Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(81)
Gavin is sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, a hockey game playing with no volume.
He glances in my direction and his eyebrow lifts. “Is she actually asleep?”
“I’d give it five minutes, but I think so.”
“Fingers crossed.” He pats the cushion beside his, and when I sit down beside him, he wraps an arm around me and pulls him into his side, bending to press his lips to my temple.
We watch the game on low for fifteen minutes before we deem it safe and turn off the TV and most of the lights, apart from the hallway. Gavin makes sure the doors are locked before he takes my hand and we pad quietly past Peyton’s closed door. I’m very grateful that Gavin’s room isn’t right across the hall or right next to Peyton’s, and that there’s a bathroom between them.
Once we’re inside his bedroom, he turns the lock on his door and takes my face in his hands, planting a searing kiss on my lips. I moan quietly, gripping his strong arms. I find the hem of his shirt and slip my fingers underneath, skimming the taut ridges and planes of his abs, up his chest, dragging the fabric with it.
His hands leave my face, and he yanks his shirt over his head, then crouches and grabs me by the ass, hoisting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he lowers me until I can feel him, hard and thick between my thighs. He claims my mouth again, his kisses hot and demanding, full of pent-up desire. It’s been weeks since we’ve been able to steal any alone time. More than a week of talking about it, of late-night video chats from across the city where we talk about what we plan to do to each other when we’re finally naked and alone.
He carries me across the room to the bed, sets me on the edge, and grinds himself against me. I buck and groan quietly, especially when he tears his mouth from mine and nips his way across my jaw and down my neck. He shoves my nightshirt up and my sports bra along with it and latches onto a nipple, sucking roughly.
I gasp, and one of his hands presses over my mouth to stifle the sound. Which is a good idea, because he follows with teeth. “You think you can be quiet if I go down on you?”
I grab one of the pillows from the top of the bed. “With a little help, maybe?”
He chuckles and stands up, fingers dragging down my stomach and curling around the waistband of my leggings. I’m already throbbing between my legs, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I’m about to lift my hips when the patter of feet in the hallway puts me on alert. His doorknob turns, but thankfully it doesn’t open. “Daddy? I had a bad dream!” Peyton calls out.
“Give me a second!” His eyes flare as he looks down at his pajama pants, which are tented rather impressively. He tucks himself into the waistband, which doesn’t look all that comfortable, and pulls a shirt over his head. And then a sweatshirt for good measure. “We really need that weekend away before I die of blue balls,” he grumbles as he heads for the bedroom door. I bite back a smile, because I’m sure it’s uncomfortable, even if it’s kind of funny how perturbed he is.
Gavin ends up falling asleep in Peyton’s bed, and I fall asleep in his. He steals back into the bedroom at two in the morning, and despite us both being groggy and only half awake, we have quiet, lazy sex before we pass back out.
I’m unsurprised when Peyton ends up back in his bedroom at six in the morning, worming her way between us and alternating between hugging me and her dad, and then asking when it’s time to make pancakes.
I know Gavin might consider this a wash of a sleepover, but it’s another baby step in the right direction. And I’ll take every single one of those we can get.
Twenty-Three
A LITTLE PRIVATE TIME
HARLEY
On Friday Gavin picks me up at four in the afternoon for our weekend getaway. Peyton is sitting in the back seat, which is full of her things. There are blankets and pillows piled on one side, her backpack perched precariously on top. On the other side are her stuffies, including the gnome family we made earlier this week, lined up beside her, ready for the ride to Boulder.
Gavin meets me at the truck and takes my bag, setting it beside his. When his hands are free, he leans down to steal a kiss. “Just a few more hours and you’re all mine.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Damn right.” He smirks and winks, then closes the trunk and walks me around to the passenger side, opening the door and giving me his hand so I can climb in.
I twist in my seat so I can look at Peyton. “Are you excited to spend the weekend with your granny and grandpa?”
She nods. “Granny said she’s going to take me to a play.”
“That sounds like tons of fun!”
“I love plays. But you have to be very, very quiet. Because it’s not like a movie where the actors can’t hear you, and when people talk, it can be distracting.”
“And you have personal experience with that, don’t you?” Peyton has a role in every skit the school puts on during assemblies. It means she often stays after school once or twice a week for rehearsals. She loves it, though, and doesn’t mind the longer days.
On Mondays I’ll often sit in the audience and work on assignments for my class. Most people can’t handle all the noise, but I seem to be able to tune it out.
The trip to Boulder takes a little less than two hours. My palms start to sweat when we pull into Karen and Kyle’s driveway. Their house is a pretty ranch-style bungalow with a white picket fence, manicured lawn, and gardens that have been put to bed until spring.