Never Standing Still (The Never Duet #1)(46)

He continued right out the door, and I had the presence of mind to grab the handle and make sure it shut tight behind us.

“Riot, the radio. Tilly asked us to turn it off.”

“She’ll understand,” he responded curtly. He walked hurriedly through the mostly empty parking lot, finally stopping next to the passenger door of my Rover. “Keys,” he barked at me.

“Are you angry?” I asked, digging in my purse for my keys.

“No, I’m not angry. I’m in a hurry and I’m worried if I take too long you’ll change your mind and I’ll miss my one chance to be with you.”

I looked up at him and saw the fear in his eyes, the worry. He wanted this, me, and felt like perhaps I might slip right through his fingers again. My hand reached out and gripped the front of his t-shirt, pulling him toward me. I fixed my eyes on the wrinkles in his shirt, trying to have the courage to tell him how I was feeling.

“I think, for one night, I’m going to give up on pushing you away. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t fight it.”

“Can’t fight what, exactly?” he asked, running his hand down the back of my hair, gripping it at the end, and pulling it gently, urging me to look him in the eye again.

“Can’t fight the feeling that my body was made to fit yours, fight the urge to let you do things to me that will push me further than anyone ever has, or fight the way my body reacts to your touch. And I want to feel you touch me everywhere.”

His grip on my hair tightened, and my head leaned back even farther as I watched his face dip down to the crook of my neck.

“And you’re saying I can only have you for one night?” His voice was low and had tiny explosions prickling over every inch of my skin.

“It’s all I can promise,” I gasped as his lips made contact, then his teeth, nipping at me.

“God, I want so much more, Kalli, but I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

He took the keys from my hand and I heard the horn beep and the locks click. He opened the door and motioned for me to get in.

“You’re not driving my Range Rover,” I said, laughing at his ridiculous notion.

“Babe, you’ve had four beers.”

“You’ve had four beers.”

“I’ve also got eighty pounds on you.”

“But—”

“Kalli, get in the car. Four beers over four hours isn’t enough to impair my driving.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but relented. “Fine. But you should know, I don’t let anyone drive my car,” I huffed as I hauled myself into the passenger seat.

“I bet I can convince you to do a lot of things you’ve never done before,” he said, winking, then closed the door. I watched him as he walked around the front of the car with a cocky smirk on his face.

He managed to drive back to the house with no help from me. At the beginning of the drive his hand found its way to my knee. His hand was hot and I could feel its warmth all the way through the denim of my jeans. Slowly, as we made our way through the mostly empty streets of Lincoln City, his hand migrated north, and so did the heat.

By the time we made it back to the house, his hot hand was practically between my legs and I was mere seconds from shamelessly rubbing myself against it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I stowed away the fact that Riot was a master of anticipation. It had started months ago, and now we were erupting with all the sexual frustration we’d hidden away. I hadn’t readied myself for the storm that seemed to be Riot, but he was coming for me whether I was prepared or not.

He put the Rover in park in front of the beach house, then got out and came around to my side, and opened my door. He reached in, wrapped his arms around me, and picked me up. I shrieked, then clasped my hands around his neck, holding on even though I knew he had me.

“I am not nearly drunk enough to warrant you carrying me into the house,” I complained. In actuality, any buzz I’d had disappeared on the dance floor, replaced by need and want.

“I agree. I’m not carrying you because you’re drunk.”

“So, why aren’t my feet on the ground?”

“I didn’t want to give you a chance to run away from me again. I’m not letting go until I’m finished with you.”

“Oh,” I said as my breath caught in my lungs. He looked at me for just a moment more, but then his eyes moved to the door and he used the hand under my knees to unlock it. He kicked it shut behind us, then made no delay in heading for the stairs. He walked up them as if he weren’t carrying a person in his arms and I went a little more breathless for it. I couldn’t keep my eyes off his face, couldn’t stop looking at him. He was, of course, watching where he was going, but I was soaking up the opportunity to stare unabashedly at him.

He turned into the bedroom we’d originally found that afternoon, our bags still lying on the ground, kicked that door shut as well, and then walked to the bed, stopping for nothing.

He approached the bed and climbed on with his knees, making his way to the headboard, and gently placed me down so that my head landed softly on a pillow. He pulled his arms out from underneath me, but never lost contact.

He moved so his body was between my legs, one hand on my belly just slightly under the hem of my shirt, the other hand planted near my face keeping him just a few inches above me. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine, but it wasn’t needy. It wasn’t the kiss I expected after all the buildup during the drive over. It was sweet and a little innocent.