Built (Saints of Denver #1)(38)
CHAPTER 8
Zeb
The primer splattered all over the tarp on the floor was a minor catastrophe compared to the tragedy I saw brewing in Sayer’s eyes. I wasn’t going to give her time to think about what I was doing, about what we were doing.
I also wasn’t going to give the nagging voice in the back of my head that told me that I needed to finesse her, needed to handle her with kid gloves, the chance to get louder than the blood roaring in my ears.
When her back hit the wall and some of the wet primer smudged away with the impact, it became crystal clear why I had ordered the wrong color for the walls in the first place. The bright, blinding blue on them peeking back at me over her head matched perfectly the ocean-colored gaze that was locked on mine and filled with a thousand questions.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It didn’t matter how pressing, or how complicated the other stuff in my life was at the moment, Sayer occupied most of my waking and sleeping hours. The way she frosted over like an ice storm, and then thawed out like a warm spring day the moment I touched her, tore at me. I was caught up in the tempest of this woman and I was in no hurry to get myself free of her.
After my first visit with Hyde, she’d created an obvious emotional distance between us, and as frustrated as that made me, I really wasn’t sure how to broach the subject without seeming like my priorities were all screwed up. I wanted my son more than anything. The need to have him with me, to be the one to care for him, was bordering on obsessive, but that didn’t make the want and the need I had for her any less. I wanted them both and I wasn’t sure how to go about telling her that without seeming greedy, so I let her drift off like a storm cloud. I let her put on her professional mask that seemed shatterproof, and I told myself I could tackle my attraction to the pretty lawyer after I had my kid in my home, where he belonged. I didn’t like it, but we had been dancing around one another for months and months now, so I figured a little more time and patience wouldn’t kill me. I was wrong.
We were covered in paint, but Sayer didn’t protest. Instead she kissed me back and tunneled her fingers in the shaggy hair at the back of my neck, for sure leaving a trail of white paint all over me, while I continued to eat at her mouth and pressed my bare chest into hers. The thin cotton of her top did little to keep the points of her lush breasts from rubbing across my skin, and I knew that even though she deserved a four-poster bed and silk sheets, she was about to get rough and raw up against a wall. I had told her we could do better, but now I wasn’t so sure, because as she whimpered into my mouth as I started to pull on the edge of her top, I couldn’t remember anything ever being more amazing or all-consuming than even this simple touch with her.
I wasn’t nearly as covered in the white primer as she was. I had the drying spot on my arm where she hit me with the roller and a few spots on the back of my hands and across my chest where she had touched me, so I was careful when I started to pull her top off not to get any more of the stuff on me. I wanted to touch her—everywhere—and that meant I needed to keep my hands as clean as possible.
When I pulled back from her hungry mouth our eyes locked as the stretchy and tight material cleared the top of her blond head. I sucked in a breath because she was so pretty and perfect she almost didn’t seem real. Girls like her, with wide blue eyes, a perfect pink blush, skin softer than a flower petal, and a set of breasts topped with the sweetest, perkiest pink nipples weren’t for guys like me . . . at least not normally. She was even more flawless seminaked, ruffled up, and flushed than she was in her power suits with her professional cloak firmly in place. I was careful not to break delicate things that I knew would cost a fortune to replace. I knew just how to handle them . . . and how to handle her if the way she moaned and pulled at me with impatient hands was any indication.
I grinned at her as her fingers tightened in my hair. I bent my head so that I could nip at the curve of her jaw and lifted my hands so that I could brush the pads of my thumbs over the crest of both straining tips. “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to taste these the last time I was this close to you? I bet they’re as sweet as they look.”
Her eyelids fluttered a little and I saw her bite down on her bottom lip. She shivered in my grasp and I could see that indecision that was so weighty start to creep into her eyes as she watched me. Her chest rose and fell against my own, which had my dick kicking painfully behind my zipper. I wasn’t going to let her doubt interfere with what had been so long coming, so I dropped my head and pulled one stiff peak into my mouth. She was tall, even in her running shoes, and I couldn’t remember any other time I had lined up with anyone else quite as well. I still had to bend down, but the new position meant I could pull her hips tightly into mine and that there was room to work one of my hands under the elastic top of her workout pants.
She moaned and I heard her head thunk back against the wall as I gripped her naked backside and ground my erection against her soft center. I was happy to find that there was nothing, not a single stitch of clothing, between my questing fingers and her baby-soft skin.
I brushed my beard softly across her chest and scraped the edge of my teeth lightly over the velvety nipple I had trapped between my lips. “No underwear?” To say I was surprised was an understatement. She seemed far more proper and buttoned up than that. I let my fingers glide over the firm swell of her ass and then danced them around the front under the stretchy fabric. I wanted to give a little cheer of victory when she moved her leg to the side to give me more room. She had to know where my final destination was and she was all but giving me the green light to keep going.