When I bit her earlobe, she let out a shudder and a moan.
“Love how wet you feel,” I told her.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh. Does that surprise you?”
“It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I didn’t think you were into me that way,” she finally said, her voice small.
I pulled back to watch her face, my hand still busy exploring between her legs. “I’m into you, Lizzie. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
Her brows tugged the slightest bit.
I paused my movements and stroked her thigh, glancing from one dark eye to the other. “You don’t believe me?”
“I… Well, no. Not really.”
“I thought we covered this.”
“We were kind of in the middle of something when we did.”
I wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a soft snort. My lips curled as I pressed a kiss to her mouth. My hands stroked up the curve of her hips to the little pouch below her belly button. There was something so unbearably erotic about that part of her body, something womanly and irresistible. I brushed her skin there and felt her stiffen, then looked up to meet her eyes again.
“My stomach?—”
“I love the shape of you.”
She blinked.
“The way you move. You’re all curves, all softness.” With the tips of my fingers, I began to lift her shirt. Lizzie bit her lip then lifted her arms, and I let out a shuddering breath as it came free and I saw the length of her. She inhaled as I reached for the strap of her nude-colored bra, brushing it down the slope of her shoulder before reaching behind her to unclasp the last garment clinging to her body.
“Let me see you.”
She gulped audibly, then removed her bra. Her hands moved to the counter at either side of her hips while I stood before her, running my hands from her shoulders down to her breasts. She didn’t have the pert breasts and small nipples of a woman half her age, but the feel of that flesh against my palm made my head spin. I squeezed gently, watching the way she overflowed around my grip. I couldn’t resist the urge to plump her breast and bring my lips to it, clasping her nipple between my teeth in a soft scrape. Her chest rose as she inhaled, and her hands finally released their tight grip on the counter to reach for me. I groaned as she ran her fingers through my short hair, body undulating against me as I lavished her with all the attention I’d been craving for weeks.
“You’re so beautiful, Lizzie,” I rasped against her skin, moving to the other breast.
Her laugh was shaky, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she reached for my shirt and tugged it up. When it landed on the floor beside her own garments, Lizzie shook her head as she watched her palms spread over my pecs and across my collarbones. “You’re the beautiful one,” she said.
When she looked at me like that, it became hard to think. I’d seen so many expressions on her face since we’d run into each other at the pharmacy. The soft joy of watching her kids play. The tight smiles around her family at Thanksgiving. The unbridled joy at decorating a Christmas tree or a gingerbread house.
But this look—the one that looked pleasure-drunk and a little greedy—was my favorite.
For the first time in years, my shoulders were free of the usual weight of responsibility and expectations. All the bitterness of my divorce and the years of struggle as my son’s primary caretaker took a back seat to watching a beautiful woman explore my body with soft touches and desire written on her features. She made me feel powerful. She made me want to lay her down and cherish her the way I knew she deserved.
As her fingers traced the trail of hair leading south from my navel, I sucked in a hard breath and wondered just how fast it was possible to fall for someone—and if it would hurt when I finally hit the ground.