Chapter 8 #3
“Me dê um minuto para ler,” I continue. I repeat it in English, since I’m not even sure I just said that correctly. “Just give me a sec to read through these.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“’Fraid not.” I skim the instructions, missing at least a third of the words, but I get the gist. “Had a cellmate whose mom was Brazilian. We had a lot of time to kill behind bars, so he took it upon himself to teach me.”
“You’re serious right now.”
“Yep.” I love the look of shock on her face. “Could you hand me that Allen wrench?”
Snapping her mouth shut, Hazel gives me the tool. “You never cease to amaze me.”
“Amaze or arouse?” Ignoring her huff of indignation, I start piecing the wood together. The craftsmanship is outstanding. Gripping a thick piece of wood, I join it together with another one. “Snug fit. A sign they’re well made.”
“Good. That’s—good.” She chews on a tater tot, moaning a little. Guess she’s really into tots.
“Let’s see,” I murmur, doing my best to translate the instructions. “Slide the male end into the female one and then…thrust?” That can’t be right. “I don’t know the verb for twist. Maybe that’s it?”
“Mmhm.” Hazel looks flushed from the heat. “Want me to turn off the music so you can concentrate?”
I hadn’t noticed the music, but now that I do— “You’re listening to Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On’ while building cribs?”
She blushes and eats some more tater tots. “I misunderstood the playlist when I downloaded it.”
The song comes to an end and another one starts. It takes me a second to place George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.”
When I look up at Hazel, she’s blushing again. “What sort of playlist did you download exactly?”
“I didn’t read closely enough,” she admits. “Turns out it’s called ‘Baby Making Music.’ I just read the baby part and—”
“God, you’re adorable.” Fighting a smile, I connect two more sections of crib together. The fit on this next one feels a little too tight, and it takes me some wrangling and swearing.
“Could you not do that?” She crosses her bare legs in front of her. “I appreciate the help, but I’m trying to make the nursery a no-cursing zone.”
“Sure, yeah. That makes sense.” She’s probably read all the baby-raising books. “Golly darn this flippin’ hunk of pine.”
“Thank you.” Eating a tot, she swipes a hand over her brow. “I should call the furnace guy again. Are you doing okay?”
It is pretty hot in here. “Mind if I take off my shirt?”
“Your shirt?” She stops with a tater tot halfway to her lips. A glob of ranch drips off the tip. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” Whipping my T-shirt over my head, I toss it in the corner.
Hazel releases a soft little whimper. When I look up she’s furiously munching a tot.
“Tasty, huh?”
“Mmhm.” She snatches more tots from the bag. “So good,” she says, popping one into her mouth. “Want some?”
“I’m good.”
“Not a fan of tots?”
“They’re okay.”
“Because you strike me as a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“I am,” I say. “But more meat than potatoes.”
“Oh?” She tugs at the front of her top like she’s struggling to circulate air. “So you’re a big meat guy?”
At the sight of her blushing, I decide to ignore the chance at a big meat quip. “Believe it or not, I won first place in a barbecue contest.”
“Really? When was this?”
“I was nineteen, just after high school. We needed a new roof on the house, and the grand prize was one thousand bucks. Mom always said I made the best pulled pork around, so I gave it a shot and I won.”
“Wow.” Her eyes rake my torso, then back to my face. “Did you cook without a shirt?”
“Say what?”
“Sorry, that was rude. I just meant…well, if I were judging a barbecue contest, I’d give extra points to a guy who looked sexy while cooking.”
“Uh, thanks?” The thought of grilling sans shirt makes me squeamish. “Maybe I’ll let you try it sometime.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Your meat?”
“I make a huge batch the first Sunday of every month. That’s when Safeway has a big sale on pork, so I do up enough to last me the month. It freezes well.”
“That’s amazing.” She sounds legitimately impressed. “Who knew you were a guy of so many talents?”
“Anyone who bothered to get to know me?” I wink as I say it so it doesn’t seem snarky, but I’m sure she still hears it. “I don’t suppose you have a dead blow hammer?”
She blinks. “A what?”
That was probably a dumb question. “It’s a type of hammer designed to deliver maximum impact with minimal rebound or damage to the object. It’ll have an oversized head and—” I stop when she starts to turn red. “A rubber mallet would also work.”
“I—don’t think I have a rubber…a rubber…”
“Mallet.”
“Right.”
“That’s okay. I can make do with my ball peen.” I reach for the tool on my belt and watch Hazel’s throat bob.
“What’s a ball peen?”
It sounds sorta filthy when she says it so breathy. Probably the heat. “It’s more of a metalworking hammer.” I should have brought my regular claw hammer, but I was rushing to get here. “Never mind. I’ll just be gentle.”
I take a few whacks at the wood in my hand, doing my best to drive the two pieces together. The notches are stubborn and the wood’s pretty soft, so I’m careful to use just the right amount of force.
Too much and I’ll damage the shaft of this rail. Too little and the parts won’t fit snugly together. I wish I had some sort of lubricant. I consider asking but stop myself.
Pretty much every thought I just had would sound sexual if I said it out loud. If Hazel’s got rules for cursing in the nursery, I doubt she’d appreciate dirty talk.
Changing the angle, I take another good whack at the rail. “Son of a…biscuit.”
“Sorry it’s such a pain.”
“Dawn’s a nice nature-inspired name,” I muse. “Also my mom’s middle name.”
She sighs as I get up to alter the angle. It’s tricky work and I’m starting to sweat. Maybe I should open another window.
“You look thirsty,” she says with a wobble in her voice.
“Guess I am kinda thirsty.” Why do I sound like I’m hoping for more than just water?
“Here.” Hazel sets down her tots and hands me a steel-walled bottle. “It’s ice water. I haven’t even touched it.”
“Oh, good. I was worried about Hazel cooties.” I twist off the top, tipping it up to my lips. The ice cubes slosh to the top of the bottle, spilling half of the contents over my chest. “Sh—oot.” That was a close one. “Got a towel or something?”
“Here.” She leaps up with a fistful of napkins from her tater tot bag and starts mopping my chest. “That happens to me all the time. I put in too much ice and—”
“No problem.” Can’t say I mind how she’s touching me. She’s patting my middle, getting dangerously close to my fly. Sparks zing through my core as her fingertips tickle my abs. “Uh, I should probably get that myself.”
“Right, yes. Of course.” She hands me the napkins and scuttles back to her spot on the floor.
I take over mopping my midsection, wiping myself with the wet wad of napkins as Hazel goes back to eating her tots. I’m dabbing a spot near my beltline when she lets out a soft little moan.
“You like what you’re eating, huh?”
Licking her lips, Hazel blushes. “Zoe said something?”
Huh?
But she tips up her chin before I can ask. “Yes, if you must know, I’ve been reading erotic romance. It’s a perfectly healthy outlet for women experiencing natural hormonal fluctuations and desires that come with—”
“Hazel.”
“And anyway, yes—I’m not ashamed to admit I really do like what I’m reading. Turns out I’m into the tropes with blue-collar heroes falling for snotty rich girls, so Zoe gave me a bunch of those. And there’s no shame in—”
“Hazel.” I say it louder this time, though it’s almost a shame to stop her.
I’m rather enjoying this monologue. “Eating.” I enunciate slowly as I set down the crib rail and walk over to where she sits sprawled on the floor.
My shoulder bumps hers as I ease down beside her.
“I asked if you liked what you’re eating.
You keep stuffing tater tots into your mouth and moaning. I thought—”
“Oh, God.” She squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a moan that sounds more like shame. “Why am I such an idiot around you and your stupid penis? And those abs, my God—I could grate cheese on them.”
“Please do.” I grin when she opens her eyes. “If cheese is one of your cravings, be my guest.”
Hazel licks her lips. “You’re sitting too close.”
“You want me to move?”
There’s a sharp intake of breath as my fingertips brush her bare knee. “No.”
“You want me to open the window some more?”
The tip of her tongue wets her lips. “No.”
I’m ninety percent sure I know what she wants. Ten percent worried she’s preparing to punch me in the balls.
But since I’m one hundred and eighty percent dying to touch her, I push my luck.
“What do you want, Hazel?” The rumble of my voice makes her eyes flash. “Rambutan?”
She shakes her head slowly, licking her lips again.
“More tots?” I press, leaning closer.
Another shake of her head. “Luke—”
“Tell me, Hazel.” My lips brush her ear and she shivers. “Tell me what you want.”
She gives a soft growl of frustration as her body moves toward me like magnets to steel. “Goddammit, Luke.”
“No swearing in the nursery, remember?” I scoop some damp hair off the back of her neck, teasing the nape with a finger. She’s sweaty and flushed, and I don’t think it’s just from the heat. “Tell me what you want, Hazel. Anything, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”
Her pupils flare again. “Don’t call me baby.”
“Tell me,” I breathe, wetting my lips. “Just say what you want and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Her soft little growl catches me off guard. So does her hand whipping up to capture back of my head. She’s pulling me toward her, dragging my mouth down to hers. Her kiss tastes like salt and desire with a sprinkling of spice.
The softness of her lips, the sweep of her tongue in my mouth, feel both familiar and foreign. She’s fiery and sweet, aggressive and yielding, pulsing with so much sensation I’m dizzy.
Her hands find their way into my hair, tugging and clawing as she climbs up to straddle my lap.
She’s grinding against me, making soft little moans in the back of her throat.
I feel her wet heat seeping into the front of my jeans.
My body wants nothing more than to sink deep inside her, but one functioning brain cell forces me to break the kiss.
“Hazel,” I pant, fingertips teasing the hem of her tank top. “I don’t want you to regret this like you did before.”
She blinks as the tip of her tongue wets her lips. “I don’t regret the other time, either.”
“You don’t?”
“Do you?”
“No.” That’s an easy one. I let my palm skim up her side, the heel of my hand bumping over bare ribs. She’s so fucking soft it’s insane. “I don’t regret a damn thing.”
“Luke,” she pants, in between kisses. “Need you so badly.”
I promised to give her whatever she wants.
But something twists in my chest, reminding me Hazel just does this when she’s having a bad day.
Taking advantage feels wrong, even though everything else feels so right.
Her fingertips raking my shoulders, her hot, liquid core grinding into me over my jeans.
My last firing brain cell insists that I ask. “Do you need me because I’m here and I’m handy or you need me because I’m…” Because I’m what? “Because I’m me.”
Blinking, she clutches my shoulders. She leans back to look in my eyes. “Do you want to know the last time I had sex?”
“Uh—”
“I mean before you fucked me in the foyer.”
I bite back the urge to remind her of the no-swearing rule. This feels too heavy for humor. “When?”
“More than two years,” she says softly. “And it’s not like I didn’t have options for no-strings flings.”
“I can imagine.” I’ve seen how every man’s eyes follow her down the street. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” she says, kissing her way down the column of my throat. “I want you, specifically. It’s crazy and reckless, but goddamn it, Luke—nobody’s ever made me this hot.”
“Guh,” I manage as she crawls down my body, untangling her legs as her lips graze my abs. She’s unhooking my fly and there goes that last functioning brain cell.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, breaking the rules as I roll her lithe body back into the carpet.
“God, yes.” Her legs fall apart as she draws me between them. “Fucking sounds perfect.”
And with those breathless words, every last rule flies out the window.