Chapter 7
SEVEN
KATHRYN
He walks me to the door. After racing around his truck to help me step out. My hand firmly grasped in his. Taking slow steps while we finish our conversation about the first and best concerts we’ve attended.
It’s all so… wholesome, and, dare I say, chivalrous.
It’s just like we’re back in high school savoring the last few minutes before curfew. Trying to decide if we should risk a kiss before we reach the front porch and the parents pretending they aren’t waiting up on the other side of the door.
Not that my parents ever did that. They always said they trusted me. I always thought it was more likely that by the time I was dating, they’d been parenting for nearly thirty years and they were too tired to stay up until midnight.
But as Douglas hesitates at the door and flashes me that reserved half-smile of his, it’s impossible to resist grin.
“Well,” I say, because apparently I’ve decided talking is still an option. “This is me.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t reach for the door. He doesn’t rush it or me. He looks at me. Really looks and me.
And that… that does more to stoke my desire than anything else could.
My stomach flips like I’m sixteen again, standing outside after curfew, knowing I should go inside but not wanting to end the night.
“I had a really good time,” I say, because I don’t want tonight to end.
“I aim to please.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Well, you delivered.”
He doesn’t touch me right away. But I feel it anyway.
The awareness.
The pull.
Every inch of space between us feels… like this is exactly how it was supposed to go. Like we had to be tested to get here. Now.
“You’re very quiet,” I say.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
His gaze drops to my lips. And I suck in a breath.
I am a grown-ass woman.
I have a career.
I pay taxes.
And yet—I feel like a teenager all over again.
He steps closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
His hand slides to my waist, pulling me in, and then he’s kissing me again.
Not slow this time. Not careful.
It’s as if we’ve been holding it back all night and we’ve finally decided we’re done pretending we can resist this pull.
I sigh against his mouth and his grip tightens just slightly, and he matches me with a groan.
My fingers grip his shirt, curling into the fabric as I kiss him back just as hard.
I want this. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything more.
On some level, I must have always known. There was a reason why I bid on him. Chose him.
It was all inevitable.
A car peels past, and someone shouts, “Get a room!”
We break apart like kids. Both panting. Then, as our gazes meet, we burst into laughter. And collapse against each other.
“Oh my God.”
He huffs out a quiet breath, his hand planted firmly at my back.
“So rude.” But then I look at him again, and the humor disappears. I’m caught in his smolder. “Do you want to come upstairs?” I ask.
He searches my face. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He sucks in a breath. Then nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d fucking love to come upstairs.”
I barely get the door closed behind us before he’s there again, his hand bracing against the wall beside my head as he kisses me furiously, picking up exactly where we left off.
I drop my keys somewhere near the entry table and turn into him fully, my hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, like I need to feel him to make this real.
He makes a low sound in his throat. The sound of it resonates inside of me, fluttering in my belly like butterflies flapping their wings.
“You’re positive about this?” he asks again, but his mouth is already at my jaw, my neck, like he’s asking out of respect, not doubt.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m one-hundred-percent sure.”
That’s all he needs.
His hands tighten at my waist, lifting just slightly—just enough that I feel the shift in control, the way he’s guiding me now instead of following.
“Bedroom,” I manage.
“Yeah.”
We don’t make it there gracefully.
There’s a lot of half-walking, half-stumbling, a quiet laugh from me when I nearly trip over my own shoes, his hand steadying me instantly.
“I’ve got you,” he says, low and certain.
And—God.
I feel like he does. I feel it in my soul and in the desire pooling between my thighs.
We hit the edge of the bed, and this time when he kisses me, it slows and deepens.
His hand slides along my thigh, over my hip, mapping me like he’s taking his time now that we’re here.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says against my mouth.
“I won’t.”
“Still, if at any moment—”
“I don’t want you to stop.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
The fire in his eyes blazes.
“Good,” he says.
Every kiss builds into the next. Every touch becomes more intense, more searing.
He pays attention to every sound I make.
It’s not just where he touches, but how. Like he’s noticing everything. Every reaction. Every breath.
Letting each of it be his guide.
And it all comes to play when we’re both naked on my bed, his lips kissing up my thighs, his fingers tracing my pussy.
“You’re so wet.”
“Is that—” I gasp slightly as he applies more pressure “—a complaint?”
“Fuck no.”
His hand tightens at my hip, and he buries his face against me. Teasing me. Tempting me. Taking me to the point of no return and beyond.
The orgasm begins low in my belly and goes on forever. But through it all, he never lets up.
And when at last—at last—he settles his body on mine, his hard cock pressed at my entrance, I feel it.
Not just desire. The first dregs of love. It’s all I can do not to cry when he thrusts into me.
I do the next best thing. I scream.
Later, my head is on his chest. His hand is tracing designs along my bare back slowly.
“What now?” I ask.
His hand stills for a second. “What do you mean?”
“I have a bad track record,” I say finally. “With men. Dating. All of it.”
“That’s on them.”
“Statistically, it can’t all be on them.”
“Sure, it can.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “That’s easy for you to say when you were just inside me.”
He chuckles. “It’s still the truth. But there’s one good thing.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “What’s that?”
“Those guys were idiots. And I’m a man who learns from his mistakes.”
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that I’m a little sore between my thighs. That’s no surprise. We were up half the night getting to know each other on the most intimate level. So I’m not complaining.
The second thing I notice is that it’s quite.
Too quiet.
I blink, disoriented for a second, the room still dim with early morning light.
I shift and reach for him.
My hand meets empty sheets. My stomach drops.
“No,” I whisper. I call out his name.
No answer. I jump out of bed and look around. His clothes are gone.
“No, no, no.”
I race to the bathroom.
It’s empty.
I run to the kitchen. I’m the only one there.
My chest tightens, that familiar sinking feeling rushing in before I can stop it.
Of course.
Of course he did.
I press my hand to my stomach, trying to steady the sudden wave of something sharp and awful.
Because this is exactly how it always goes. I let down my guard and they leave.
And I should have known better.