The Gun Runner(74)

“I can’t. Stand up,” she murmured.

“Just one kiss,” I whispered.

She turned to face me, forcing me to fall from her warmth. We embraced, and kissed passionately, which caused me to forget everything else that surrounded me. Terra became all that existed each and every time we kissed.

At some point, the kiss ended.

Our mouths parted. I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes. She was an amazing woman, and I loved her with every ounce of my being.

“I love you,” I said.

She stood and stared back at me, her mouth twisted into an ornery smirk, her unkempt hair hanging down past her shoulders in a tangled mess.

“I love you too,” she said. “But at some point in time we’re going to have to leave this kitchen. My legs are rubber.”

It was the second time we had sex in the kitchen since the shower that followed our breakfast. I glanced at the clock. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“I’m starving, but I can’t stand up anymore.”

I lifted her from her feet and lowered her down onto the kitchen counter.

I pulled up my jeans. “Sit there for a minute. I’ll make lunch.”

“And then we’ll go ride the roller coaster?”

“Maybe,” I said. “It depends on what happens after we’re done eating.”

We’d been trying to get away to ride the roller coaster for over a month, and it seemed an impossible task. Each and every time, for whatever reason, we ended up fucking instead.

“Anymore, when you say ride the roller coaster, it’s just another term for sex. We’re never going to ride it.”

I glanced down at my crotch. “Say it again,” I said.

“What? Roller coaster?”

I felt a faint twitch in my jeans.

I laughed. “I think you may be right.”

“I think with you, it’s about priorities. And the roller coaster is no longer a priority,” she said.

“Riding you and riding a roller coaster are similar, I guess,” I said.

“Oh really?”

I buckled my belt and nodded. “Both are exhilarating, take my breath away, and cause my heart to race.”

“I’m better though,” she said.

“How so?”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “A roller coaster won’t suck your cock for Jo Malone candles.”

The thought of her sucking my dick in the car for the candles made me grin. “Which are about gone, by the way.”

“Make our lunch, and after we eat we can go get some more.”

I pulled the refrigerator door open and glanced over my shoulder. “It’s going to cost you.”

“I can’t believe you make me suck your cock for candles.” She closed her eyes and inhaled a long breath through her nose. “But it’s so worth it.”

I closed my eyes, and inhaled a whiff of the sweet aroma that filled our home. I thought of her sucking my cock in the car after we left the candle store. I glanced down at my twitching cock.

Worth it?

I couldn’t agree with her more.





Chapter Thirty-Three

Terra

“Mom must have misunderstood.”

My father picked up a slice of capicola and folded it into his mouth. “Misunderstood how?” he asked as he chewed the slice of meat.

“It was just a guy I met. It was nothing serious. We just talked at the coffee shop,” I lied.

I’d gone to see my father with every intention of telling him about Michael. As soon as I got there, it was apparent my mother told him about the Lutheran-American I met, and he wasn’t happy at all. As much as I wanted to be truthful about everything, he had made me extremely uncomfortable doing so.

Thinking about it in my father’s absence was easy. In his presence, things were much different. He was a very intimidating man, even when he was simply trying to be my father. I looked out the kitchen window, hoping I could finish my discussion with my father before my mother arrived and turned my lies into an argument.

He peeled another slice of the meat from the loaf and folded it in his palm. “I’ll talk to your mother.”

“Okay,” I said. “I think she just got mixed up.”

Beside the capicola sat a cold dish of pasta al ragu he had taken from the refrigerator. He lifted a forkful of the pasta to his mouth and slurped it from the fork. Noodles dangled from his bottom lip. “What happened with Vinnie?”

I looked away, disgusted by his choice of snacks. “We broke up.”

He raised his fork. “He was a good Italian boy.”

He wasn’t, but I knew better than to share my experiences with him. “He was okay.”

Another forkful of pasta. “You’re not getting younger.”