Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Linc moved slowly, rocking into Britt with deliberate, controlled thrusts.
Savoring the feeling of her heat surrounding him and the complete trust and faith she’d placed in him.
Accepting what, deep down, he’d known all along.
He was in love with this woman. He’d probably been in love with her since the first time he called her “Zana” and she’d rolled her eyes and told him to at least get the twang right if he was going to make fun of her accent.
She moaned, arching her hips to meet his as he sank into her over and over. It had never felt more right than it did being with her at this moment. Until he tasted salt on her lips. Pulling back, he found her blue eyes shimmering with tears
“Zana, baby, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Wrapping her arms more tightly around his neck, she whispered, “I’m good. Please don’t stop.”
Her begging had him moving again, snapping his hips faster as he drove into her with more force. He shifted, thrusting in at a different angle to allow him to go deeper.
“Touch yourself, Zan, like a good girl.”
Her eyes locked on his, then fluttered closed when she reached a hand between their bodies and started rubbing tight circles on her clit.
Shit, that’s hot.
“That’s it, but eyes on me,” he ordered.
She obeyed, meeting his gaze as he continued his punishing pace.
He could feel her spiraling higher. Her walls clenched him tighter and her legs began to shake.
It wasn’t long before she shattered, moaning his name over and over.
His movements became more erratic and the tingling in his spine sharpened as he pounded into her, chasing his own climax.
One, two more thrusts and he groaned his release.
Capturing her mouth, he infused his kiss with every ounce of love he hadn’t spoken aloud.
He kissed her until they both needed air, then pressed his sweaty forehead to hers. They stayed like that. Her softness pinned to the wall by his hard body, both of them panting, trying to catch their breath.
“Zan, that was…”
“I know.” Her exhale was part giggle. “That was definitely…”
“I know,” he agreed.
Sundays were his favorite days. Linc didn’t have to work, and any outside jobs or events he and Em had typically happened on a weeknight or Saturdays.
Sundays were his free day, and Britt usually had Sundays off too, unless she had to cover for someone.
Today, neither one of them had anywhere to be until later tonight.
Lacey had informed them their presence was required at dinner, and they weren’t going to argue.
Better to give her as little reason to question them as possible, which sounded contradictory.
Having dinner with her afforded more opportunity to question them.
Avoiding it would make her question them more.
Double-edged sword. Bottom line? They were going to Dex’s for dinner tonight.
Nothing, however, said they couldn’t hole up in Linc’s house and avoid the rest of the world until then, which was exactly the plan.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the kitchen counter by the dishwasher, grinning like an idiot as he watched Britt putter around his kitchen.
It was an image he could get used to. Luckily for him, Lacey was in town for a week.
So, at the very least, Britt would be sharing his house for seven days.
Longer if he had anything to say about it.
Britt was still stressed by her mom’s reaction to them being married.
Cooking calmed her down, so she’d decided to make them lunch.
Only, when Britt, the chef, made lunch instead of her fast food-eating alter-ego, the meal was fancier than anything he could ever dream of cooking.
He was pretty simple when it came to food.
Correction: when it came to food he had to make himself.
To put it in perspective, if he ever auditioned for Master Chef, his signature dish would be PB&J.
But if Britt cooked? He’d eat anything she made, no questions asked.
He wouldn’t do it just to be nice either. She was that talented of a chef.
“Oh, my lord, Linc! Don’t you ever go to the store?” Britt exclaimed, looking at his bare pantry.
“You mean, the cupboards don’t replenish themselves?”
If looks could kill.
“You know I usually go on Sundays,” he defended. “And what day is it?”
Her heavy sigh told him she knew darn well it was Sunday.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“There’s always cereal,” he offered.
“Then what will we have for dinner?” she asked sarcastically.
“Good point, if we hadn’t been summoned to dinner by your mom. Oh, those are growing,” he said when she held up a bag of potatoes that obviously had gotten too comfy on a shelf.
She tested them with a squeeze. “They’re not squishy.” She took a few out of the bag and picked off the tiny sprout shooters with her fingernails before washing the spuds. “Besides, it's almost better when they’re a little older. You don’t have a ricer, do you?”
“Have you met me?”
“Good point. How about a cheese grater?”
“Anything to do with cheese, I’ve got you covered.” He pulled a grater out of the bottom drawer behind him and handed it to her.
“Thanks. I can make this work.” She dug a pot out of a lower cupboard, filled it with water from the sink, and placed it on the stove. After turning on the burner, she carefully dropped in four fully intact potatoes.
“Do you want me to peel those first?” Linc had never seen anyone boil potatoes whole before.
“If we peel them, then they’ll absorb more water. It makes better gnocchi if you don’t.”
“Gnocchi? Yesss!” The fist pump was automatic. He loved gnocchi.
Britt shook her head. “It’s like you’re five.”
He came up behind her when she moved to the sink to wash her hands. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her neck. “Guess that makes you a major cougar then.”
She leaned into the embrace. “Only mentally.”
“Touché.”
The thing was, Britt was actually six and a half years younger than him, and the youngest of their group of friends. Not that twenty-seven was too young for him, as far as he was concerned. Hopefully, he wasn’t too old for her.
I’m not, am I?
She turned off the faucet and reached for a towel. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”
“Do you think I’m a dirty old man?”
With a surprised laugh, she turned around in his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“So?”
“Do you think I’m too old for you?”
“Hmm. Never thought about it.” She studied him like he was a cheat sheet for a pop quiz. “Now that you mention it, though, maybe I should call you ‘Daddy.’”
He grimaced. “Don’t you dare!”
“What? That doesn’t turn you on?”
“Hell, no!”
Wait a minute.
“Why? Does it turn you on?”
“Eww, no!”
“Thank God.”
Her giggle made him smile.
“I love your laugh,” he confessed. “It used to be my favorite sound.”
“Used to be?” She frowned. “Why not still?”
“Because now I know the noises you make when you come.”
She stared at him, speechless, her cheeks turning the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen.
“How long till the potatoes are ready?” he asked, giving himself props for catching her off guard.
It took her a second to snap out of it and realize he’d asked a question. “They’re not very big.” She peered around his shoulder, her sweet honeysuckle scent teasing his nostrils. “Once they start boiling, about twenty minutes. Why?”
“Because there are a lot of things someone who is not your daddy can do to you in twenty minutes.”