The Feel Good Factor(32)

“Admit what?”

“You were annoyed that I was home late, because you wanted to see me.”

She scoffs. “I just wanted your food.”

Defiant creature. “Nope. I don’t buy it.”

She lifts her chin. “I like chicken and broccoli.”

“And you want me to cook for you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. One less thing I have to do myself.”

“Then admit you wanted to see me.”

Her voice softens to an embarrassed whisper. “No. Yes. Derek, it’s stupid, okay?”

“So you did?”

She shrugs, her eyes vulnerable, her smile guilty. “Fine. I was having a fun evening with you and your nieces, and I thought dinner would be nice, and then you weren’t here, and I was hungry, and it’s dumb to get annoyed because we’re just housemates, and it’s fine.”

Her sincerity hooks into me, reminding me that I did break a promise. “I really am sorry I didn’t make it back in time to cook you dinner like I said. I left the note when I came downstairs, but you were already in your room,” I say softly.

“I went to bed early.”

“And I had to shower because the baby spit up all over me.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?”

I wave a hand. “Babies will do that.”

“You’re really good with her.”

“I adore that little chunk of love.”

Perri smiles. “I can tell.” She takes a deep breath. “Anyway, it was silly. I wanted to have dinner last night, and that was a stupid thing to wish for. Then I rushed out this morning, so I didn’t see your note, and when I saw you at the hospital, I was trying to be all business-like since Elias was there, and plus, I should be business-like. When I came home, I did see your note, and it was sweet, and it made me feel stupid for having been annoyed at all. I was annoyed with myself.”

“And then you saw my ink.”

She shoots me a saucy look. “More like you thrust your abs in my face.”

I give her a dirty grin. “Pretty sure you liked it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The way your eyes went all glossy and hazy. The way you’re staring shamelessly at me. The way your nipples are poking through your shirt.”

Her jaw drops, and she looks down at her chest then crosses her arms. “My nipples are not hard.”

“Must just be an optical illusion,” I say offhand.

“Exactly. Also, back to more important matters. What sound do giraffes make?”

I stand up, move around the couch, and sit next to her. “They hum.”

“Giraffes hum?”

“They do. And that’s the sound you’re going to make when I kiss you again right now.”

I grab her hair and devour her delicious lips.





18





Derek





Maybe she doesn’t sound exactly like a giraffe.

More like a pent-up, turned-on woman who wants what I have to give her. It’s a kiss to drive her wild. A kiss she can take to bed tonight, that she’ll bring under the covers, replaying every touch and taste so she can get herself all the way off in mere minutes.

That’s how I kiss her.

Like I want to fuck her. That’s the only way this woman ought to be kissed. Her back is against the couch cushion, and I lean into her and crush her lips, claiming her with my mouth. With my hands. With my body.

I bring her closer, letting her know that when I kiss her, she’s all mine.

She moans into my mouth as I grapple with her ponytail, yanking it down, letting the lush strands fall over my fingers.

As I do, she murmurs, sinking into the kiss, letting me guide her head back to expose that seductive neck. A neck I’ve wanted to touch from the second I met her.

As I kiss her senseless, she melts under me. I tug harder on her hair, and she moans louder. Her head falls against the pillow, and I let go of her lips, traveling to the V of her shirt.

She whimpers as I kiss the hollow of her throat.

“You like that?” I flick my tongue over her skin, and she nods, panting a hot, breathy yes.

I give her more of what she likes, mapping her neck with my mouth, kissing the column of her throat, making her squirm with every touch of my tongue and brush of my lips. Her hands inch up my chest, her fingers playing over my abs, my pecs, the waistband of my shorts.

But I know this woman’s needs. I grab her hands, thread my fingers through hers, and pin her wrists at her sides. The sound she makes is one of bliss as I grip her like that, kissing her neck, her ears, her hair, until she bows her body up off the couch.

“You’re so turned on,” I murmur.

“It’s your fault.”

“I’ll take all the blame.”

Then I grip her hands tighter, and in a flash, I shift positions, sinking to half recline on the couch and pulling her on top so she straddles me, knees on either side of my thighs.

“We can’t do this.” Her green eyes are wide with hunger and questions. “Remember? No mercy, no sympathy?”

I let go of her hands and run my fingers up her neck and into her red locks. I tug her hair. “I’m not breaking any rules.”