But the first taste I had of being inside her was different than anything I’ve ever experienced. There was more going on than just sex. I’m not sure that even makes sense, but for once, sex was more than just a means of having fun. It meant something.
I’m scared this has just gotten incredibly complicated. What do I do now? Brin is addictive. I never would have thought she could be so damned addictive.
The smell gets even stronger, more divine, so I stand up and grab my boxers, deciding to go investigate. The closer I get to the kitchen, the bigger my smile involuntarily spreads, which just worries me that much more. Why am I smiling? Why the hell can’t I stop?
When I reach the kitchen, my stupid-ass grin gets painful. Brin is standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my shirt, and singing quietly as she stirs something in a pan. My shirt looks really damn good on her.
It’s hard to tell what she’s singing over the sizzles and crackles on the stove, especially since she’s doing it so quietly. But I take a seat on the stool behind the kitchen island bar, and I watch the show she’s putting on.
Is she singing the Macarena? Does anyone even know the words to that song?
She grabs a pan and moves it to be on a cooling rack on the counter, and I prop up and watch her as she bends over to look in the oven, inspecting whatever is in there. My shirt doesn’t crawl up high enough for me to see her bare ass. Damn.
She closes the oven door and turns around, but when she sees me, she screams as though I just said boo. I just arch an amused eyebrow to complement my teasing grin, while she gasps for air and covers her heart.
She’s brushed her hair and put on a little makeup, something she would have had to do at her house when she went to collect the groceries. That makes me feel like a jerk. She feels like she has to try and look better right after mind-blowing sex.
I don’t know how to deal with her—this. Us. But I refuse to think about it right now.
“Don’t do that,” she hisses, her scowl forming and making me smile harder. I love her angry face.
“Don’t do what? Sit at my own bar?” I ask coyly.
She stifles her grin as blush rises to her cheeks. I’m pretty sure she just forgot about what happened in my bedroom during her startle and her little scolding.
“Um... I thought you might be hungry, and I still had all the groceries. I hope this is okay.”
I just grin bigger while standing up and making my way around to her. Christ, it’s like I can’t help myself. This can only end badly. But I don’t want to think about it right now.
When I reach her, I pick her up and slide her ass on the bar while I step between her legs, and her breaths go erratic. That makes me feel so fucking good.
“I told you a few hours ago to cook. So I don’t mind. Especially since I gave you thirty minutes and you took much, much longer.”
This time she’s the one that looks amused as she wraps her legs around my waist.
“That’s not my fault. You’re the one who wanted to try to go through a whole box of condoms.”
Damn. This conversation is actually starting to wake up the exhausted appendage that should be in a coma. How is that even possible?
“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” I murmur as I press my lips to her neck, unable to stare into her blue eyes anymore.
Her breath hitches and her legs get tighter around me. “I’m not complaining now. You are. I’m just trying to make you something to eat.”
I grin against her neck as my mind goes to the gutter, and she laughs while pushing me back.
“That’s not what I mean.”
I just snicker quietly, until my eyes gravitate to hers again. I really shouldn’t be getting lost inside her pools of blue, but something inside me is all fucked up right now.
“You look good in my shirt,” I say as my eyes stroll down her body, landing on the hem I’m pushing up. “Especially since you didn’t put your panties back on.”
She groans while hopping off the counter, and I frown at her back while she goes to the stove.
She mutters something about thongs and never being comfortable again, though I have no idea what she’s going on about. Then she takes the pan off the stove and puts it beside the other.
“You can’t touch me until you eat. I’ve worked hard on getting this ready.”
The fact that she told me I can’t touch her makes it imperative that I do touch her. Does she not realize this?
“Hey!” she squeals, giggling as I pull the shirt up and start moving my hands all over her body very playfully.
She tries to twirl out of my grasp, but she just ends up facing me, and I lean down and kiss her with a need that scares the fuck out of me. When her tongue sweeps in, my knees try to buckle, and I groan when she jumps up and wraps those sweet legs around me.