Drop Dead Gorgeous(47)

Not that Zoey’s crazy. Or that I am.

But . . . yeah, we might be. A little. Isn’t everyone?

I set Chunky’s bowl down, and he digs in, slurping and snorting every bit of it down in minutes. Honestly, he might actually inhale some of it. Hopefully, he’ll soon learn that no one’s going to take his food away and he can slow down and enjoy it. But today is not that day.

“Good job. Go clean your face.” This is the one trick I’m thrilled to have taught him, not because it’s all that showy and flashy but because it’s useful.

Chunky goes over to a hook on the cabinet, bites down on the towel hanging there, and then throws it to the floor. He then wipes his face, and any wayward dog food, picks up the towel, and carries it off to the laundry room to drop it by the washing machine. “Oh, yeah, who’s a pretty boy now, all fed and cleaned up?”

Chunky sits and pants again, almost smiling as if he knows I’m talking to him. Meanwhile, I wash my hands, avoiding Zoey’s eyes. She’s watching the whole scene unfold seemingly comfortably, which surprises me. I figured she’d be freaking out six ways to Sunday just being in my house. It’s a big step for her. One she sees as risky even if I have no intention of rushing her into something she’s not ready for.

Even if it kills me and my dick, which is damn near rock hard and standing at attention now that I see Zoey in my place.

“Beer?” I offer, opening the fridge and grabbing two.

“Sure,” she answers.

I can hear the tension in her voice. Oh, so maybe not as comfortable as she seems? She hides it well . . . too well, as though she’s had to hide herself for too long, too many times. She takes the beer and swallows a healthy mouthful, nearly guzzling it as though she needs some liquid courage.

“Zo, breathe. We’re just here to feed Chunky, look up more heavy metal stuff, and hopefully get to know each other a bit more. I already told you, no sex until we go on a date, so you’re totally safe here.”

I teasingly hold my hands out to her, beer and all, as though she’s the one about to attack me for a dick ride.

A laugh blurts out of her, along with her second sip of beer, spraying me. “Oh, God! Sorry!”

Her blue eyes have gone as wide as saucers and her skin porcelain pale, except for the rising pink on her cheeks. I chuckle, wiping at my shirt with my free hand and then letting her do it when she reaches forward to brush the already-soaked-in liquid from my chest. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just breathe,” I repeat gently, as though talking to a cornered animal about to go wild and hurt themselves thrashing to get free, maybe reminding myself to get some oxygen too because the feel of her hands on my chest is better than I imagined.

And I’ve imagined . . . a lot.

She freezes and looks up to meet my eyes, words tumbling over each other, “No, you don’t understand. I’m not freaking out. I’m turned on. I’m thinking about sniffing your bed pillows like a weirdo, contemplating if it’d be better for you to bend me over the island or the couch, and my ovaries are basically exploding—pew, pew, pew—like fireworks because you’re so good with Chunky that I can imagine you as the one of those dads who’d play tea party with your daughter. And all of that is making me hot and nervous . . . and . . . and . . . I should stop talking now.”

Her eyes drop along with her chin, and she locks her gaze on the button centered on my sternum. I stand there in the middle of my kitchen, dumbfounded and slack-jawed. And then it hits me all at once.

Heat, lust, fire, need . . . desire.

Everything I’ve been tamping down around Zoey, trying to control so I don’t scare her off, ignites in an inferno.

I set my beer down at the same time I back her into the counter and take her lips, claiming her deeply. This is not a kiss, not a gentle get-to-know-you peck, but a fuck-I’ve-missed-you soul searing joining.

How have I even missed kissing her? I’ve only done it twice before, but I feel like I’ve missed it my whole life. Unconsciously, I take her beer bottle and set it down too, and her arms go around my neck to hold me as if I’m going any damn where but right here. “Mmm, shit, Zo.”

Her breath mingles with mine, and her voice quavers. “I know, me too.”

I growl, loving that even if she’s skittish emotionally, she’s physically affected by me. I honestly wasn’t sure if I was seeing things that weren’t there just because I wanted them to be.

The kiss goes on forever, neither of us willing to come up for air as our hands explore. I feel her nails score across my shoulders and arch into her touch, letting my hands drop from her jaw . . . to her sides, teasing along the sides of her tits, to her hips.

I grab her ass, pulling her against me, and she gasps when she feels the thick hardness of my cock. I use my grip to lift her, spinning her around to settle her on the island. “Couch is too far away,” I grunt, still kissing her because I never want to stop.

I feel her smile against my lips, and she whispers, “That’s what I decided too.”

I lick a long line up the tendon of her neck, pausing to lay a gentle kiss over her racing pulse so I can feel the proof of her excitement.

“Zo, I promised you . . . no sex until we go on a date, but let me make you feel good?” My dick riots in my pants, throbbing in disagreement with my ‘no sex’ statement.