Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(20)

“Come on, take off that hat, your jacket, I’ll get us a beer and we’ll work this out.”

“Insult to injury, I’ve been reduced to saying words like ‘made you be mean to me,’ like I’m seven years old.”

Dutch engaged his other hand to put gentle pressure on her hip to try to turn her from the door, urging again, “Come on.”

“And just so we’re clear, I wasn’t only doing it so you wouldn’t think I was a bitch, because that makes it about me. I was also doing it because I want Carlyle to go to MIT.”

Words weren’t working. His hands on the door and her hip weren’t working.

It was time to take a different tack.

And the one he chose was bending his head and kissing her.

She jerked away, shifting fast, and slammed a shoulder into the door.

“Sorry, baby, but you wouldn’t shut up and you wouldn’t come into my hou—”

He didn’t finish that.

Because she was on him.

Clutching the sides of his head in both hands, she pulled his mouth to hers, curved her back so her soft body was pressed to his, and that was all Dutch needed.

He moved into her. One hand up under her hair then buried in that soft mane, his other arm curled tight around her waist pulling her closer, he pinned her against the door just as she parted her lips to invite him inside.

He accepted the invitation.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoved her body further into his.

She smelled of cherries and almonds, her mouth was hot and sweet and greedy, and when she quit trying to duel with his tongue to take over the kiss, her capitulation was sucking it deeper into her mouth.

The result, his cock, already stiffening, got rock-hard.

Fact: Georgiana Traylor could kiss.

And she had the sweetest draw he’d ever felt.

He wanted that on his tongue, and elsewhere.

Which meant this had to stop, immediately, or he’d fuck her on his mudroom floor.

He pulled slightly away to get them both under control.

But when her mouth went after his again, her hand curling tight around the back of his neck, he adjusted so his left eyebrow was to hers, his mouth was out of shot, and he sucked in a ragged breath.

“Why’d you stop?” she said, her breathy voice doing a number on him.

As an answer, he tightened his arm around her waist, and since there already was zero room between them, she couldn’t miss what she was doing to him since the indisputable evidence of it was pressing into her belly.

She didn’t miss it.

“The question bears repeating, Dutch, why did you stop?” she asked.

That made him smile.

And also answer.

“Georgie, you’re the kind of girl I need to take on a date. Buy you dinner. Tell you how pretty your hair is. Your mouth. Your voice. How much I like your ass. All that before I fuck you.”

She made a noise that was half soft gasp, half gentle whimper, and his dick actually started to hurt, straining against his jeans.

“Not to mention, we might need to sort through a few issues before we rip each other’s clothes off and get busy,” he finished.

“Am I in danger of you ripping off my clothes?”

“Absolutely.”

Her eyes got bigger, then they got sultry in that hot way a woman who knows she’s got control of your cock gets, before she suggested, “Okay, just a suggestion, but maybe if you want to cool things down, you should let me go.”

He got on that, but he did it shifting them so his back was to the door and his body was barring it.

Only then did he let her go.

She stepped away, now appearing amused.

“After that kiss, I’m hardly going to run into the night,” she told him.

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, turned, started to sashay back into his house, and did it saying, “You promised me a beer?”

He watched her move, which did nothing to help him contain his raging hard-on.

But when she was out of sight in his living room, he sucked in another breath, got some damned control, turned, locked the door, shrugged off his cut and hung it on a hook by the door, and then followed her.

Dutch went to the kitchen that was open plan.

By the time he pulled two brews from the fridge, she’d followed him and was standing opposite the bar, living room side, hat gone, jacket thrown over the arm of his couch.

He knew she was wearing black jeans, now he saw she had on a tight black turtleneck.

And even covered from chin down, she looked great in it, and her tits looked fucking amazing.

“How many books do you have?” she asked.

He looked beyond her into the living room that was decorated in nothing but books.

He, Jag, Hound, Snap and Boz had built them after he bought the place.

Now, every single wall, except, obviously, where the kitchen was, was floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were, for the most part, filled with books.

There were some framed pictures his mom had given him. One of him, Jag, his mom and Hound on Hound and Ma’s wedding day. One of him and Jagger with their arms slung around each other, both of them wearing their cuts, the night Jag was patched in. Another one of him in his mother’s hospital room holding his newborn brother the day Wilder came into the world.