Chapter 27
SUMMER
His lips crash against my mouth the moment I’m finished speaking. They’re no longer nipping and teasing, they’re hungry for more—a confirmation that he must have liked what I said. That I made him feel seen for who he is. I want him to believe it.
He grips me by the waist and spreads me out on the comforter beneath him. Our hands, our hips, everything is fighting to get closer.
A choked “I don’t want to stop” flees his mouth.
“Then don’t,” I say, pushing on the waistband of his sweats. He’s hard as stone above me, and all I want him to do is bury me with it.
He props himself up on his elbows, sweeping away the tangled hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes. “I don’t have anything.”
“You don’t?” Not that I care. I don’t need him to have a condom when I’m already covered in that area. But I expected a famous musician—even one who lost his fiancée nine months ago—to be prepared. To have a cornucopia of women knocking down his door.
“I’m a single dad with no time. I haven’t been with anyone.” He creates a little more distance between our bodies. “Have you?”
“No,” I’m quick to reply. “Not since Brian. And I’m still on the pill.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. So, can we please stop the torture now?”
“You’re tortured? I didn’t see you in a pair of headphones.” His lips close around the shell of my ear.
“You didn’t see anything,” I tease.
“Exactly” is the last thing he says before he’s giving me another heady kiss and stripping off every other layer of clothing left between us.
He climbs on top of me and settles between my thighs. I reach for him, dragging his stiff cock exactly where I want it. My hips buck as it passes over my clit.
A throaty chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I knew you didn’t need anyone telling you what you want.”
He’s right; I know exactly what I want. Him. On his back with me straddling his waist. And that’s exactly what I do. He rolls with me until I’m above him, lifting up on my knees and sinking down on his length.
“I want this.” I clench down around him, and he hisses, eyes going to where we’re joined.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.”
A small part of me registers that those words are coming from Rhett Dawson.
I’m being intimate with a man who has women shimmying their cleavage in his direction every time he walks by them.
He could have anyone. But the greater part of me recognizes he’s here with me, giving me this version of himself very few people know.
That’s what makes this—him—more. More than one night with a famous musician.
More than all the words he hears and the ones he won’t.
He’ll always be more to me than five weeks.
Tight bands of muscle tense in my thighs from the endless loop of circles he’s been drawing with the pad of his finger.
Round and round and round until I wind so tight I’m chanting, “Don’t stop.
” I wanted this to last. Wanted to take my time.
To know what else draws out a choked version of my name from his mouth besides my bare chest. I’m not ready for this to be over yet, but my body is screaming to let go.
I grip the headboard for support, knowing I’m about to fall apart.
Our eyes lock, and then I’m shattering into a million brilliant pieces, a mirror of ecstasy twisting across his face as he watches.
His hips pick up speed, his hands gripping my waist as he chases his own release.
A guttural moan flees his mouth as he jerks inside of me, and I collapse against his chest.
“That was so much better than watching a movie,” he groans.
I pull back slightly. “That was your plan?”
“It wasn’t a good one.”
His sculpted chest vibrates with our combined laughter.
A man who can admit his flaws… imagine that.
“Is that what you want to do next… watch a movie?” I tease.
“Absolutely not.” He spider-monkeys me with strong thighs and crossed ankles.
I plant a kiss on his mouth before pressing up and cupping between my thighs. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
Scampering down this hallway is the only time I’ve ever thought to myself I’m glad Quinn is asleep.
Teaching a toddler what a naked dash to the bathroom means is not in my nanny job description.
Then again, there’s nothing about what’s happening here that feels like it’s a part of a job at all.
Especially in the way I savor my flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror after cleaning myself up.
When was the last time I felt like this—completely satisfied and unafraid of consequences?
Somewhere along the way I think I stopped leading with my heart and let my head do all the decision-making.
I can’t help the smile that blooms under the pads of my fingers as they feather swollen lips or the one that follows me back into the guest bedroom where I left him waiting for me.
Everett is reclined on his back in the middle of the bed, arm tucked under his head. I swipe my abandoned shirt from the floor on my way in.
“Please tell me you aren’t wearing that to bed.”
I toss the Chris Stapleton tee at his face and grab the one he didn’t get enough of last night, slipping it over my head.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, cowboy. What about you? Are you going to play me those songs now?”