Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Mira
Is this a bad idea? Maybe.
Have I had worse ones? Definitely.
Hartley is mostly hidden in the shadows. I can make out the outline of his body, but not much else. Still, I know he’s smiling, and if he could see me, he’d be searching my eyes like he can pluck the right answer from them.
“Fine,” I say, sighing loud enough for him to hear. “I’ll just lie here and make myself come.” I rip the covers off and fall back against the pillows. “It’s not like I don’t—ah!”
My squeals pierce the air as Hartley catches me beneath him.
He braces himself with his hands on either side of my head, holding most of his weight off me, his body hovering inches above mine. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat pouring off him. Close enough that every breath seems shared.
My hands slide to his shoulders, one of my favorite parts of his body. They’re broad and hard beneath my palms, the muscles thick from years of working the ranch. There’s a steadiness in them, a quiet strength that makes me feel small in the sexiest way.
“You know that you’re my weakness,” he says, lowering himself slightly so I can feel how hard he is for me. “Don’t tease me like this.”
I can’t stop my body from arching toward his, drawn to him by a shared history that goes far beyond lust. There are reasons I told him we couldn’t be together like this.
I could even remember them if I tried hard enough …
but I don’t want to. Because whatever those reasons are, they don’t feel important anymore.
If I truly need to be protected, it won’t be by a list of guidelines that I made mid-panic.
My hands run over his shoulders to the back of his neck.
It’ll be Hartley who does it.
“I’m not teasing you,” I say, feeling the muscles in his back flex under my touch. “I really thought about it and realized that it was a goofy rule. We have had sex. Why stop now? It’s like buying a winery, and then you stop drinking wine.”
He grins, the light from the city carving shadows across his face. “Great analogy.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth as his body settles more firmly over mine. The motion is careful. Deliberate. It’s as if he’s giving himself one more out. One last chance to stop.
“But what if you love the wine so damn much,” he murmurs, his voice rough enough to send a shiver rippling through me, “that you know if you keep drinking, you’ll be ruined?” He lowers his mouth until his breath is hot across my lips. “That if you keep drinking, you might not be able to walk away?”
“Then I guess you have a decision to make,” I say, roaming my hands over the hard planes of his back and savoring the way they tighten beneath my touch. “You either stop drinking or accept that you’re an oenophile.”
A low laugh rumbles out of him. “Darlin’, I passed oenophile a long time ago.”
Even in the dark, I can sense the intensity in his eyes.
My breath comes faster. Shallower. More frantic. The throb between my legs grows heavier and more demanding.
I brush his hair out of his face and study the angles of his jaw. These are typically the conversations that make me uncomfortable, and I fear that when I don’t have sex hormones filling every nook and cranny of my body, I might regret this. But right now? I want nothing more.
I want him. All of him. At least for tonight.
“Well, how about we give you a little test,” I say, lifting my hips. “Let’s see if you have officially graduated from wine lover to wine expert.”
He grins wickedly. “You know me. I love a challenge.”
“Then game on.”
Hartley rolls away from me, turning on the bedside lamp. I shake my head at his predictability. Secretly, though, I love it.
“Don’t start,” he says, sliding his boxers over his hips and kicking them onto the floor. “You know I’m not going to have you naked and not be able to see you.”
I scoot off the other side just to toy with him. When he looks over his shoulder, I’m standing by the bed with my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt.
He smirks. “Take it off.”
“I’m enjoying the view first.” I make a point of dragging my gaze down the length of his body. It’s unfair how attractive he is and how he just gets better with age. “My husband’s hot.”
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, then runs along his lips. “Seen enough?”
“You never let me really look at you. Not like you look at me.”
It’s true. Hartley loves to unwrap me from my clothes like I’m a gift. And if there’s the option to have a light on while we’re together, he chooses it every time. It doesn’t bother me because something about the look he gives me when he’s visually feasting on my body is very good for my ego.
“Because as soon as my clothes come off, you’re usually begging for an orgasm.”
“Well, tonight is no different in that regard.” My thighs are coated from how soaked I am for him. “But, damn, Hart. You really are fine.”
I start to lift my shirt when my gaze lands on something I haven’t noticed before. It’s small and barely noticeable. One circle, about the size of a penny, with a smaller one in the center.
He didn’t.
My jaw hangs open as my gaze darts back to his. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I point at the spot just below his rib cage. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He looks down, grinning sheepishly. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s the coin.”
My heart pounds at this revelation. He’s had a tattoo of the coin that I gave him—that he gave to me today—this whole time? Echoes of words I’ve heard all week come back to me. How many times did I hear that people were expecting us to get married, and had been for a long time?
I look up at him, searching his big brown eyes for confirmation. Was he, too, waiting for this day to come?
I know he hasn’t dated anyone seriously, but I’ve always expected that he has dated. That’s one of the reasons I hated coming back to Sugar Creek. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle seeing him with someone else. But was I wrong to think he’d moved on, or was he just waiting for the right girl?
“When did you get that?” I ask.
“A while ago. It’s nothing.”
I laugh. “It’s not nothing. I want to know when you got it.”
He stares at me like he’s trying to assess whether this is a topic that I’ll let go or not. He must realize that I’ll die on this hill. I want answers.
“Brooks got a tattoo a couple of months ago, and was giving me shit about not having any,” Hartley says. “I couldn’t think of anything else to get.”
We stare at each other, feeling each other out across the bed. My body fills with a warmth that I didn’t know existed. One I’ve never felt before. And I’m not quite sure how to process it.
“Was it for me?” I ask carefully. I’m sure it was—it must be. And I must know the truth before I overthink it in the middle of the night.
He rolls his eyes. “Of course, it was for you. Now shut up and take your shirt off.”
Guess I’ll process that later.
Or not.
I giggle, smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt. “Yes, Mr. Adler.” Slowly, I lift the fabric over my head. But before I can completely remove it, I’m swept up into his arms. “Hart!”
His mouth captures mine hungrily, wasting no time. I moan into his mouth as his tongue sweeps across mine, and I melt against him.
I can barely breathe as he walks me backward until my back hits the wall. The wallpaper is smooth and cool against my bare skin, and Hartley hoists me up with his hands under my ass. I wrap my legs around his waist and thread my fingers through his hair as we continue to kiss.
And kiss.
And kiss.
He presses kisses across my jaw and down my throat, nipping me in the crook of my neck. I shriek, mostly from the sensitivity of my body and the adrenaline ripping through me like a wildfire. Our bodies are pressed together, but I want to be closer. I want—I need—to feel him all over me. Inside me.
“You’re showing strong indications,” I say, arching my back and giving him access to my chest, “of being an expert in your field.” His mouth slides over one nipple, sucking it into his mouth. “Bonus point.”
He chuckles, pulling me away from the wall and turning to the side. My leg hits the lamp on the table beside the bed. It crashes to the floor, but we don’t stop to assess the damage.
“How many more points do I need?” he asks, tossing me onto the bed.
I grin up at him, my body buzzing. “At least twenty.” I hold up a finger. “But for every orgasm I receive, you get five more.”
He grabs my ankles and yanks me to the edge of the bed. “I got this in the bag.”
I hope you do. “Prove it.”
My breath quickens as he licks his lips, staring down at my pussy. The anticipation might kill me … if the throbbing in my clit doesn’t do me in first.
His calloused hands grip my thighs and spread me wide open, making me shiver from his touch and the air rolling across my dampened skin. I’d feel embarrassed for any other man to be kneeling between my legs, pressing kisses up the inside of my leg. But with Hartley? Not a bit.
My head digs into the mattress, and my back arches to make his job easier.
“I love making you come on my face before I fuck you,” he says, forcing my legs wider. His tongue strokes a long line, stopping just before the apex of my thighs. I shiver as he blows across my flesh. “It settles you down a bit.” A finger toys at my opening. “And, my God, I love the taste of you.”
“Then do it,” I say through a groan. “I’m not going to stop you.”
“Play with your tits,” he says, flicking my clit with his tongue. I half moan, half cry as the flames shooting through me nearly burn. “I want to watch you while I eat you out.”
I cup my breasts, bringing them together as he slides a finger through my slit.
“You have the best tits,” he says, as I play with my nipples for him. “I dream about them sometimes.”
“What kinds of dreams?”
“About sucking them.” He growls, inserting a finger into me. “Fucking them.” He adds another finger. “Coming all over them.”
I moan. “Yes, yes, and yes. Please.”
He chuckles. “I love the please.”
“Then please fuck me.”