Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Waverly
He growls into my mouth, grabs my ass with his large, long-fingers hands, and yanks my hips to his. His rigid cock presses to my belly, our clothes doing nothing to diminish its size and hardness, and liquid heat pools between my thighs. Oh, I want it inside me so much my whole body aches.
Tightening my fists in his hair, I grind against its length, inviting, demanding…
With a raw groan, he tears his lips from mine, his chest swelling as he sucks in a ragged breath. His hands loosen on my ass. “Waverly…” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We can’t. I’m…”
I jerk back out of his arms, shame flooding me, ice prickling over my skin. “Oh God, I’m sorry.” Embarrassment chokes each word. “I… I don’t… I didn’t mean…” Burying my face in my hands, I let out a strangled whimper, my stomach clenching. “I thought… I mean, it felt like we…”
“Waverly.”
Lifting my head, I pull in a breath and meet his gaze. He’s studying me, a strained tension on his face. His Adam’s apple jerks up and down his throat, and he opens his mouth to say something.
“I’m so sorry,” I cut him off. My throat is dry, like I’ve swallowed a bucket of hot sand.
“I completely fucked up. You probably have a girlfriend, a wife. A husband? Shit. I’m much better at knowing animals than people.
” Sighing, I shake my head. “Are there Ubers in Hartley Ridge? I’ll book one now and wait for it out—”
“Waverly.” He cups my face in his large, strong hands, and I gaze up at him, my heart smashing in my chest in a frenetic beat.
“There’s no girlfriend,” he continues. “No wife.” A lopsided grin plays with his mouth.
“No husband. What there is is a minor head injury and the possibility of concussion.”
I frown even as the heat from his body melts into mine. “So…”
I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to say, So you want me as much as I want you? I might still be misreading…whatever this is. Because it’s something. My body feels it. My heart feels it.
“So I need to think about your head,” he says.
He meets my stare again, and the open hunger in his eyes detonates concentrated lust deep in my core.
“I want you so fucking much, Waverly.” His rough murmur caresses my senses like a physical touch.
My nipples bead. My heart quickens. “There’s no way I would be able to take it slow.
Or gentle.” He brushes the backs of his knuckles over my cheek.
“So for now…” He takes a step backward, picks up a tomato from the counter and offers it to me, his smile almost sheepish. “We make cannellini.”
I part my lips, ready to say to hell with my head, when a dull throb behind my ear—no doubt where my camera hit me—reminds me of why I’m here in Jake’s home. And it’s not because we met at a café or even a bar.
“We make cannellini,” I echo, taking the tomato from him.
His choppy breath dissolves into a low chuckle. “Cannellini.” He turns back to the counter, drizzles olive oil into a cast iron skillet, and places it on the hob. “Tell me about the Giant Dragonfly. You said earlier it’s endangered?”
Warmth flows through me. He remembered. Why does that make me feel so good?
“It is,” I reply, turning to the counter myself and selecting a small cutting board. “And illusive. And so not meant to be halfway up Talisman Peak.”
“Are you an insect specialist?” he asks, separating three shallots from the bunch. He chops them like a chef, and I imagine myself spending a lifetime cooking with him. Maybe I should have insisted on the Uber?
“Zoology student.” I fix my attention on my job of dicing the tomato. “I have only one more assignment left, and then I’m finished.”
“And then?”
Why does his voice sound cautious?
I risk my thumb and glance up at him. He’s sauteing the shallots in the pan, but there’s a tension to his shoulders, as if he’s waiting for something.
“And then I’ll see what life throws my way.”
He turns his head, and our stares lock. “No concrete plans? You’re not tied down anywhere?”
“No.” The word falls from me in a soft breath. I bite my bottom lip. Lick it.
He watches my tongue, nostrils flaring again, and then returns his attention to the pan. He empties a tray of ground beef into it and attacks it with a wooden spoon. “Favorite animal?”
I blink. “What?”
He shrugs, the corners of his lips curling. “What’s your favorite animal? Mine’s a wombat. Tomato, please.”
Grinning, I pass him the cutting board and the diced tomato. “Ailurus fulgens.”
He laughs. “Of course it is.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. Tiny licks of happiness warm my heart. “And you know what that is?”
“Hell no.” He slides me his own grin. “But you chased a dragonfly halfway up a mountain, so I imagine that whatever it is, it’s amazing.”
“Red panda.” I lean my hip against the counter, watching him stir the tomatoes into the pan. “Did you know they are the only living member of their taxonomic family?”
“I did know that.” He nods, lips twitching, and then gives me an exaggerated look of confusion. “Their what?”
I laugh.
He grins again, and I realize I’ve never been this happy.
Cooking with a stranger in his house, with no real idea of where I am apart from somewhere on the side of a mountain, a few tormenting minutes after being denied what I suspect had the potential to be the most intense, incredible sexual experience of my life, and I’m happy.
More than happy. I’m content. At peace.
It’s an emotion I haven’t experienced since Dad abandoned me and Mom.
It’s terrifying. Because if this is the man that brings me joy, and this man lives up in the mountains near a tiny little village hours from a zoo, what am I going to do? I can’t just give up on my goals and dreams for a relationship. Mom did that, and it didn’t end well.
A relationship? You’re getting ahead of yourself, Waverly. One kiss, one possibility of sex, and you’re already putting yourself in a relationship? Maybe tap the brakes a bit.
Swallowing, I return my focus to prepping dinner.
Jake seems to do the same.
Which only makes me more confused. There’s no awkward silences, no confusion about who’s doing what. There’s small talk about movies and books, and before I know it, I’m not just imagining a life with him, I’m craving it.
“Okay,” he says, jerking my mind back to the kitchen and away from the “and they all lived happily ever after” that is beyond reality. He closes the oven door, dusts his hands together, and turns to arch an eyebrow at me. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes. What do we do now?”
My heart pounds. “Go Fish?”
A wobbly chuckle falls from him, and, stare locked with mine, destroys the space between us, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me.