Chapter 8 #2
I talk her through each moment, from arriving in Haiti and unpacking, letting myself be eaten by mosquitos, to discovering my sunscreen exploded in my overnight bag, leaving me in the clothes I wore.
I’d bought the spare clothing at the airport on the way back and then showered and tossed the mud-encrusted ruined set that I arrived in.
And Winnie hasn’t said a single word about my watermelon-pink board shorts or my floral neon mismatched shirt yet. When I run out of anecdotes of falling on my ass where she doesn’t laugh—and I’m not that shit at storytelling—I stop to catch my breath, my throat dry.
“Tell me what you need. Please.” I don’t remember the last time I begged anyone for anything.
Nor do I care.
Winnie stares at me, her eyes unfocused like she’s not sure what I just asked.
“Coffee?” I probe gently when she says nothing. “A shower?” Desperation builds at the base of my tailbone, an incessant itch that works its way along my spine. I have no idea what to do when that sensation reaches the top, but it’s not gonna be good. “Do you want—”
“You.”
The single word falls from her lips, startling me into silence.
“What?” I run my hands over her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Me to what, huh? I’ll take you anywhere, I promise. You’re safe with me.”
“I know that, West. You’re being obtuse. Deliberately.” Winnie leans in and presses her mouth to mine.
And stays there.
My breath seizes in my chest with no way to escape. I ease back a fraction, my lower back protesting with the twisted posture as Winnie leans with me.
“Girl, this isn’t—You’re not—”
“I know what I want, West. I want you,” she insists.
I force my mouth into a straight line. Fuck, she’s cute. “I get that, gorgeous. But you’ve had a shock, and—”
“You kissed me.”
“Uh—”
Blue eyes blaze at me, and I’m screwed.
“Dammit, West, you put me back on my bed, kissed me, and walked out. After you stayed with me and held me all night long for support. A man. Looking after me. Do you know how many times in this girl’s life that has happened?” She holds up a hand, wiggling four fingers.
I stare at the four wiggly fingers, my stomach gripping its own sides in protest. “Is this a trick question?”
Winnie growls. “Never, West.”
“I would not have said that.” Why the hell hold up four fingers, then?
“I get that, but—augh! You’re the grumpiest, sweetest, nicest damn cowboy I know. And I’m not supposed to have fallen in love with you!” Her hand taps me on the cheek. “Are you listening to me?”
She’s in love with me? I blink. “I’m still on the fingers question. Wait. Did you just say—”
“Jesus, West. Forget the fucking fingers.” Winnie grabs my face and slams our lips together.
My head swims with her confession. I’m more than one step behind as she kisses me with everything she has.
“West.” Exasperated, Winnie glares at me. “Get it together. I’m seducing you.”
“You’re jumping my bones on a trauma-fed rebound. There’s a difference.”
She huffs at me. “Not much.”
I grin, sliding my hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. “You mean what you said before, or was that just another reason to get into my pants?”
Winnie raises both eyebrows. “These pants?” She grabs the front of my pink board shorts and tugs at the string. “Do these even count as pants?”
“Hey. They do the job,” I protest, warmth growing in my chest. Christ, I’m tumbling for her, unable to think clearly. “You want—”
Her hands are on the hem of my flower-print shirt, yanking at the buttons. “How much do you hate this thing?”
“I mean, on a scale of one to—”
Buttons scatter her cramped kitchen space, skittering under benches and chairs. I’ll never find them all and give it up as not worth doing in an instant.
“Good. ’Cause I fucking hate it.”
I snort. “All you had to do was ask.” I shed the offensive material, letting it drop to her kitchen floor.
“Anything else you need?” She’s warm in my arms when I slide my hands beneath her tank top, running my hands up her ribs.
The groan I stifled once before breaks free.
“The amount of nights I’ve fantasized about having you… ”
“Why do you take so long for everything, you stubborn, stubborn man?” Winnie leans all the way forward so I have to catch her, and jumps.
Literally.
“Whoa, girl. Too fast, huh?” I pull her in close, nestling the warmth of her against the hardness of me. Her soft gasp does all the right sorts of things for my blood flow. “If we keep going like this, I’ll end up fucking you right here and that’s—”
“What’s wrong with kitchen sex?” Winnie interrupts me.
“—not what I had in mind for our first time together,” I say firmly.
Her body is warm and soft in my hands, but also taut and strong.
I squeezed her glutes, earning myself the perfect moan from her.
“Sure, we can fuck here and I can give you a memory that will never let you look at your kitchen bench the same way ever again—”
Winnie’s next moan splices desire through me. I don’t wait for her answer; otherwise we’ll never leave this room until we’re done and I’ll carry out the exact scenario I’ve just described to her.
Later, beautiful.
I store the information away for another time and tuck her ankles behind my hips, capturing her mouth with mine as I walk us back through her house.
“Bedroom or sofa?” I manage against her mouth.
Her tongue flicks against mine and blood surges south. I stumble into a doorframe, then a wall, finding us in a still semi-darkened hall. Jesus, what time is it? I decide I don’t care or need an answer, taking a turn into the next room and stumbling into Winnie’s bedroom.
Fucking fluke.
I don’t argue, cupping her head and pushing my tongue between her lips until she shivers in my arms. Slowly Winnie relaxes, a fraction of tension easing away from her smaller frame at a time.
Her grip releases on me as I tip her back onto her bed, letting me peel her top up, though I keep kissing her afterward.
Even when she tugs impatiently at my shorts, I clasp our hands together and guide them over her head, interlinking our fingers.
Soft breaths come fast, giving away her need, and it’s beautiful.
Her frustrated sounds grow louder as I ease my weight over her body, pressing her thighs apart with my knees.
“Slow, Winnie. I’m not rushing this with you.” Her lips press to mine, swollen and sweet when I mutter the words against her flesh.
She mumbles something in reply, but I claim her mouth again, cutting her words off.
We’ve spoken enough, and now she’s mine until we’re done.
Heat soaks the front of my shorts as I grind against her, rubbing myself on the join between her thighs until she arches for me.
It doesn’t take long before she’s panting into my mouth.
We’re as randy as a pair of hormone-ridden teens, and about as smart.
I tear my mouth from hers, breaking my previous vow of silence. “Condoms, Winnie. Or this stops here.”
“Huh?” Winnie surfaces from our kisses, her gaze heavy-lidded and unfocused. “Maybe my purse?”
My jaw tightens as I lean over the edge of the bed and hook her purse with a finger, levering toward her. “Find what you need,” I grate out. “And later we’re gonna have a talk about why those will stay in your home and not your handbag.”
She flutters her lashes at me, extracting a foil pack, and glides a hand straight down my abs, removing my ability to breathe. “What about picnic dates? Or moonlit hikes?” Her hand closes around my cock through my shorts and she squeezes me firmly.
“Jesus, fuck,” I swear, shoving my pants down. I bat her hand away. “You want me to fuck you on a moonlit picnic date, beautiful?”
She nods, her eyes glowing. “Yep.”
“Done.” I pin her hands to her sides and slide down her body, catching her sleep shorts in my teeth and tugging them down. Winnie wiggles in her maddening way, and the scrap of material slides over her hips.