Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Gibbo
Opening my front door, I try to remember the state I left my living room before heading into the Ridge to buy groceries for my birthday BLT. Tidy enough to turn the light on? I fucking hope so.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say with a sheepish grin as I flick the switch. Just in case. I want this woman to be impressed with what she sees. To like what she sees. To like me. To think a lot of me.
I’ve never given a rat’s arse what anyone thinks of me until now.
The warm glow of downlights fills my living room, and I bite back a relieved sigh. Tidy. Nothing out of place. Not even my morning coffee mug still sitting on the coffee table. Huh. Apparently, I’m not the slob Albie insists I sometimes am.
Turning, I extend my arm inside. “Mi casa es su casa.”
For fuck’s sake, Gibbo. Since when do you speak Spanish? Stop it. Take a breath. Relax.
Sami scans the interior of my home and then arches an eyebrow at me. “Thank you. Though to be fair, I’m not sure I can cope with the mess.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay. I was worried. I wasn’t planning on bringing a damsel home tonight. Didn’t know if I’d left my boxers swinging from the ceiling fan.”
Stop talking, you idiot!
Pivoting to a halt halfway into the room, she arches an eyebrow at me. “You make it a habit to hang your boxers from the ceiling fan?”
I grin. “Not really.”
A devilish light glints in her eyes. “Pity.”
I close the door behind me.
She holds my stare. She’s stunning and gorgeous, and the thought of her being in my home makes my head swim. She belongs here. Every fiber in my existence believes that.
“Thank you,” she says again, a huskiness to her voice. “Seriously. I really didn’t plan to crash your birthday.”
Shaking my head, I dump my firefighter’s jacket on the console table next to the door. Its bulky weight slides off and hits the floor with a thump. I don’t care. “Seriously,” I reply. “I very much like that you have.”
Skipping her gaze over my living room, she takes a few steps closer. “Did you get everything you wanted?” she asks. The question sinks straight into my groin.
I shake my head again, forcing myself to stay at the door. “I didn’t know what I wanted until—”
Stop it. You’ll scare her. She’s already dealing with someone freaking her out. And here you are, behaving like a horny fucking teenager.
She studies me. “Until?”
The truth burns inside me. “Until I met you,” I confess.
“Is that so?” She closes the distance between us. “Better unwrap your present then.”
I draw in a slow, steadying breath. “Do you mean…”
Lips curling, she closes her fingers around my wrists and lifts my hands, bringing them to the top button at the V-neck of her flippy little yellow dress. “Yes. I do.”
Sucking in another breath, I pop the button.
A soft whimper falls from her, and she tilts her head back, her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parting.
I pop the following button, and the front of her dress falls open, revealing pink lace cupping gloriously full breasts. My cock spasms in my heavy firefighter trousers. A low growl rumbles deep in my throat, and I bend and press my mouth to the intoxicating curve of one of her breasts.
She tangles her hand in my hair, a soft sigh escaping her.
I smooth my hands over her hips and around to her exquisite arse. Reveling in the perfection of her warm flesh filling my palms, I chart a slow path up her throat to the little dip behind her ear with hungry kisses.
She moans, rolling her hips, her hand fisting tighter in my hair, and unable to hold on any longer, I take possession of her mouth with mine. Our tongues lash. Our teeth click. I suck on her bottom lip. She bites at my top one, slipping her hands under the hem of my T-shirt.
Hot need floods my cock even as the fact I’m still coated in post-fire sweat and grime hits me. Gripping her hips, I break the kiss and stare down at her.
Her eyebrows knit. “Everything okay?”
I let out a choppy breath. “Everything is more than okay. From the second I saw you at the deli, I wanted you. More than I’ve wanted any woman before. But you’ve got me so fucking horny I forgot I haven’t showered since the callout, and no way do I want my BO getting in the road of your pleasure.”
Her eyes twinkle. “How big is your shower?”
“Fucking enormous,” I reply, and without another word, I scoop her up off the floor and over my shoulder.
She squeals out a laugh, grabbing at the back of my shirt as I cup the back of one of her luscious thighs and head for my bathroom. “Oh God, Gibbo!” she protests. “I’m too heavy. You’ll hurt yourself. Put me down.”
“Babe,” I say, striding down my hallway. “The only thing that’s hurting me right now is my cock. And you are perfect.”
I enter my bathroom, hit the light with my free hand, and slowly return her to her feet. Her body slides down mine, and she lets out a soft, hitching gasp as my erection—trapped behind the heavy synthetic of my firefighting trousers—rubs against the curve of her sex and lower belly.
She looks up at me, takes a step backward, unfastens the remaining buttons of her dress with shaking fingers, and lets it shimmer to the floor. “Are you sure perfect is the right word?” she whispers. “Now you’ve seen it all?”
“Fucking hell, Sami,” I growl, devouring her exquisite body, its sublime curves barely contained in a pink lace bra and matching panties. “You’re a goddess,” I say and cup the back of her neck in one hand, grab her arse with the other, and crush her lips with mine.