Chapter Twenty-One Reed
Chapter Twenty-One
Reed
When I walked into the kitchen after my shower, the last thing I expected was for Hollis to be preparing food for both of us. Also . . . “You changed,” I breathed out, knowing there was some type of double meaning there I couldn’t tackle right now.
“You seemed to be uncomfortable around me in what I had on.” She turned toward me, armed with a butter knife covered in mayo. “I assume you’re not allergic to anything in your kitchen, or you wouldn’t have bought it, right?”
My shoulders relaxed, but my heartbeat didn’t seem ready to calm down. “No allergies.” I gave her a hesitant smile before stepping behind her, looking over her shoulder at what she was up to with my food.
She’d butchered the homemade sourdough bread Audrey had dropped off this morning, clearly using the wrong knife to cut it.
Slices of turkey and cheese were on top of the bread.
She was currently adding the mayo to the meat, instead of to the bread like I’d have done.
That would’ve normally bothered me, but for some reason, it didn’t.
She was trying, and the effort did something strange to me, like making that useless muscle in my chest—only good for keeping me alive—beat even faster.
“You didn’t have to change,” I said a few internal curses and two skipped heartbeats too late (I probably needed medical attention).
“I didn’t technically change. I just put on a shirt.” She looked back to catch my eyes. “Proper etiquette to wear a top while we eat together, yeah?”
“How about you always keep your top on when we do anything together?” My voice remained surprisingly measured despite the blood rushing from one head to the other, with her tongue now sliding across the seam of her mouth, just waiting to be caught between my teeth.
“You’re going to strain a muscle if you keep looking back at me.
” Against my better judgment, I brought a hand to the nape of her neck.
My palm slid up and around her soft skin to the front of her throat, skimming her sharp jawline, before gently urging her face to point toward the tragic sandwiches and away from me.
She dropped the knife and braced herself against the counter, slightly tilting her head like an invitation to keep my hand on her.
For the life of me, I couldn’t pull away. I set my other hand next to hers on the counter, then dragged my knuckles over her cheek before cupping her chin, resting my thumb over her mouth. She arched back, and that ass I ached to grab hold of went flush against my body.
At that moment, I forgot who I was. Forgot I was supposed to keep my distance and not fall for her. We were two souls in each other’s orbits. Her forgotten past and my horrible one were yesterday’s news. They didn’t exist. Just the here, the now.
“What are you doing?” To me. I left off those two key words from my question as my desire poured from my lips, my body, from every part of me. Melting right into her.
She couldn’t possibly get any closer with our clothes still on, but God help me, she tried. Wiggling her ass, like she was trying to absorb everything I had to give her, realizing I was in rare form.
She flicked her tongue out at my thumb. I kept it there anyway, wanting to feel the vibration of her words thrum into my skin when she finally answered me.
“I’m, um, just making sandwiches,” she finally answered.
My arm remained looped around her as she angled her head, offering me better access to her throat.
I held her just under her jawline, lightly squeezing, trying to stop myself from turning her head toward me again. To kiss her. Taste her. Have sex with her right here on this counter.
She trailed her fingers along my forearm down to my hand before squeezing like a request to hold her tighter.
When she covered my other hand on the counter and rotated her hips, she nearly obliterated what was left of my brain cells. I pressed my erection against her and growled a curse under my breath.
“Hollis,” I warned. Begged. Pleaded. Also, didn’t let go of her throat. I didn’t grip harder, either.
“This feels . . . right,” she whispered between breathy pauses while shimmying against me, her warm hands still covering both of mine. “You. Me. That’s all that makes sense.”
Don’t do this. Don’t. My conscience hollered out even more demands, and I ignored every single one of them, feeling like a man possessed.
She was never going to believe me now when I told her there was nothing between us. Why would she? I was about to take her in my kitchen, all because she looked so damn sexy making us sandwiches.
“Hollis,” I tried again. It’d probably help if I stopped holding her throat like I owned the words that came out of her mouth. The problem was? Old me could do exactly that. Make her cry out in ecstasy with my hand, tongue, or cock.
But she wasn’t herself right now, and more than ever, I couldn’t be my old one.
She lifted her hands, probably about to reposition them, and I took that as my chance to fight with everything I had in me to remove myself from temptation.
I unlocked my hand from her throat and staggered back, tearing my fingers through my damp hair, trying to regain some sense of control.
She slowly turned, forest-green eyes narrowed, a swirl of confusion there. I was damn grateful I hadn’t left a handprint on her throat. What had I been thinking?
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened,” I gritted out, knotting my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t haul her against me. Swoop her into my arms and cart her off to my bed, where she’d dreamed we’d already made love as husband and wife. We could go ahead and turn fiction into reality.
She blinked her way up from my dick still filling out the crotch of my shorts to my face. “I’m sorry, too.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. What I did was out of line.” I hung my head, drawing my fingers to my temples. “I have no idea why I did that.”
“Well, I wanted you to touch me. It’s all I seem to want, even if it doesn’t make sense.”
The vein throbbed at the side of my neck as I worked to rein in my desire, her words not helping at all. I remained stiff and ready to go. It was more than that, though. She was slowly resuscitating me in other ways. Like pumping blood to my heart.
“You don’t remember who you are,” I shot back, trying to put up a guard and dismiss her feelings right along with mine.
She let the words simmer between us for a few seconds. “Maybe I’m confusing you because I told you about my dream, and that’s why you touched me.” She bypassed my last remark and addressed my other comment.
She was also being too good to me. She had no idea who I really was. Who I used to be, at least. I’d been a prick to her since we met in February. I was well aware this very thing might happen if I wasn’t, and that’d been a fear of mine since day one, after meeting her in person.
“You, um, may hate me . . . but your body doesn’t seem to.”
I followed her gaze to my raging hard-on.
“You’re gorgeous, Hollis. That won’t ever change.
” I let go of a gruff breath. “I’m a dude with eyes, so.
” I did my best to act like whatever happened was purely physical, when I damn well knew better.
“Just stop being so gorgeous whenever you’re close to me, will ya?
” I stepped around her to assess the mess she’d made on my counter.
“Otherwise, I just might have to gouge out my eyes,” I added in a lighter tone, hoping to switch gears here from lust to how we rolled before: banter and mild insults.
“That’s a little extreme.” She chuckled, and it was the best sound in the world, and I hated how much I craved hearing it again.
“I could just not wear shorts that make my ass look so good and always keep a top on.” She playfully elbowed my side as I tried to salvage the sandwiches and turn them into something edible.
“No, you wear whatever you want.” I glanced at her.
“It’s a man’s responsibility to control himself.
” And if I had to seal my eyes shut and maintain six feet of distance from her at all times, then so be it.
Whatever kept me sane and her out of my bed, I’d do it.
I had no choice but to, because she wasn’t my “the one” as much as I wasn’t hers.
She gave a half-hearted shrug, then began swiping the crumbs into her palm.
“Let’s just eat, okay?” I plated the sandwiches and went to the breakfast bar.
Ranger was asleep in his bed in my room, which explained why he wasn’t trying to steal our food now and why he hadn’t barked up a storm over me touching her.
She sat on one of the three backless barstools, and I scooted mine farther away from hers. The memory of her ass tight against me with my fingers curled around her throat was still too fresh in my head.
“Am I crazy for being turned on and thinking about sex when I don’t even know who I am? Don’t even remember what sex feels like or how I even like it?”
I honest to God choked on my food. She hopped off the stool and wasted no time wrapping an arm around me.
“I’m guh-good,” I said, finally swallowing my food before she cracked a rib.
She poured me a glass of water and handed it to me like a peace offering.
“Just went down the wrong pipe.” I was making a real liar out of myself today, because nah, she’d nearly choked me to death with her words. “And I thought we were done talking about—”
“You’re right.” She waited for me to drink up before sitting. “I feel like I’m constantly apologizing for making things awkward, only to do it again five seconds later.” She picked up her sandwich, which was falling apart at the side. “I think I have a problem.”
Don’t we all? “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I also had to keep reminding myself of that. “I can’t imagine what it’s like not remembering . . .” I let my words trail off because thoughts of my father popped into my head.
“Can I ask you something?” She set down her sandwich and swiveled on the stool to face me.