17. How He Really Felt
HOW HE REALLY FELT
The knock had her wiping her hands and rushing to the door on Sunday morning.
“I told you to be ready at eight,” Fletcher said, standing in her doorway in jeans and a T-shirt, sneakers on his feet.
“I am ready. Come in.”
He moved in, sniffed the air, then said, “You’re cooking?”
“Breakfast. You said breakfast date at eight, but you didn’t say where. I thought I’d cook it and we’d have time to talk without skirting traffic and noise. Or are you afraid to be alone with me?”
“Now you want to play games?” he asked.
“Just asking a simple question.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Good.” Paris moved into his space. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. Didn’t take his eyes off of hers. She leaned up, loving that he was tall enough she got to do that, then puckered her lips and waited for him to plant one on her.
He did. Too quick. Too brief.
Not sexy in the least.
Bummer.
“Don’t pout,” he said, then wrapped his hand behind her neck, his fingers threading into her hair, his mouth landing on hers.
This was what she was talking about. This was what she’d meant.
His mouth wasn’t careful now. It wasn’t rushed either. It was slow and intent, like he was taking his time learning her.
Learning how she responded, how she softened, how her breath caught the second his thumb slid under her jaw.
The kiss deepened, the heat blooming fast and sharp, and flickered low in her stomach. Her hands fisted in his T-shirt, not pulling him closer because he was already there, but just not letting him move back. He was solid, unyielding, and... everywhere.
His grip at the back of her neck was firm but steady, anchoring her, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
God.
Her knees went weak. She barely noticed until he shifted, bracing her with his body, like he’d felt it too. Like he knew. And that sent another heady and disorienting rush through her.
She tasted mint, heat, and him.
And beneath it all, something dangerous, like his control was barely restrained, as if she gave him one more second, one more inch, he’d take it.
That scared her. That thrilled her.
And told her everything she needed to know about him and how he really felt.
She dragged in a breath against his mouth and broke the kiss, pressing her forehead to his chest as she sucked in air. Her lungs burned. Her pulse was everywhere.
“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Okay—wow.”
His hand didn’t leave her neck right away. When it finally did, it slid down slowly, deliberately, like he was reminding both of them he could touch her… and was choosing not to.
He was letting her take the lead.
Or maybe he was hinting at what he really wanted.
The funny part, she was right there with him when she’d never been that way with another man this early on before.
But she’d told herself she wasn’t going to fight anything.
Not now. Not with him.
Not when she admitted she was stepping out of her carefully crafted world and they could do that together.
She laughed softly, her limbs shaky. “That,” she said, lifting her head to look at him, “was definitely not a polite good-morning kiss.”
His eyes were dark and unreadable, his breathing just as uneven as hers. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
Her lips still tingled. Her body felt too warm, too aware, like everything had shifted slightly off balance and she knew he’d steady her if she just asked.
She stepped back, needing space even as she hated losing the contact. “Breakfast,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. “Before one of us does something reckless.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Too late for that.”
She met his gaze, her heart still racing, and knew this was going to complicate everything.
And she wasn’t sure she cared.
It didn’t seem he did either.
“So, food... or something else. This one is your call.”
He laughed. Genuine humor. “You mean I’m getting a choice.”
“We all have choices, Fletcher. But sure, you get this one,” she said, her finger running down his chest. “You asked when my sister would return.”
“You think you’re funny.”
“I think I’m being honest. I think it unnerves you as much as I do. And I think the two of us might be all talked out, but I could be wrong.”
“You’re not. Are you sure?”
Just so there was no doubt. So there’d be no regrets. “As sure as I am that I let you in the door with this in mind.”
He swung her into his arms, and her eyes went wide in shock. Never. Ever, had any man effortlessly just made that move.
Just picked her up as if she weighed nothing and marched her toward her room.
He didn’t drop her on the bed. He laid her down. Not carefully like she was a baby. Not like he was afraid to hurt her.
But like a man who knew every move he was going to make.
Every effort, every intention that would pull something out of her she hadn’t felt in way too long.
His mouth was on hers again, his hands lifting the T-shirt from her waist up and over her head.
There were no wasted movements.
No wasted time or energy.
Once her shirt was off, his fingers found the clasp on her bra and flung that aside, his large hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples.
They were already hard. Already painfully tight.
And now they were pleading for any kind of release he was willing to give her.
Something told her he was going to drag this out if she didn’t take some kind of control of the situation.
Her hands went under his shirt, over his back. Wow, she actually felt muscles.
She leaned back, their kiss ending. “Shirt off. Let me see.”
He smirked at her. As if he knew exactly what she wanted, then crossed his arms, pulled his shirt up and over his head, barely messing his hair and tossing it aside.
At least with that move there didn’t appear to be any chance of him stopping.
“Do you like what you see?”
“Oh, you know it. You’re getting cocky. But damn, you’ve got every reason to be. Jesus, you put twenty-somethings to shame with that body.”
He snorted and maybe she shouldn’t have let that slip that he was twice that age, but oh, well. She couldn’t help it.
“Paris.”
“Yeah?”
“Zip it,” he said before his mouth landed on hers again. One knee hit the bed and he pushed her back so she was lying down.
She didn’t have much fight in her. She was ready to let him take over.
And when his mouth left hers and moved down her neck, her collarbone, then landed on a rose-colored nipple, she arched and told herself to just enjoy this.
To let her body take over and let all her worries fall away.
With the way his mouth was pulling her in. Was sucking. Was nipping. Was moving side to side.
It was going to be easy to do all of that.
Then her shorts were undone and pulled down with her underwear.
And his eyes, they were bright and moving over every exposed part of her body.
“You’re something,” he said.
“Are you going to zip it or get to work?” she asked.
He laughed. Laughed enough that it reached his eyes. The heat mixed in with the humor and turned the arousal dial up again.
Fletcher Wilcox was a box full of mystery. He was intense, but sweet. He was hot, but considerate.
And right now he was the man she wanted to screw her brains out.
He didn’t answer her. He didn’t need to.
He just slid down her body, spread her legs apart and put that masterful mouth of his right to work.
His tongue tasted every inch of her. From top to bottom, inside and out.
She was squirming on the bed. She was reaching for his head, holding his hair, trying to guide him where she wanted it the most.
He knew what she was doing and he wasn’t letting her have her way.
Not until he was ready.
And when he was, when he decided to send her over, he found just the right spot and launched her.
Had her back arching, her nails leaving marks, her inner muscles twitching and singing out hallelujah!
He held her pinned to the bed while he devoured her like he’d done his burger last night.
Then he lightly licked her a few more times. As if he had to get every ounce of what she’d give him.
But when he pushed off the bed and made no attempt to go further.
Well, then she was confused.
“What’s wrong?”
One eyebrow rose. “I didn’t exactly come prepared for this.”
“I thought you were a Boy Scout.”
“Just couldn’t resist throwing that out there, could you?”
She rolled off the bed. “Nope. Hang on. Looks like I’m the prepared one.”
She marched to her bathroom, found the unopened box she’d picked up months ago because... because she was horny like her sister said and maybe she had some wishful thinking when it came to the sexy Head of Security in her building.
She grabbed one out and marched back in to see him removing a gun from his ankle and setting it on the dresser. “This is what I meant.”
“Yeah, we’ll let that slide. Drop the drawers now.”
“You’re pushy. I thought you’d be relaxed now.”
“Not even close.”
He unbuttoned his jeans and let it all fall down, then kicked them aside.
And all she wanted to do was get down on her knees and yell, “Thank God. Put me out of my misery.”
But she didn’t.
She tried to stay as composed as everyone always said she was.
He took the condom out of her hand that she was holding out to him as if it was a prize. Because in her eyes, it was.
A symbol of what was going to happen.
The change between them that there would be no coming back from.
This time, he tossed her on the bed. Picked her up, giving her a little flip in the air like a man who couldn’t wait one more second.
The condom was opened, he was covered, and then on top of her.
She opened up and welcomed him like it was the only place she ever wanted him to be.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, his cock slid in fully, her body holding on and not wanting to let go.
There was no work up now. No slow burn. No steady rise.
This was about getting to the end, hot, heavy, and urgent.
Her bed was squeaking under their movements.
Her hips lifting and retreating as he came out and slammed back in.
She held on tight because there was no way she was missing one bit of this ride.
“Can you come a second time?” he mumbled into her neck.
“Yeah. Keep doing this. I’m so close.”
He sounded as if he was out of breath. Or would be soon.
She hoped not.
Not with everything building inside of her. Everything climbing. Tightening.
The feelings of fullness she’d been dreaming about.
One arm went under her ass and pushed her up, slamming into her tighter as he pounded harder, faster, deeper.
She screamed out his name. She was coming. He was right there with her.
Then he was lying on top of her.
Heavy. Unmoving.
Yet comforting.
“Fletcher?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, then shifted and rolled. Her legs were still locked around his hips, but she unhooked them in time to not have them trapped under his back.
“That was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“You didn’t even eat anything like I did.”
“Crude but funny. Still. It’s the truth.”
“It is,” he said, his hand moving down her back.
Just another side of him.
“And now I can feed you for real. Unless you need to leave?”
Please don’t let him have to leave.
He leaned up, almost pushing her off of him. “Was this only about sex for you?”
Crap. Too late.
“No. I’m not your ex. Don’t put me in that category. I meant your son.” She rolled off the bed and reached for her clothes to dress quickly. “I don’t know what you said to him or if you needed to get home. I’ll go warm up the food again.”
She marched out before she did something she never did. Cried.