7. Kendall #3
Kyle nods and winks in my direction. “This dating app I said I was swearing off was popping off. I had to put my big boy pants on to see if this man was all bark and bite. He better not waste my damn time.” He wiggles his phone in my direction before he notices James by my side.
He eyes James up and down. If he wore glasses, they’d be pinched between his thumb and index finger and slipped down the bridge of his nose. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“I got the sugar I borrowed,” he says, his eyes still on James. He slowly sweeps his gaze to me. “I’ll give it to you when you aren’t…busy.”
“Thanks, Kyle.”
I watch Kyle walk away, adding a little sashay to his hips, and he throws one more look over his shoulder. “Make sure to use protection, kids.”
My door clicks open. “Coming?”
James cups his hand around the back of his neck, offers a shy smile, and throws an effortless, “Yeah.”
I slip off my thick cardigan and set it down with my purse on the bar-style countertop.
When I turn around, I catch him watching me with his back against the door.
His eyes look like they’re measuring the distance from where he stands to where I am, now in front of the smallest pantry cabinet known to mankind.
Like he’s deciding whether it’s safer for him to stay where he’s at or if he should risk it and come closer.
I’m perusing what I have when I feel him grow closer. The heat radiating off him encases me, and I want more of it—more of him—but I fight the urge to lean my back against his chest.
“So, I have bad news,” I announce.
Confusion knits his brows together. “What?”
“I don’t have tea.”
He grins. “That’s okay.”
I close the cabinet door and take a step closer to him. “I have hot cocoa,” I tell him, my fingers twisting together. “And a box of Cheez-Its. If you’re into that kind of stuff.”
“Sure.” He braces his palm against the counter, and those lusty muscles lining his forearms flex once again. It’s his version of a little indecent exposure. A skirt hem lifted to reveal a bare ankle. I feel silly for finding it so goddamn sexy.
I remind myself I need to hold on to that thinning thread of self-control. Cross my legs and tie them together. Maybe find an iron chastity belt. Chant a prayer or an incantation.
He slides closer. “Or we can skip that.”
“What do you suggest we do then?” I ask. “I hate to think you came all the way up here for nothing.”
“A whole two flights of stairs.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you have any board games?”
I feel his hand cup my elbow. “I think I have a Travel Scrabble set somewhere in my closet.”
“That sounds like fun.”
I run my hand over his side, feeling his hot skin under his shirt. I feel brave, tossing aside my resolve and letting my libido unfurl like a lazy cat coming out of its sleep. And James is standing there, a laser pointer in his hand, ready to tease and rouse me.
I feel his hand, large and confident, wrap around my waist. His thumb, so distinct from the rest of his fingers, brushes along my ribcage, riding higher and higher to test the fleshy underside of my breast. I want to bury my face in his chest, moan into his skin, and bite his collarbone.
“Let me just go grab it,” I offer, no plans to actually dig through my purses and shoes and plastic totes of school supplies to track down this misplaced Scrabble board.
I press my hand into him, ready to push myself away, when he swoops down and scoops me into his arms. He kisses me, all open-mouthed and authoritative.
So much authority. And skill. I can feel his jaw work, like he’s molding our mouths together.
Fitting them like two puzzle pieces so we remember what the other’s lips feel like.
To commit them to muscle memory. His hand cups my nape, dipping my head back to work his tongue into my mouth.
He feels silky and rough at the same time.
Easy to let in, but it’s also so much of him.
“Do you want me to stop?” he rasps, as if catching on that I’m feeling overwhelmed by him. All of him.
I shake my head. Because as consuming as this feels, I don’t think I can handle it if he stopped. I think I’d crumble to my knees and start bawling if he decides to be a complete gentleman and say good night before politely walking out the door. I don’t want him to be a gentleman.
“No, no. Don’t stop,” I manage to whisper.
I sound desperate and needy, and I should feel embarrassed by it.
My thigh somehow makes its way between his legs, caging me against the kitchen counter and his arms. I feel how badly he doesn’t want to stop.
And I feel so utterly ridiculous for being even remotely embarrassed.
Especially when his hard cock is leaving indentations on my fleshy skin.
He nods against me, agreeing or something in the affirming family. It comes off desperate and pleased. Like he too would’ve found himself in a puddle of tears and despair if I decide to call it a night.
I hook my arms around his neck, and he takes the cue.
Compatible, some kind of sexual kindred spirit.
That’s what we are because I would’ve slapped all the things I want from him on a cardboard sign in thick black marker so he could read my cues from outer space.
But I’m also so relieved I don’t have to.
He lifts me, letting me wrap my legs around his narrow waist.
“Bedroom’s—”
“I saw it the second I walked in here.”
I smile, and I feel him smile too. He stumbles into my room, using an outstretched hand to help guide him, and next thing we know, our clothes are coming off.
His shirt, my dress. His pants, my bra. And we’re standing there in the dark, naked and exposed.
He brushes my hair off my shoulder, trailing his fingertips down my arm. Goose bumps follow.
“You are so beautiful.”
I want to shoot something witty back. Like that he’s just as pretty with his honey eyes and head full of hair, but I’m speechless. No words come out. Only soft sighs and gasps.