Chapter Six #2
Next came the bedroom, where soft carpet muffled their footsteps. “My bedroom,” Skylar announced. “Walk-in closet, en-suite full bath. There are three bedrooms total, one’s my office, and two full baths.” Her tone was easy, as though she was showing off something she adored.
He stepped in and glanced around. “It’s a nice place,” he said, voice low.
“I fell in love with it the moment I saw it,” she replied. “It’s private, five acres of woods with part of the backyard fenced, yet only a few miles from town.”
He nodded. “I like my privacy, too.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Something else to drink?”
“Coffee is fine.”
“Have a seat and I’ll get that for you,” she said.
Rawley smiled. “Alright.”
She smiled, brushing back a loose strand of hair. “I have a K-cup machine. It won’t take long. I’ll be right back.”
He turned toward the living room, placed his hat brim-up on the arm of an overstuffed armchair, then wandered back.
She stood at the counter while she waited for the coffee to brew.
He walked to where she stood, turned his back to the counter, folded his arms, and stared at her.
He was bone tired. A grin tugged at him at the thought of the guys at work, always teasing him for being hungry or tired.
He’d tell them to add horny, and they’d have him pegged.
He’d had a restless night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Skylar, and his pulse hammered. He hadn’t been with anyone in a while, but thinking of her turned want into wildfire.
The coffee hissed and steam rose from the cup as Skylar removed it and handed it to him.
Even in crimson sweatpants that hugged the gentle curve of her hips and a faded black T-shirt that slipped tantalizingly off one shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth collarbone, she was breathtaking.
She met his eyes with that easy smile of hers, dimples appearing at the corners of her lips, and suddenly his ribs felt too tight, his heart skipping a beat like a stone across still water.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said.
Rawley chuckled. “I’m always hungry. It’s a running joke at the office. Hungry or tired.”
“Do they tease you about it?” Her eyebrows arched with curiosity.
“Yeah, but it’s fine. I work with a good bunch.”
“I wanted to ask you, what does the ‘J’ in your name stand for?”
“Jamison.”
“I like that.” Her lips curved upward, the simple phrase somehow intimate.
“That’s my father’s name and his middle name is Rawley. Everyone who knows him, calls him J.B.” He lifted the steaming cup, blew on it sending ripples across the dark surface, then took a small sip. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Please have a seat in the living room and I’ll check dinner.”
“It smells good, or maybe that’s you,” he said as he stepped closer to her, drawn by the subtle scent of vanilla and something uniquely Skylar.
“It’s the chicken,” she replied, a blush coloring her cheeks.
Rawley laughed. “I beg to differ. Could I have a kiss?”
“Yes, please.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Rawley leaned down, pressed his lips to hers and kissed her.
He lifted his lips, set his cup down on the countertop with a soft clink, then put his arms around her waist, his hands spanning the small of her back, lowered his head and kissed her deeply and passionately.
And he felt it all the way to his toes, a current of electricity running through him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as she leaned into him, kissing him back with equal fervor.
He raised his lips, rested his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes.
“I like you, Skylar,” he whispered, his voice rough with feeling. “I’d love to keep seeing you, if that’s what you want.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. “I do. I like you too. You, Rawley Jamison Bowman, are too damn handsome for your own good.”
“I’m sorry?” He arched an amused eyebrow.
She laughed. “You’re terrible. Now, please, go sit down while I get dinner on the table.”
His grin was slow. “Yes, ma’am.” He lifted his coffee mug, warm in his hand, and strolled into the living room. The sofa was strewn with a soft throw blanket and a couple of pillows.
“The remote should be there somewhere if you want to watch something.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He picked up the remote from the end table, pointed it at the television, and flicked through channels. Each click felt hollow compared to the memory of her close warmth. He paused on a cooking show, then switched off the screen. He didn’t want distractions, only her.
A fragrant breeze of marinara and chicken drifted his way. Skylar reappeared in the doorway, tongs in hand and smiled. Rawley got to his feet when she entered the room.
“Dinner is ready.”
He nodded, motioning for her to lead the way. The kitchen table was set with mismatched plates and flickering candles that cast soft halos across the wood grain. He waited for her to sit, then pulled out a chair and sat.
She filled his glass with cool water, condensation beading on the sides, then used the spatula to place a golden slice of chicken onto his plate.
The meat was crisp at the edges and tender inside.
They ate slowly, trading stories about childhood summers, their favorite bands, and the book she was writing.
Between bites, he watched the way the candlelight played over her features.
When the last of the chicken was gone, he rose to clear the dishes.
Together they loaded plates and utensils into the dishwasher, their hands brushing now and then, sending little shocks through him.
With the cleanup done, they moved back into the living room, the air carrying a hint of lemon-scented dish soap.
Skylar sat, smoothing the fabric of her sweatpants.
He sank in next to her, lifted her hand, and traced gentle circles with his thumb.
Her breath hitched; he met her gaze again, and in that quiet moment the world seemed to hold its breath.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
She responded with a soft moan, and he drew her closer across his lap, deepening the kiss.
When their lips parted, he whispered against her mouth, “You taste like chicken.”
She laughed. “Doesn’t everything?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, it’s a good thing you taste like chicken too.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Dinner was great.”
“Thank you. Now, kiss me again.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He captured her lips once more, savoring her subtle sweetness.
She pressed against his chest, and he reluctantly pulled back. She rose, offering him her hand. He took it, rising as well, and she began to lead him toward her bedroom.
He stopped her with a gentle tug. She turned, lantern light pooling around her.
“Rawley?”
He searched her eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
Her brow lifted in that familiar, confident way of hers. “Aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he said softly, “but I don’t want to rush you.”
She smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Excuse me, but I’m the one leading you to the bedroom.”
“Oh, right.” He grinned. “Lead on.”
And with that, she slipped her hand through his, guiding him onward.
Rawley’s control didn’t just snap, it shattered into a million pieces.
His hands shot to her waist, gripping her like a starving man clawing at his last meal.
He crushed her against him so hard; he could feel her nipples puckering even through the fabric of her T-shirt.
She gasped, a desperate, breathy sound that only fueled his hunger.
His cock, already rock-hard and throbbing, pressed against her like it was trying to break through his damn jeans.
His mouth crashed down on hers with the force of a hurricane, claiming her lips with desperation.
His tongue plunged past her lips, exploring every inch of her mouth like he owned it.
She whimpered into his mouth, her hands clawing at his back like she wanted to tear his clothes off right then and there.
Without breaking the kiss, Rawley slid his hands down and grabbed her ass, lifting her off the floor like she weighed nothing. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, grinding against his erection with a ferocity that made him groan into her mouth.
He placed her down gently onto the bed. She barely had time to catch her breath before he was on her again, his body pinning her down, his cock grinding against her through their clothes.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her swollen lips. “Are you sure?” he asked again.
“Yes, I’m positive. Please,” she whispered, but he heard her.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue tangling with hers.
His hands moved down her body, tearing at her T-shirt like it was nothing more than tissue paper. When her breasts finally sprang free, he wasted no time. He cupped one in each hand, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over them.
“God, you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured right before his mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking and licking until she was writhing beneath him.
He removed her sweatpants, then ripped her panties off with a single tug, exposing her to him. He paused to admire her, his cock twitching at the sight of her. Then he slid his hand down her body, between her legs and moved his finger along her slit.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. He moved down her body with open mouth kisses until he had his face between her legs. He leaned down, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous path along her slit to her clitoris, making her moan.