Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(65)

It feels like our space.

“Now, get on your back. I want to watch you squirm while I taste you for the first time.”





22





Cade





“So you’re allowed to talk, but I’m not?” Her arms cross over her chest, but there’s a small smile on her face. That’s the look I like, not the stricken one she walked away with moments ago.

For a girl with so much attitude, she has a serious case of self-doubt on her hands. One I intend to clear up for her.

“I love listening to you talk, Red.” I prowl into her room, not missing the way she’s squeezing her thighs together. I smirk because I know she got off on giving that blow job. Best blow job of my life because no girl has ever been that into giving one. “But when you say things that aren’t true, I get pissed off. Things you make up in your pretty head and toss around in there long enough that you believe them.”

She steps backward, eyes flaring as I follow her into the room. “You think you don’t do that too?”

I ignore her question. I do that too. The difference is I realize I’m doing it. “You have no idea how special you are. How insane you make me feel. How I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

She rolls her eyes at me, and I point at her. “That right there. Don’t do it. The only appropriate response is, Thank you.”

Her legs bump into the bed, and she drops to sit, biting at her lip in the most distracting way. I step between her legs, sighing at the nearness and the heat of her body against mine. After so long, it feels so fucking good to be this close to someone.

Especially to her.

“Let me hear it, baby. Say thank you.”

She clears her throat, eyes darting away. “Thank you.”

“Good girl.” I grip her chin and turn her face up to me. “That’s what you’re going to say to me all night. Every time I tell you something good. Are we clear?”

A shiver runs over her, even as I see that spark of defiance in her eye. The one I admire. I want to turn that spark into a whole damn fire so this girl goes out and does what she wants with her life.

“Fine.”

I let a smile touch my lips as I stare down at her. “Good.”

“Why are you smiling? It’s creepy. You never smile.”

I shake my head at her. “I smile. You just miss them because it’s when I’m staring at your ass. And I’m smiling now because I’m really looking forward to this.”

One of her shapely brows arches, and her glare moves down my torso to my crotch. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“I think you meant thank you.” Sliding my hand along her cheek and into her hair at the base of her neck, I crouch down and kiss her, tipping her head up to me. A deep rumble emanates from my chest when I feel how soft she is in my hands. How willing. How eager.

Her plush lips are supple beneath mine, and her warm hands are tentative as she brings them back to my torso and starts exploring.

Gooseflesh erupts over my skin everywhere she moves them, and I revel in her touch. In the years I’ve spent abstinent, I didn’t imagine it ever feeling this electric, this deeply necessary—natural, like I don’t even have to try with her. There’s just this spark. One we can’t see, but it’s been burning between us from day one.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against my lips, and I take that opportunity to slip my tongue into her mouth. To claim her and take my time with it. Not like the frantic kiss in the hay bales that ended in embarrassment. Not like the blow job edged in frustration on the front porch.

Just a private room and a full night ahead of us. Exactly what I need—what we need.

Our kisses are languid. No teeth clash, neither of us fumble. It’s been a long time since I kissed someone, but I remember early kisses being awkward, having to figure out a rhythm, the give and take that didn’t quite match up right.

But with Willa, that’s not the case.

Everything feels right. Except for . . .

“You’re wearing too many clothes, baby,” I say, pulling back to rest my forehead against hers as I reach down to the waistline of her jeans and pluck at the cotton shirt tucked in there.

In response she leans back and lifts her arms up above her head, staring me in the eye like this is some sort of challenge. I give her a small grin, liking the way she looks with her lips all puffy and wet. Her cheeks all pink. Her hair all mussed from my hands in it.

Fuck, another man touching her hair tonight was something that specifically crossed my mind. I don’t know why I got hung up on the image of someone else’s fingers trailing through her shiny copper strands. Someone with softer, more manicured hands. Someone with more money to their name. Someone with more to offer her.

I drop my gaze to where my hands are touching her, where they wrap around her waist, right on that milky skin I was trying to catch a peep of the first day she stepped on my property. “Is this okay?” I ask, wanting to be certain I’m not doing something stupid.

“Yes,” she hisses out almost desperately.

As I push my hands up her torso, the shirt bunches. It’s like unwrapping a present, revealing silky skin followed by a simple nude bra with a lace overlay, tits round and firm above the line of the cup that cuts across them. I peel the shirt over her head and drop a hand to flick the clasp on her bra, pulling it away and tossing it on the floor beside us.