Chapter 13 #2
Maybe I just needed to give in to this incredible need pounding through me, spend a night with her, and get it out of our systems. A one-off to relieve the tension. What would it hurt if it meant I could move on with my life and stop losing sleep every damn night from erotic thoughts of her?
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” I said, trying to block out thoughts of waking up next to her in her pink bed, naked.
Presley picked up her phone, saw the time, and said, “Oh, my God. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Your body had other ideas.”
Shit, don’t talk about her body. Don’t think about her body.
She quickly stood, brushing off her backside. “I can’t believe I slept for…two hours?”
“You must’ve been exhausted to sleep for any amount of time on that concrete floor.”
“I’m sorry. You said mudding was next. What can I do to help?”
I let out a quiet laugh and busied myself scraping off the dry mud from my tools. “Mud’s all done for tonight. It needs to dry overnight.”
“So that’s all for today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stared pointedly at me, hair mussed, clothes dusty, and still the most desirable woman I’d ever laid eyes on. “I thought we were over the ma’am thing.”
I grinned. “Habit.”
“So we’re ready to clean up for the day?” She seemed drowsy, like she was still waking up.
“That’s right.”
Presley went to the table and picked up the trash from our pizza dinner as I finished scraping my tools.
“Ouch!” She tossed down the pizza box as if it had bitten her, then grabbed on to one of her fingers.
“What happened?”
“Paper cut.” She lifted her uninjured hand to reveal a bleeding wound on her index finger.
I grabbed an unused napkin and handed it to her to staunch it. “Those things can bleed like a sucker.”
She nodded, wincing.
“Is it deep?” I asked. That thick cardboard could do some damage.
“I can’t tell,” she said, not looking at the cut. “Too much blood.”
I handed her a couple more napkins then went to my toolbox and grabbed some first aid supplies.
“Have a seat.” I pointed to the chair. “I’ll fix you up.” I squirted hand sanitizer from the first aid kit on my hands.
She lowered herself to the chair, her hands in her lap, pressing a napkin tightly to the cut.
“Let me see,” I said, squatting in front of her.
Holding out both hands, she turned her head away.
“Does blood make you squeamish?” I asked.
She sucked in a breath and said, “Only when it’s my own.”
“I got you.” I removed the blood-spotted napkin. The cut was on the lower part of her index finger. “Cardboard cuts are wicked.”
Still not looking, she nodded. “Is it bad?”
“Looks a mess, and it’s gonna bleed a bit, but I don’t think we’ll need to amputate.”
Her eyes were squeezed shut, head turned, and I put pressure back on the cut, waiting for the bleeding to slow down, trying not to notice how close we were, how much smaller her hands were than mine.
A wisp of hair floated onto her face, and she blew at it several times. Without thought, I brushed it behind her ear.
She met my gaze. “Thanks.”
I slipped my attention down to her lips, just for a moment, and Presley’s pupils grew as I made and held eye contact again.
I pulled myself out of the spell of her pretty eyes and moved the napkin to check the cut. “It’s slowing down. You doing okay?”
She nodded. “Hurts like crazy for such a little injury.”
“Paper cuts are a bitch.”
“That’s the truth.”
“I need to clean it with an alcohol swab. You got any badass left in you? This’ll hurt a little.”
She bit her lip, nodded, and turned her head away again.
I opened the swab and uncovered the cut. “You ready? I’ll be as quick as I can, but I gotta be thorough.”
Presley pressed her lips together as she nodded. When I swiped the alcohol over the cut, she sucked in a breath, and a single tear popped up and fell from the outer corner of her eye.
“Almost done,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice.
I swiped the cut two more times, then applied antibiotic cream. By the time I finished up with a bandage, Presley was tense as a coiled snake.
“All done,” I said, brushing her hair back again as she opened her eyes and inspected the bandage.
As I rose to stand, I instinctively pressed my lips to her forehead to comfort her, lingering there as my brain caught up to what I was doing and how I shouldn’t be doing it.
When I pulled away, I made eye contact again to gauge whether I’d overstepped.
What I saw in her expression was hunger. Interest. Heat.
I stood the rest of the way, pulling her up with me.
She didn’t move away, just peered up at me intently.
I palmed her cheek, brushed my thumb over her bottom lip.
When she turned slightly into my hand, I knew she was on the same page as me.
I bent down and kissed her, intending to keep it light and tender, but when our mouths connected, fire shot through me like a flashover.
All the longing for her, the middle-of-the-night fantasies, the desperate need that had built up over the past few days exploded into that kiss.
Our tongues met, dueled, danced a primitive mating dance.
I slid my hand down to her perfect little ass cheek and gripped it, pulling her into my erection.
Presley drew my head to her mouth insistently, her greedy hands at my nape, chest pressing into me.
I maneuvered her so she was between me and the wall, paying no heed to the newly applied mud, driven only by my body’s need.
Nestling my hard dick against her softness was heaven and hell at once, the friction a mind-blowing tease.
I ran my palm up from her waist, under her tank, along her baby-soft skin until I reached her bra.
I shoved it up over her tit, then filled my hand with her flesh, relishing the hard tip of her nipple, the rough pebbling, the silky softness.
Holding her tank and bra out of my way, I lowered my head and took her nipple in my mouth, eliciting a sexy groan from her.
“We—” She broke off with a gasp as I swirled my tongue around her tip. “God,” she drew out. “West, we— I thought we weren’t supposed to do this.”
I lifted my head and looked her in the eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head, her lids heavy, face flushed. “But you didn’t want…”
I licked her nipple like a lollipop, then raised my head to kiss her lips. In a growl, I said, “I want. I’ve always wanted.”
“Me too.” Presley ran a hand over my beard. “Maybe not here?”
My place was out of the question. The girls were at my mom’s until the morning, but… No. My little two-bedroom house wasn’t right for a classy, rich girl.
“Where’d you park?” I asked.
“Behind the hardware store.”
“Same. Let’s go. I’ll walk you to your SUV and meet you at your house.”