CHAPTER 31
Palmer
I can hear Bailey on the phone in the living room. He told me he had a quick work call that he had to make, but it wouldn’t take long, so I had decided to make myself scarce until he was done.
Fuck, why does he sound so sexy even when he’s talking about work?
I can’t understand most of what he’s saying, but I close my eyes and can imagine what he looks like as he’s flipping through the papers in front of him. I ignore the screaming in my brain, telling me to eavesdrop and see if he mentions anything about a deployment.
He’d tell you, I tell myself, trying to sound convincing. Instead, I try to distract myself. His voice is gruff from a lack of sleep, and it has been entirely too long since I’ve had his mouth on my body.
Time for a little payback.
Rounding the kitchen island, I grab one of the chocolate cupcakes from the container and then a water bottle from the fridge.
Putting on my best nonchalant look, I stroll down the hallway and stop in the doorway.
Bailey’s head is down, and he’s nodding along to voices on the other end.
As I watch, he rubs his hand down his face, bringing it to rest on his chin.
He looks exhausted. I pause for a moment; maybe I should wait.
There’s always tomorrow or later, and I don’t want to get him in trouble or bother him.
Clay’s voice rings out in the back of my head, as much as I wish it wouldn’t. “Jesus fucking Christ, Palmer. All you ever want is sex. Can’t you see I have bigger fucking things to deal with than you right now?”
He (or at least the nagging voice that sounds like him) is right.
Me being horny and excited to see my… whatever he is, doesn’t exactly trump national security or whatever the hell they’re talking about.
I probably wouldn’t even be a distraction but more of an annoyance, and I don’t know if I’m ready to scare him off just yet, even if there’s not really a “thing” to scare him off from.
I go to take a step back and turn back down the hall, but I misjudge the distance from my elbow to the doorframe.
Instead of gracefully slipping out of the room undetected to wait in the kitchen, my funny bone slams into the wood, which in turn slams the cupcake onto my shirt, eliciting a groan of pain followed by a string of muttered curses from me.
“AhhhshitfuckmotherfuckergodDAMMIT. Oooohhhsonofabitch…” I cradle my elbow and press the cold bottle to it, hopping from foot to foot.
Before I can look up to apologize for interrupting his call, Bailey is at my side, his hand on my back and phone tucked into the crook of his neck.
“You okay, baby?” His voice sounds concerned, but he’s biting his lips into a thin line in a poor attempt to hide his laughter.
I grimace and give him a shaky thumbs up with my injured arm. “Sorry,” I mouth then turn, elbow still in hand, to offer him the water. “For you.”
He takes it from me then bends to kiss my elbow.
Several voices sound from the speaker of the phone.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Bailey says, not bothering to hide the smile anymore. “My girl just rocked the shit out of her elbow on the doorframe and is now wearing the cupcake she was about it to eat.”
A chorus of oooohs ring out from the phone, and I swear I hear someone say, “Party foul.”
But all I can focus on is “my girl.” He called me his girl. His girl. To his… friends? Colleagues? Whatever they are. I’m his girl. Bailey’s girl. Diaz’s girl.
Palmer Diaz.
Woooooah, slow down. Pump the breaks. You’ve known the guy for, like, a month. Honestly, two weeks MAX, considering he’s been off at training, and work during the day and stuff. Let’s not be slapping last names where they don’t belong just yet. So, you know, maybe chill the hell out.
Whatever. He still called me “my girl,” so I’m going to take my victories where I can get them.
I bring myself back to the present and the somehow-sexier-than-he-was-thirty-seconds-ago man in front of me. Jerking my head back toward the kitchen, I whisper, “I can go wait in—” Bailey cuts me off with a shake of his head, then mouths back, “We’re about done.”
He takes my hand and walks me over to stand in front of where he was sitting.
Plopping back down into chair, he picks up the notebook from the end table next to it and leans back to study me.
His eyes drift to the cupcake still plastered against my chest, gesturing to it then to himself with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Oh! Yeah.” Quite frankly, I had forgotten I had been holding it there. I peel it off then set it on the coffee table.
Without taking his eyes off me for more than a second at a time to glance at his notebook, Bailey rattles off more of whatever he’s got written in there.
I take advantage of one of the longer glances away to begin unbuttoning my top; there’s a lacy tank top underneath so it shouldn’t be super distracting.
Okay, fine it’s more of a corset/bustier thing, but I hadn’t exactly anticipated him seeing it while he was on a work call.
Plus, if I don’t get something on this stain, this shirt is going to end up being unwearable, and I just bought it, so I will be damned if that money goes to waste.
“They also provided an update on the uhhh…”
Looking up, I see Bailey’s gaze trained on the place where the shirt parts and my cleavage peeks through.
I continue to undo the buttons, acting like my cheeks are staying a very normal shade of peach and not the deep pink blush I can feel creeping its way up my neck.
I slide the shirt off then hold it up and nod toward the laundry room.
He shakes his head, then resumes his report.
“Sorry, lost my spot. Like I was saying…” Bailey’s voice is all business, but his eyes are molten.
As he continues talking, he points at the smushed cupcake then at me.
He crooks his finger in a come here motion then points at the spot directly between his knees.
My mouth goes dry, and I can feel the heat pooling in the pit of my stomach.
Fuck, I want him. Now.
I set my shirt on the coffee table behind me then reach over to grab the cupcake next to it. Straightening, I take three steps to place me between his legs; all the while, he keeps talking, his voice even and his eyes setting my skin ablaze.
I hand him the cupcake. Without skipping a beat, Bailey scoops his finger through the frosting, coating it fully in the white cream.
He holds his finger to my mouth then taps my lower lip.
Opening my mouth, I run my tongue down the length of his forefinger before closing it around the base.
As I start to suck at the sugary topping, Bailey’s other fingers wrap around my jaw and pull my face down toward his.
He makes a V with the fore- and middle finger on his left hand, then points them from my eyes to his own, silently giving commands as he continues to report.
Eyes on me.
My eyes lock onto his as I wrap my tongue around his finger, bobbing my head back and forth slowly, sucking all the remaining stickiness from the sugar off.
How the fuck he manages to continue talking without skipping a beat is beyond me, although I can definitely hear his voice becoming huskier the longer my tongue lavishes upon his finger.
Bailey slowly pulls his finger from my mouth then drags it down my neck and sternum. He stops at the lace lining the top of my bustier and fiddles with the clasp.
“And that’s all I’ve got for updates on my end, sir. Any questions from anyone?” He pauses, but there is a brief silence on the other end, followed by a mumbled comment, and a “Too easy” from Bailey, then the muffled conversation continues.
Bailey holds the phone away from his face as far as he can. Reaching up, his fingers wrap around my throat and squeeze hard enough a small moan escapes. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Without releasing his grip on my neck, Bailey tugs me down toward his mouth. His breath hot against my ear, he murmurs, “I can’t mute this call, because I might have to answer questions, and I need to hear what they’re asking. That means you are going to be absolutely silent, do you understand?”
I nod, the movement cut short by his fingers.
“Good girl.”
He nips my earlobe, and I gasp.
His fingers tighten around my throat. “I said silent, baby. You wanted to tease; you’re going to get a tease.” He brings his phone back to his ear. “Roger, sir, that aligns with the information I received as well.”
His hand grazes down one side of my neck to tug at the strap of my bustier while his lips and tongue slide down the other.
He stops to lick at the spot where his thumb had been resting just moments ago, and all the blood in my body rushes from my head to the pulsing between my legs.
Bailey sucks at the sensitive skin of my neck in a dizzying way that has me gripping the arms of the chair to stay upright.
God, the things this man makes me feel are…
indescribable. Every time I was intimate with Clay, I would always find my mind wandering.
Not necessarily thinking about other people but about what I could or should be doing.
I was always having to remind myself to be present, but not so present that the feeling of his hands or lips on my body disgusted me.
Come to think of it, that should’ve been my sign to leave a long time ago.
But if I hadn’t stayed, I wouldn’t have caught him cheating.
And if I hadn’t caught him cheating, I wouldn’t have kicked him out.
If I hadn’t kicked him out, Bailey wouldn’t have come over with Chase to help get him out of my house.
If he hadn’t come over with Chase, I wouldn’t be standing here panting from just the feeling of his lips on my skin and the thought of what his tongue can do (will soon be doing) to other parts of my body.
Fuck. Me.
Before I can even perceive what he’s doing, Bailey’s left leg is in between my knees, and his hand against my hip guides me down to straddle his leg. I adjust, accidentally grinding against the muscle there, and my knee brushes against his cock tenting his pants. A growl sounds low in his chest.
He wants me, too.
His right hand is still holding the phone to his ear, and I swear his knuckles almost look white from how tightly he’s gripping it.
I watch him nod along to something someone says on the other end.
He says something in reply, but my head is swimming as I watch his eyes rake over my body.
His left hand skims the lace that lines the top of my breasts and tugs at it a bit.
My body stiffens, a silent plea, and his gaze flits back up to meet my own.
Without breaking eye contact, he braces the phone against his shoulder and frees his other hand.
His hands grab for the straps on my shoulders and slide them down my arms. The fabric loosens across my chest, and he takes that opportunity to pull it farther down, freeing my breasts.
I breathe in a ragged intake of air at the look on his face.
His eyes darken, and his hands reach for the outside of the flesh.
I hear him groan and murmur, “Beautiful,” and I’m not sure if he’s talking about me or something someone said on the phone, nor do I really care.
His calloused hands brush along my clavicles and ribs, giving me goosebumps and making my nipples harden.
Bailey shifts in his seat to adjust his bulging erection; the friction caused by the movement between my legs sends a jolt straight to my core, making my hips buck involuntarily against his thigh.
He leans forward, and I can feel the heat from his breath against my skin.
I begin to arch into him, but his hands hold my body firmly in place.
“So impatient,” he mouths up at me and chuckles.
His thumbs graze along the underside of my breasts along my ribcage, and the sensation makes me nearly burst. They trace upward along the outside curve of each breast then slowly—painstakingly—snake their way along the veins marbling my skin until they graze deliberately across my nipples.
I can’t help it; a whimper escapes my lips, and I’m not entirely sure I didn’t just come in Bailey’s lap.
Since when did being touched have this kind of power over me?
I already know the answer: since Bailey is the one who started doing the touching.
I hear him mutter a breathless, “Fuck.” He rests his forehead against my sternum, and his own breathing is heaving as he responds to someone on the other end of the phone.
Through the roaring in my ears, I manage to hear him say, “All right, see you all tomorrow. Bye,” and watch him click the red button to end the call.