Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jenna
“That was so much fun!” I gush as we climb back into Aaron’s truck. I’m soaking wet, and, as he promised, quite warm. I pull my hat off as soon as we’re inside the cab and unwind my scarf, setting them along with my gloves next to me on the seat, unzipping my coat before I buckle up.
He smiles at me, starting the truck and letting it warm up a few minutes before taking off his own hat and gloves.
It barely started snowing as we were taking our last few runs, so our hats are pretty wet, and a shower of water splashes everywhere when he pulls his hat off.
I let out a tiny shriek, holding my hands up in self defense.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and I shake my head at him, smiling back.
There’s a light dusting of snow on the windshield, but it quickly melts from the heat of the car. “I’m glad you had fun,” he says, turning on the windshield wipers. “You didn’t get too cold?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’m kinda warm.”
He grins, putting the truck in reverse and turning us around to bump back down the track to the road. “Good. You might cool off pretty quickly now that we’re not moving around, though.”
I shrug. “Good thing we’re headed back to my place. I have plenty of warm clothes, blankets, food, and hot cocoa there.”
“Oooh, hot cocoa’s the perfect after-sledding drink.”
“I kinda thought so, so I stocked up last night.”
“Smart.”
“I also got soup and some French bread from the grocery store. It’s not as fancy as your homemade stew and bread from Give and Cake, but they weren’t open by the time I got to the store. I also have sliced bread if we want grilled cheese sandwiches.”
His eyes light up. “Oooh, that sound great. Yes, please. With Kraft Singles?”
Wrinkling my nose, I give him a disgusted look. “Do I look like some kind of barbarian? No. I got the good Tillamook cheese. We will have real cheese on our grilled cheese sandwiches, thank you very much.”
He laughs, the sound filling the cab of the truck. “Okay, grown-up grilled cheese it is. Please tell me you don’t have the bread filled with seeds and stuff, though.”
“No,” I scoff. “That’s fine for some kinds of sandwiches, but white bread works best for grilled cheese. Everyone knows that.”
“Sometimes I like to use mayo on the outside instead of butter,” he volunteers.
“Gross. Why would you ruin a good sandwich that way?”
Grinning, he glances at me. “Not a fan of mayo?” I shake my head, making a face. “Noted.”
Once we get back to my place, we make short work of stripping out of our snow stuff, draping it over my dining room chairs to dry.
I grab an old towel out of my linen closet to mop up the floor, and Aaron takes it from me.
“I can take care of that for you,” he says quietly, both of us gripping the towel, the moment suddenly more intense now that the flush of activity has faded.
“Thanks,” I murmur, letting him have the towel and clearing my throat. “I’ll, um …” I clear my throat again, suddenly nervous for some reason. “I’ll just get lunch started.”
“Perfect,” he says. “I’m starving.”
In the kitchen, I pull out my skillet plus everything for the sandwiches, leaving the can of soup on the counter for now.
It won’t take long to heat up, and grilling the sandwiches will take more time.
While I’m buttering the bread, Aaron props himself up in the entrance to my tiny kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’m not sure the both of us would fit in here, even if there were something for you to do.”
“Good point,” he murmurs. “It’s …” The odd tone in his voice makes me glance up.
He’s rubbing the back of his neck, and drops his hand when I look at him, shifting his shoulders, not quite a shrug but almost. “I’m just not used to having someone do things for me,” he says after a moment.
“I mean, sure, my mom makes dinner for Colin and me sometimes, but even then, I pitch in.”
“Well, it’s good for someone to take care of you for a change,” I quip. “Since it seems like you’re always doing everything for everyone.”
He grunts but doesn’t move, watching me as I put the first sandwich in the pan, the butter sizzling.
Then I pull the tab on the can of soup, dumping it into the saucepan I pulled out already and setting it on another burner before turning it on.
Turning to face Aaron, I cross my arms. “Now we wait.”
A sly smile pulls at his lips. “I think I can come up with a way to pass the time.”
Arching an eyebrow, I give him a questioning look. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
Closing the distance between us, he hooks his fingers under my elbow, using his grip to tug me closer. I narrow my eyes, letting him draw me to him almost reluctantly, though I’m in no way actually reluctant. I’m just slightly worried he’ll distract me so much the sandwich’ll burn.
I let my arms relax when he wraps his arms around me, leaning down to kiss me. “I don’t want the food to burn,” I murmur against his lips.
“It won’t,” he whispers back. “Promise.”
“You promise a lot of things.”
He rumbles a sound that he must intend as agreement. “And I always keep my promises.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Then he kisses me. His hand flattens on my lower back, pressing me against him, and I pull my arms out from between us, clutching his shoulders to anchor me before I get swept away completely by his kiss.
When the smell of cooking bread reaches me, I pull away with a gasp. “I have to flip the sandwich.”
He grins at me, lips swollen, eyes hazy, his hands sliding off me, though he catches my arm again when I nearly trip over my own feet trying to back up, letting out a low, self-satisfied chuckle.
I toss him a mock-stern glare, sticking out my tongue at him, then turn to flip the sandwich over.
I only have a small skillet since I typically just cook for myself, so I have to make the sandwiches one at a time.
I reach for the second one, getting it ready to get it in the pan as soon as this one’s done.
Aaron steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He presses into my backside, letting me feel that he’s already hard. And when he kisses my neck, I let out a moan that’s positively indecent.
He chuckles, soft and low, then kisses my neck again.
“We’re not gonna eat lunch if you keep that up,” I whisper.
In answer, he reaches past me and turns off both burners. “Lunch can wait,” he murmurs, guiding me around to face him.
“I thought you were starving.”
His grin is positively wolfish, his eyes glinting like he’s trying out for the part of the Big Bad Wolf in an illicit version of Little Red Riding Hood. “I am. For you.” Then he’s kissing me again, and I don’t think I’d mind letting him gobble me up at all.
He shifts us to the side, pressing me back into the counter. The plate holding the second sandwich clatters as it gets pushed aside, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pulls me away from the counter, bending his knees for leverage, and then hitching me up.
Following his lead, I wrap my legs around his waist, and his grunt this time is pure male satisfaction. He moves out of the kitchen, and I put out an arm to prevent us from knocking into the doorframe, though he still bumps into one of the chairs.
“This way,” I gasp into his mouth, grabbing at the wall to take us toward the bedroom.
He follows my directions, navigating into the tiny rectangle of a hallway that leads to my bathroom and bedroom, bumping us into the wall again before making the turn into my room. I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t hung anything on the walls yet after all.
Once inside my room, he gently sets me down, lowering me until my feet hit the floor, then he continues his downward path until he’s on his knees in front of me, his face pressing into my belly, his arms still wrapped around me.
I run my hands through his dark hair, and he looks up at me, his eyes dark and fathomless, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t want to assume—” he starts, but I shake my head and grin.
“Assume away,” I whisper.
He breaks out in a smile, but his expression quickly turns serious again, even as his hands find their way under my sweater, skating over my ass before slipping under my cami as well and finding my bare skin. His hands are warm, his fingers firm where they slide and rub and massage my lower back.
I let out a soft sound, part grunt, part groan. “God, that feels good.”
“Do you want a massage?” he asks immediately.
My eyebrows raise. “Seriously?”
He dips his chin in his signature single nod.
“Absolutely,” I breathe.
After pressing a kiss to my belly, he releases me, once again grazing my ass as he removes his hands from under my shirt—clearly not an accident either time.
Stepping back, I move toward my bed, lifting my sweater over my head. But I’m suddenly uncertain—do I strip completely? Just my top? Stop here?
What kind of massage is this, exactly?
He said he didn’t want to assume, but does that mean I shouldn’t either?
We came to my bedroom after making out in the kitchen … it seems like the natural ending to that would be sex. But …
“I want you to be comfortable,” he says, still behind me.
I glance back. He’s standing now, still in his socks and jeans, but he’s taken off the blue-gray flannel he was wearing over a dark, heather gray T-shirt. He looks comfortable here in my room. Like he belongs.
He trails his fingers down my arm, catching my hand and tugging me closer to the bed. “Lie down,” he says, his voice gentle but still firm.
Apparently that’s all I needed—someone to tell me what to do. In the same way that he’s used to taking care of everyone around him, I’m used to being the one in charge, the one telling everyone else what to do. It’s a relief to let him take over, at least for a little while.
I stretch out on my bed, face down. The bed dips as he climbs on with me, staying to my side. I scoot over, letting him have enough room so he doesn’t feel like he might fall off.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, and I glance up to see a smile curving his lips.
He runs a hand down my spine, firm and slow, and it feels so good. He does it again, and again. And I start to feel like a cat, and if this is what being petted feels like, I understand why they purr.
Soon, his other hand joins the first, and instead of petting down my spine, he starts to run his thumbs down the columns of muscle on either side of it, going smooth and slow. “Is that pressure good?” he whispers.
“God, yes,” I groan. “You could go a little harder.”
He lets out a choked laugh, and I just replay what I said in my head, then snort giggle into my pillow. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to be gruff, but instead it comes out more amused.
“I’d apologize, but I’m not actually sorry.”
That makes him chuckle. “That seems to be a theme with you.”
I roll onto my side so I can look at him, and his hand stays on me, resting where my ribcage dips to my waist. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He squeezes my side. “You’re not often sorry for the things you do.”
“Should I be?” My voice is more challenge than curiosity.
Biting back a grin, he shakes his head. “Not what I said, sweetheart.”
“I’m your sweetheart now?” Still a challenge.
He dips his chin. “You are, yes.”
I hold his gaze for a second. His smile fades, his face serious, as though daring me to contradict that statement. After a beat, I say, “Okay,” then roll back onto my stomach.
Chuckling softly, he resumes his massage, moving closer and slipping his hands under my cami so he can rub my skin.
After several moments, I point toward the door. “I have lotion in the bathroom. And I could just take my top off. If it’ll be easier.”
Rolling back again, I look at him. He’s paused, staring down at me. “If you’re okay with that, I am.” When I nod, he climbs off the bed. “I’ll get the lotion. Be right back.”
“It’s on the shelf over the toilet,” I call, sitting up and stripping off my cami and bra. Should I stay like this until he comes back? Or should I lie back down?
Ultimately, I decide to lie back down, but my heart’s pounding now that I’m topless.
When he pads back into the room, I hear him draw in a sharp breath, and I turn my head to face him.
He gives me a soft smile, then comes the rest of the way to the bed, pumping lotion into his hand before setting the bottle on my bedside table and climbing back on the bed. “Is it okay if I straddle you?”