Chapter Eighteen #3
“Okay,” he answered, and waited. He had figured out last night that this was a woman you did not push. He wanted to, though, because that was when her natural feistiness came out, and he liked that.
“So if we’re gonna do this”—she gestured between them and then turned to look at him—“I want some rules.”
“No strings, no expectations when I go home, you mean?” he ventured.
He hoped he was right that she wanted no room for any ambiguity.
He liked that about her too. Her directness was refreshing, even if it was also maddening.
It meant she jumped to conclusions, but she also didn’t play games with your head.
He could give her direct, if that was what she needed.
“Yeah,” she said, her shoulders dropping. “Yeah, that. I like you, Jake. You’re really different from any of the men here. But I’m not wanting—”
“Serious stuff. Keep it casual,” he finished for her. “I’m not looking for serious either. Hell, I don’t even know what this is yet, so—”
She let out another breath, nodding silently. He had read her right, and felt satisfaction at that.
All afternoon they had skirted around the conversation they were having now, and Jake had somewhat enjoyed just getting to know her.
They had browsed the bookstore clutching massive coffees, and she’d told him about her ex.
He wondered how they met, her a horse trainer, him a doctor.
Maybe when she was more comfortable talking about it, she’d tell him.
He’d also found out where her head was when it came to romance, which was a dark place.
That made him sad for her, but he understood why.
Being cheated on could make anyone feel inadequate.
So to figure out she wasn’t ready for anything but friends with benefits was a relief. It meant they were on the same page.
“No overnights, no romantic gestures,” she added a moment later. “I don’t do that.”
He undid his seat belt and slid toward her, swallowing the joke about sweeping her off her feet with flowers and chocolate and tickets to the opera. She was being utterly serious.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, combing it back behind her ear.
She’d worn it down today and it looked temptingly soft, all wavy and flowing over her shoulders.
It was longer than he’d thought, now that it wasn’t in a ponytail or a braid or stuffed under her hat.
She leaned slightly into his touch, and he desperately wanted to see it spread out over his lap if she—
“Whatever you need, Liz,” he murmured, putting a pin in that thought, and forced her to look into his eyes. “I’m game.”
He could tell that those words had gone a long way because the rest of her relaxed and she leaned into his hand fully, sighing. That sigh moved her entire body, and he watched her back arch into it, stretching.
It was enough to make him close his hand around the nape of her neck and pull her over, fitting his lips to hers, kissing her.
She opened to him immediately, her tongue darting out to his, her hands on his arms squeezing him, asking him for more. If she had a Go button, this was it, because she was fully responsive to him the moment they connected.
They’d been zero to full speed every time they had kissed. He’d never had a woman respond like this before. It kicked him straight in the ego.
“Outside,” she breathed, and pushed him away as she opened her door, sliding into the darkness.
He followed, slamming his door, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he joined her at the low retaining wall that bordered the lookout.
His eyes adjusted quickly, and he could see her leaning against the wall, biting her lip, watching him walk toward her, her eyes flicking up and down his body.
“I come up here to think,” she remarked as he pulled her into him, running his hand up her back, needing to touch her again, enjoying how solid and strong she felt.
She was fit because of what she did, of course, but in a different way than women he’d dated in the city.
She was all functional muscle, not yoga-toned and smooth.
She had definition and athletic curves that fit into his large hands perfectly.
“Just think?” he drawled, as she nestled closer to him. “I hear all the country folk come up to lookouts for something other than ‘thinking.’”
She chuckled and swatted at his chest, tilting back to look at him, humor in her eyes, the tension and reservations gone. Thank god.
He moved her hair away from her neck and kissed her pulse point, her rapid heartbeat on his lips exactly what he wanted. Her hand went into his hair as his lips made their way down her neck to her collarbone, and she let out a soft moan as he moved back up and grazed her jugular with his teeth.
“I could seriously strip you right here, right now,” she murmured, and all the blood drained from his head to his dick. Then she looked him square in the eye and ran her hand over the bulge in his jeans.
“Is that a dare?” he growled, and dug his fingers into her ass, pulling her up and into him the moment she moved her hand. She laughed at that, a deep, throaty, turned-on laugh, and her fingers slid between them and unbuckled his belt.
“Yes,” she replied, hefting herself up to sit on the wall, pulling him to her with the end of his belt. “Now.”
If he needed further invitation, he was fooling himself. His fingers found the top of her jeans and popped the button, and hers hurriedly pulled at his as she bit her lip and threw him a look that was pure heat.
“Condom. Wallet,” he wheezed as her fingers dove in and sheathed him. They were cold but warmed immediately as they circled and squeezed. He had to slap a hand onto the wall for balance, because she was making him lightheaded.
Headlights lit everything up behind them, tires crunched on gravel, and she squinted, pulling up her other hand to shield her eyes.
He sighed and reluctantly tucked himself back in as the headlights passed.
She let out a snort of laughter as a truck pulled into a spot a few down from them, and two men got out with cigarettes already glowing, talking quietly to themselves.
One of the men nodded to him, a knowing look thrown between them, and he was temporarily subdued as it hit him.
He’d nearly fucked Liz out in the open, on the side of a stone wall at a local lookout.
He normally had more control over himself. How she could take that away was somewhat scary to contemplate in the moment afterward.
“Well, fuck, fun spoiled,” she muttered, and pushed his chest, a mischievous look stealing over her face. “Home? Bed. You, me?”
She was tucking her shirt back into her jeans, and even though his heart was hammering in his chest from the interrupted moment, he wanted to end tonight buried deep inside her.
“Home,” he rasped, agreeing with her. He watched her sway back to the truck, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she went, her ass perfectly cupped by her jeans.
She looked back at him, eyebrow quirked, and he pushed off the wall to follow her.
She looked like trouble and heaven in the same package, and he almost tripped when she licked her lips and hoisted herself up on the running board, a sexy slow smile on her face.
“Come on, City Boy, move that fantastic ass,” she said, and hopped into the driver’s seat.
Was he in trouble? He thought, right then, that he might be.