Chapter 10 #2
The building could have exploded, and I’d be focusing on the feel of his hand gripping three of my fingers. He continued walking, not letting go. I had to spin around and walk backward to keep up with him. I tried switching hands, and he shook his head.
“Nope. I’ll let go when I’m ready.”
If he could hear my heartbeat, he’d feel I had an arrhythmia. I continued walking backward, nearly bumping into a phone pole. It wasn’t any more awkward than how our date started. I staggered my way around a fire hydrant. It might be impractical, but if he didn’t want to let go, I wouldn’t object.
We reached the end of the block, and he stopped.
Watching the street pass by in reverse, I didn’t realize we had reached my apartment.
I didn’t want the date to end. His grip tightened, and something about an innocent hand-holding session made my night.
He hadn’t needed to do it. I didn’t need him to do it either.
There was something calming about exploring a want.
“This has been fun.” Weird. Unexpected. Yet, in the end, he turned it around.
He lifted my hand, kissing the middle knuckle.
We locked eyes. He studied my face as he held my hand in place.
Fighting ninjas? No problem. Stopping a drug cartel?
Piece of cake. Accepting that Booker wanted something more than a working relationship?
My insecurities surged. Why me? What had I done to deserve this?
It became a landslide, and my overthinking ruined the moment.
I couldn’t figure out why this had happened.
At work, I was all but useless. I hadn’t proven myself a capable partner.
The only time had been with Cypher, and that had nothing to do with Drew.
If he wanted to thank somebody, it wasn’t me, or at least not this version of me.
“I should head inside.”
Did I wave? Don’t make it weird. I flashed a grin and headed toward the front door.
“I’m still not ready,” he said.
His grip tightened as he pulled, jerking me back.
I pressed against his body, and before I knew it, his lips pressed against mine.
He held the back of my neck, his hand like a vice.
It was chaste… until it wasn’t. When his tongue brushed against my lips, I didn’t resist. They parted as we poked and prodded one another.
Booker knew just when to pick up the intensity, making me want to melt.
Then the tempo slowed, a soft peck, the scruff of his beard tickling my lips.
I had wanted this. I just never thought it’d happen.
It was hard to question his motives as he finally let go of my hand.
His fingers grazed my cheek as he continued a series of slow, soft kisses.
What would the neighbors say if they saw two burly men making out on the sidewalk?
Worse, what if the Trident were lurking in the shadows and watching?
“I—” I pressed my forehead against his. “I should probably head inside.”
He kissed me on the nose before letting go.
I couldn’t stop grinning as I took a step toward my door.
Sure, he liked mustard yellow, but otherwise, he was damned near perfect.
I didn’t want to leave him standing on the street.
I thought about texting him the moment I walked inside the door.
Would we get another chance? Would I somehow blow it at the office?
My brain couldn’t make sense of my emotions.
I shoved away the doubt. If I only had one shot—
I turned toward him. “If you’re still not ready…”
It wasn’t his first time in my house, and yet my hand shook as I inserted the key. The nerves reminded me of the time I snuck Sam Wellman into my bedroom. Hopefully, this time, Mom wouldn’t magically appear and ruin the moment.
When Booker rested a hand in the small of my back, my hand steadied.
Turning the key, I stepped inside the apartment.
The last time we had been here… I pushed the thought from my mind.
There was no point in revisiting a troubled memory.
I had the opportunity to overwrite it with something… anything.
When I turned, he stood at the threshold as if held at bay by an invisible barrier. His eyes darted low. Had his confidence faded? Did he reconsider my offer?
“Are you sure?” Booker commanded attention and controlled the interrogation with calculating precision. Yet… he asked for permission to come inside my home?
I faced him, our toes almost touching. His breath warmed my lips as our bellies touched. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t want my intentions hidden in ambiguity. Booker needed certainty. For once, I could give him what he wanted.
“Incredibly sure.” I took his hand and guided him into the kitchen. It was hard to think about anything other than this handsome man touching me. I wanted his hands on me, freely roaming my body.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” I couldn’t help the awkwardness, not when his face from the other night kept coming to mind. “You shouldn’t be alone.” There was no ignoring that statement. He stayed. No questions. No assumptions. No quid pro quo. It felt foolish, but I still didn’t understand why.
He pointed to a cookie jar on the counter. “That color!”
He siphoned the worry from the room. Walking across the kitchen, he pulled my grandmother’s cookie jar from the counter.
“This is it.” He held it up as if he had a shiny rock he wanted to share.
After seeing his interrogator face all day, the genuine smile stretched across his face made me do the same.
“Corn.”
“Huh?” He raised his eyebrow.
“The color. It’s corn.” Not knowing my powers, he must have thought I sat at home at night studying paint swatches. “Grammy loved that thing.”
He peeked inside. “A cookie jar with actual cookies?” I half expected him to pull one out and gobble it down. “You’re a curious man.”
Booker set the jar back on the counter just as he had found it.
His hands rested on the counter, giving me a view of his broad shoulders.
I don’t know if it was the way his jeans hugged his ass or the disarming way he talked, but the attraction continued to build.
I wanted to spin him around and pull the shirt off…
no, tear it. Ripped down the middle, I wanted to see if the sunrise colored hair continued down his chest. I shook my head, trying to regain my composure.
Fighting to control the urges, I moved behind him, arms wrapped around his stomach.
I held him tightly, kissing his shoulder.
The closeness, the heat, the way he gripped my fingers…
I felt safe, not from harm, but from myself.
Looping a finger in the loop of his jeans, I tugged.
Pulling him along had less to do with my desire to see him naked and more to do with the comfort of his presence.
When we reached the bedroom door, he didn’t hesitate. Not that he had a choice. I wanted him naked on the bed, my body covering his. I turned about, and his hands cupped the sides of my face. The kiss was anything but chaste. His tongue brushed mine before he ended with my lip between his teeth.
I had been scared to admit that I wanted this. Desire and disappointment were intimate bedfellows. As he lifted my t-shirt, I froze. I rallied excuses to explain away the torment Hellion inflicted on my body. As if he could sense my fear, he stopped.
“We don’t—”
I shook my head. He’d never know the whole truth, but I could give him a glimpse.
I pulled my shirt over my head, preparing for the low whistle or for him to cringe.
The bruises along my chest were perfectly fist-shaped.
The gash across my chest had healed enough that I kept it taped with gauze.
But it wasn’t the current wounds I feared him seeing; it was the history of Hellion etched along my body.
Booker stared without uttering a word. I closed my eyes as his pending excuse for leaving would jab like a knife.
I gasped as fingers traced my collarbone.
Hardly skin contact. As he reached the end, he followed the tape, holding the gauze in place.
He touched his way through a story of retribution, a compendium of the nights I spent proving my place in the world.
He studied without words. When he leaned forward, lips brushing against the darkest bruise, I let out a long sigh.
Booker read my violence, and he stayed, replacing it with tenderness.
He found a spot void of battle scars and pushed, knocking me back onto the bed.
I moved back until my head rested on a pillow.
He reached for his shirt, dragging it over his head.
To my surprise, his chest hair contained more salt than sunrise.
On his left, he had three lines in black ink, written in a language I couldn’t read.
He unbuttoned his jeans, giving his hips a wiggle, revealing white briefs as they dropped to the floor. I didn’t want him to move as I memorized every muscle, every bulge, every spot where pigment changed color. My cock wanted to skip to me with my face buried in Booker’s lap.
As I sat up, ready to crawl toward him, he kneeled on the bed, his hand out, not giving me the option.
He moved forward, crawling between my legs until he draped over me.
I had imagined this in reverse. Instead, he kissed my chest, just below the bandage.
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t give me a look demanding answers.
He didn’t ignore.
When I tried to sit up, his hand slid up my body, holding me in place. I froze, unsure how to handle the situation. I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine this moment. The stray thoughts had our roles reversed as I worked my way down his body. In this position, all I could do was lie back.