Linebacker’s Second Chance(73)
When I’m lost in a woman, and by God I would be with a woman like that, all I want is her pleasure. I’d move my body against hers, precise and elegant, taking in the feeling of her hot, tight, wetness, listening to every sound she made until I knew she was close to coming. And then I’d ride her hard, wrapping my arm around her and thrusting so that she felt every inch of me, moving my fingers down over the soft roundness of her belly until I reached her sweet mound, finding her clit and circling it with my fingers until she couldn’t contain herself anymore, bucking against my cock, shuddering and sighing. The heat starts to rise in me as I imagine myself coming inside of her, tensing and filling her completely as she moans and swells against me. A jolt sears through me, and my balls tighten as I come, whispering her name to myself.
“Cadence,” I say, and then I moan and come hard, rolling out of bed and heading to my own shower just as hers turns off. I turn on the water and step inside, the release spreading through my veins.
“Dammit, man,” I say as I let the water run over my skin. I know I don’t need to get wrapped up in a woman I don’t even know. After Joanna, it might be better for me to step back into the man I used to be—the womanizing asshole who didn’t give a damn. Even if I could be that man again, I have the sudden and very certain thought that I wouldn’t want to be.
I think of that movie, the one where you can go get the thoughts of your ex erased. Even if I could erase Joanna, I wouldn’t, I don’t think. She wasn’t the one—God, she was far from it, as it turned out. But she showed me part of who I could be. I’m no perfect specimen of a human being, but I know now that I want—I need—someone to make me complete.
After I dry myself off and step out of the shower, I throw on a pair of old jeans and head down to the kitchen. My breakfast might not be as grand this time, but I can keep a woman fed when she’s staying in my house. I can whip up some gingerbread pancakes, and--
I smell burning. Why in the hell do I smell burning? I walk into the kitchen to see Cadence and Eliza Doolittle pressed tight against her leg and wiggling her tail as hard as she can. Cadence is fiddling with my toaster oven, and next to her is a tray of toast. Except that it’s not quite toast. From what I recall, toast isn’t black.
“Damn this fucking thing—goddammit—no, Eliza, seriously, I don’t think you want any of this toast. And didn’t Rowan say that bread makes your skin itchy? Seriously, dog, respect your own food allergies.”
I stand in the door and watch her as she opens the toaster oven, and then closes it again, fiddling with the settings like it’s an alien spaceship that just landed in her backyard. And she’s not familiar with the alien technology. The smile starts on my face, one corner of my mouth turning up, and then the other.
“Shit. Shit.” Cadence kicks the bottom of the cabinet and then hits the top of the toaster oven. “Oh *dammit that’s hot!” Cadence watches her like she still might drop a piece of charcoal toast.
“You’ve got a mighty dirty mouth for someone so classy.” She starts laughing and turned around. There’s a smear of burnt toast on the light gray top she’s wearing, and she’s got on yet another pair of paint stained jeans. And again, no damn shoes. Her feet must be freezing. It’s cold as hell outside, and the tile in the kitchen doesn’t heat up like the rest of the house. I shake my head at her and make a tsk-tsk sound.
She rolls her eyes at me and wipes a good amount of toast crumbs on her jeans. “I was trying to make breakfast. I normally get a bagel with cream cheese at the cafe down the stairs every morning--and well, it turns out that I don’t even know how to make toast. I *thought I had it covered. But I was trying to make coffee while the toast was in the toaster oven, and, well, it burned.”
I lean against the door frame. “I can see that.”
“And you--you’re not wearing a shirt. Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?” She backs up against the counter, like she’s trying to get as far away from me as possible. She averts her eyes, and I think I can see the faintest hint of red rising in the golden brown skin of her cheeks. If she knew what I was just thinking about, she’d be blushing even harder, and I might not be able to resist going over there and kissing both of those cheeks and then making my way down to the tops of those fine tits that are poking out of that tight gray top. Scoop neck? Is that what they call it? Well thank the good lord for that aspect of women’s fashion. This looks even better than the other wispy things she’s been wearing, showing off those perfect round orbs and the little curve of her stomach.