Chapter 33
33
Kit
He cares. Oh, god. Oh, god, I do, too. That’s why this is so hard, isn’t it?
If I care and he cares, then… “This isn’t a relationship,” I spit out, like I’m fifteen years old and Sven Larsson just told me he loves me. But just saying the words hurts.
Especially when what I really want to say is, Stay. Please stay. Stay and see where this goes.
His face goes hard and blank. “No?”
I shake my head, unable to face that look. He doesn’t want to stay here, working in a kitchen. He’s a world traveler, an adventurer. I’m a distraction for him, that’s all. An itch that needs scratching. “Relationships are…”
“Too much work?”
“They don’t end well,” I offer. It’s a tiny piece of me, though there’s no way he’ll know that. It also happens to be nothing but the truth.
He nods, eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. “Like I said, I’ve never really had one.”
“Not one? Ever? ”
“Geez. Make me feel weird about it. I mean, I’ve…” When he looks my way and flicks his eyes down toward my bottom half, I know exactly what he means. “I’ve fucked around. I guess I’m not exactly relationship material.”
For some incomprehensible reason, this gets my back up. “Why not?”
Are you kidding me? his expression says. “Look at me, Kit. Does this face really give you the wild urge to put a ring on it?”
I pause, the question flickering through me like surprise, shock.
There’s no way to let the truth out. It’ll just wind up hurting. Me, him.
On the surface, he’s got a face that says almost nothing, and a body that says a whole lot. The ink alone is a chronicle—a lifetime’s worth of stories. Most of them probably pretty grim.
None of it feels like the truth.
There’s stuff in his eyes that doesn’t fit the rebel without a cause skin he’s holding up for display. There’s a challenge in his gaze, right on the surface. A glimmer that calls out, Go ahead, scratch a little deeper, try to find something worth saving. Worth caring about . Behind all that, there’s a hint of vulnerability I wouldn’t have guessed at upon first meeting him. I also suspect it’s not something he’s aware of himself.
There’s pain there and experience and a shit-ton of the bits of his history that have made him who he is, and there’s something else. That vulnerable thing, that unguarded little question? It calls to some naive little piece of my soul that should have been snuffed out ages ago.
“Rings are overrated,” I whisper.
“But you still want a kid.”
“I want a family,” I insist. “I want to take care of someone. To be a part of something.”
He nods, slowly, his eyes scanning my face like he’s taking in all the bits and pieces of me and trying to get them to make sense.
“Your house is like that. It’s a family place.”
“Yeah, I…I hope so.”
“Needs a new roof.” He grins. “And a dog.”
I snort. “Seriously? When would I have time to take care of a dog?”
His brows lift. “Uh. You know a kid is a lot more work than a dog, right?”
“Of course I know that,” I say, far more irritated at his question than I should be.
“I didn’t mean?—”
“I’m fully aware of what I’m getting myself into.” I pause, full, so full of emotion that I can feel it threatening to leak out already. “I should go.” I stand awkwardly. The last thing I need is to break down in front of him again, like I did at my place. God, what is wrong with me? Back and forth and up and down. I’m a mess.
“Katarina.” He tilts his head back to look up at me and he’s so earnest, so beautiful, it pulls at something deep in my heart. “I know I’m not relationship material, okay? I get that.” I open my mouth, but he cuts through my protestations. “You don’t have to tell me that I’m not dad material either. You and I both know that’s not what this is about. Hasn’t been from the start.”
He stands until he’s towering over me in the hall.
“But you are so fucking hot to me and what we’ve been doing… Shit, I’ve never been this turned on.” He swallows, hard. We’re still talking about sex, right? “Don’t try to deny you’re hot as hell for me, for this. Don’t lie to me.”
“I won’t,” I say, sounding young and belligerent, as if I’m not several years older than the guy. “I’m not.”
“You want me.”
Ugh, what an asshole, forcing me to say it. Never mind that it’s the truth.
I just barely hold back from rolling my eyes like some annoyed teenager. “You know I do, Jake, but?—”
“But what? But you don’t like to feel good? You don’t like coming so hard you can’t talk after? Come on. Just… For once in your life, why don’t you let someone else deal with things, huh? Just spend the night, spread your legs, lie back and enjoy it? How about that? How about for these next couple of weeks, you let me do the work?”
“I…I…” I’m blank. Completely devoid of words. What the hell am I supposed to say to this guy? Finally, a quiet, “Okay,” just slips from my lips. Easy as that.
In the next moment, it’s like a weight has come off me. I’m light, floating. Everything seems so unbelievably simple that I can’t believe it ever struck me as being complex.
“Good. Now hold on.” He bends and grabs me and I squeal, half fighting him as he throws me over his back and stalks down the hall to his room, slapping my ass with a resounding smack that I feel way, deep down in my core. “’Cause we’ve got a whole lot of fuckin’ to do in not nearly enough time.”
Jake
There is a whole lot to be said for sleepovers.
Especially when there’s no rubber involved. Nothing at all between me and this woman.
No reason to get out of bed, except when she’s hungry at one in the morning and we both need water following the third time I take her.
After that, she turns on her side and I wrap my arm around her and bury my face in the crook of her neck and fall asleep to the sound of her sighs.
When I wake up, it’s still dark and I’m still spooning her. One soft arm reaches back to wind around my neck, I lean in…stroke my lips to her cheek. She arches her ass toward me and, like we’ve done it this way a million times, I’m inside her. Eyes shut, arms full, cock exactly where it needs to be. After a couple slow, easy thrusts, we barely move. Just her doing something inside that I’ve never felt before. It’s a clenching and unclenching, her hips subtly grinding. Not even sure I’ll come like this, but for some reason, the orgasm doesn’t seem to matter.
I don’t reach around for her clit. I don’t pump my hips. I stay buried inside her, warm and safe as a hug, lips pressed right where she smells so entirely of her it’s pure heaven. It’s home. It’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
Half dreaming, I yawn into her shoulder and she stretches with a noise like a happy, sated cat and settles deeper into me and the next thing, I’m asleep.
When I wake up before dawn, she’s gone.