Tempted & Taken (Men of Haven #4)(43)

Dragging the plush fabric along her skin, he slowly crouched behind her. “Focus.”

“But you’re—”

“You get the food ready. I’ll get you ready. That simple.” He tapped one ankle. “Lift.”

She did as he asked then repeated the process for the other leg. God he loved her legs. Had ogled them in her insanely fuckable shoes every day at work, but seeing her barefoot like this—her delicate feet and bubblegum-painted toenails—he needed them wrapped around him, her heels digging into his ass. He smoothed his hands up the outside of her legs then teased the inside of her knees with his thumbs. “You’re not cooking.”

“I can’t...” Her hips tilted just a fraction, an innocent invitation he had no intention of taking. Yet. “It’s hard to think.”

“You don’t cook, we don’t eat. We don’t eat, we don’t fuck.” He pushed upright, taking his time as he did and making sure she felt every inch. Pressing tight to her back, he nuzzled her ear and murmured, “And I’m very much looking forward to the fucking part.” Giving in to the hard edge buzzing beneath his skin, he smacked her hip just hard enough to rip a gasp from her then forced himself to the fridge.

Beer in hand, he didn’t look back. Didn’t dare for fear he’d give into the impulse and take her right then and there. She’d already had fast and furious from him. Tonight he’d take his time and build her up. Build them both up until it was either come or combust.

He powered up the TV, ditched his boots and socks, and tucked them neatly out of the way. Even with a host of stations to keep him occupied, his mind seemed more in tune with the sounds coming from the kitchen than any visual on the screen. The muted creak of the oven door. Running water as she washed the dishes and the soft patter of her feet on the cheap linoleum as she tidied up the countertops.

The cable box glowed 7:45 p.m. in soft neon blue. Fifteen minutes since she’d put the food in to bake. A long time for a woman as efficient as Darya.

He took a slow pull off his beer. Distance between them was smart. He’d been the one to insist on it all week and she’d easily followed suit, but right now it sucked. Too much to ignore. “You gonna come out here and sit with me, or hide in there the rest of the thirty minutes left for it to cook?”

Silence answered back from the kitchen.

“Darya?”

She glided around the corner, the same indifferent smile she’d kept in place while working firmly in place.

Oh, fuck no. At work yes, but not here. Not now. He crooked his fingers. “C’mere.”

Gauging his place dead center on the couch then the two empty spots on either side of him, she crept forward. “What are you watching?”

Hell if he knew. All he’d done was punch the up button about a thousand times. “Nothing worth stopping for.”

She reached for the throw pillow beside him and moved it, making extra room for her to sit beside him.

He snatched her wrist before she could land, set his beer on the coffee table and guided her in between his legs.

She tried to tug her hand free, for all the good it did her. “What are you doing?”

“Got time to play. I’m going to enjoy it.” He tugged harder.

“But there’s not enough room.”

Easy enough to fix. He snatched the huge pillow that served as the back couch cushion and tossed it and the smaller pillow still in her hand to the floor. “There is now.” He scooted back, turned her with hands at her hips and pulled her ass down right between his thighs.

Her back was still ramrod straight, hands splayed on his knees as if she’d bolt at any moment.

Smoothing his hands up her arms, he worked his thumbs along the muscles between her neck and shoulders and urged her to recline against him. “Just relax.”

Bit-by-bit she gave in, melting against him on a soft sigh but keeping her head lolled forward to give him better room to work.

He chuckled and deepened his strokes. “Beck’s a task master with the workouts, huh?”

“Mmm.” As if his touch had totally unplugged her mind and left her floating on some distant cloud.

Which was completely weird, considering he’d never once touched a woman this way in his life. Not unless there was an orgasm imminent and her ass, tits or clit were the objects getting his attention. “You look good.”

The second it was out he nearly bit his tongue in half.

She tried to twist toward him, but he held her in place and kept rubbing. “What do you mean?”

Well, to hell with it. He’d already shown his hand anyway. “With the self-defense. You look good doing it.”

Her fingers pushed and pulled against the denim on his thighs, a mix of nervousness and a kitten kneading its soft bed before she settled in. “When did you see me?”

Fess up, buddy boy. You are who you are. “Only four rooms that don’t have cameras at work—the bathrooms and mine and Beckett’s offices.” He dragged his thumbs along either side of her spine down to her shoulder blades. Oh, yeah. Definitely no bra. And didn’t that make his dick give a celebratory high-five.

“You watched me?”

All. The. Damned. Time. Probably a little too much information, though. Better to hedge. “I watch everything.”

She nodded, but it was more of a tacit agreement not to push any more than confirmation she understood.