“I like being in your place,” he murmured. He slipped his hand to her sweater so he could brush his fingers along the soft skin above the waistband of her jeans.
“I thought we had cookies to make,” she said.
Lennon stole another kiss. “I kinda liked what we were doing,” he said honestly.
Georgia smiled, which lit up her entire face. “Me too. But I really want those chocolate chip cookies.”
* * *
Being so close to a man who she really wanted to take her up against the kitchen counter was difficult, in a cross - your - legs - and - ignore - the - ache kind of way. Yes, it was shallow that she found him so physically attractive. But she was also attracted to his sense of humor, his one-liners, and the way he’d look at her out of the corner of his eye, a slight curl to his lip that made her shiver.
Plus, somewhere along the way, he’d made her forget about the folders in her briefcase and the e-mails on her computer.
“So, what are we going to watch?” Lennon asked as she rolled a ball of cookie dough in her hands. The instructions hadn’t asked for it, but it seemed neater, more organized to do it that way. He took it from her and placed it on the baking sheet while she rolled another.
“I have a couple of documentaries I’ve been meaning to get around to. One on how controversial the market for healthy eating is, and another on how devastating the latest opioid crisis is.”
Lennon laughed. “No. No documentaries. Nothing that makes your brain work. We need straight-up escapism on this little break of ours.”
“Oh my God, please don’t tell me you want to watch one of those awful bingey series on HBO or Netflix.”
Lennon stuck his finger into the bowl, scooped up some of the dough, and popped it into his mouth. “That sounds pretty judgmental of you there, Doc.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “There is a reason people don’t have time for their lives. You know, I read somewhere that people don’t realize how those TV hours add up. Like if you’d watched every episode of Law and Order, Supernatural, and Grey’s Anatomy, it’s over a thousand hours of TV.”
He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her to him. “And what is wrong with that?”
“Well, if you believe Malcolm Gladwell’s theory that it takes ten thousand hours to become an expert at something, wouldn’t you rather be ten percent along the way to being an expert pianist, or surgeon, or economist than an expert in monster hunting or the characters of a fake hospital?”
Lennon kissed her gently. “Every hour of your life doesn’t have to be work or self-improvement, Gia. What would it matter if you spent those hours happy, cat or dog by your feet, curled up on the sofa next to someone who meant everything?”
She wanted to argue that people could be using all those hours to volunteer at hospitals that badly needed them, but the image he’d painted had felt so peaceful and it irritated her that it did. “I hate cats,” she said, pulling away to roll a final ball of dough. “And fine, we’ll watch one of your shows.”
“Thank you, and done,” Lennon said as he placed the final cookie on the baking sheet. “How long until they’re ready?”
She threw him an oven mitt, which he caught. “Eight to ten minutes according to this recipe, which makes me nervous.” She pulled the oven door open, and Lennon slid the large tray inside. She closed the door and moved to her phone to set a timer.
Lennon carefully pulled her hair over her shoulder, then slid his arm around her waist. His lips grazed her neck. “Why does it make you nervous?”
Georgia tilted her head to the left to give him more room to work his magic. “There’s a twenty-five percent difference between eight and ten. That’s a lot of variation.”
“You’re thinking about it all wrong.” Lennon kissed his way down along her shoulder.
“I am?” she replied, embarrassed by how breathy her voice sounded.
“In fact, I’m hoping it goes the full ten so I can do some more of this.”
He tugged her to him, her back flush with his chest and the growing erection in his jeans. Gently, his hand crept under her sweater, skimming along her stomach and up to her bra. He squeezed her and rubbed his thumb over her nipple, causing her knees to shake and her breath to catch as he kissed the side of her neck.
It felt like only two minutes had passed when the buzzer sounded, and unfortunately for both of them, the cookies were ready at eight minutes. It had been a long time since she’d simply made out or maybe allowed someone to advance a base or two.
Lennon groaned as he let her go, and she grinned as she pulled the cookies out of the oven and plated them.
“Red wine doesn’t exactly go with chocolate chip cookies,” Georgia said a few minutes later as she placed the plate and two empty wine glasses on the coffee table in between the sofas.
Lennon frowned at her as he placed the wine bottle down on the side table, but the light in his eyes said it was in jest. “Says who? Show me the rule book.” He tugged on her arm and pulled her to him, then wrapped his arm around her. She wondered if he realized he’d begun to hold her with his other arm too, if he realized how even more fulfilling his hugs were and how wonderful it was to feel closed in his embrace.
“You’re right. There isn’t one,” she said, running her fingers through his long stubble, which was a day away from becoming a beard.
“So, can we start doing nothing now that the baking is finished?” He leaned forward and nibbled the lobe of her ear. It was the kind of move he’d been making all day, and it had left her feeling . . . horny. Such a juvenile word. Something a fourteen-year-old boy felt when he watched the cheerleaders practice in their short skirts. Not that there was anything remotely juvenile about how aroused she felt. She gave a brief thought to how long it had been since his surgery. She didn’t want to hurt him after all, but she was more than willing to see where he wanted to take things.
“Nothing sounds good to me,” she said as she tilted her head to the left to give him better access. He trailed his tongue up the side of her neck, then stepped away, a grin on her face.
His hand slid underneath her sweater and pushed the hem up. “I want this off though,” he said. “You look cute as fuck in it, but hugging you in it is like hugging a baby alpaca.”
Georgia stifled a giggle. She’d dated, been in relationships even, but because of her career choices, nothing had ever really stuck. Not one of the men she’d known could hold a candle to her rough-around-the-edges rock star. “What if I get cold?” she asked before she helped him tug it over her head.
Lennon looked down at her pale gray cami and the straps of her pretty white lace bra. “If you’re not hot, Gia, I’m doing something wrong.” He ran his finger underneath the strap, and she shivered as he slid his hand down her arm. “Come lie down with me.” Lennon grabbed the TV remote control and lay down on the sofa first, then gestured for her to join him.
She’d never been more relieved about her decision to buy extra-wide sofas. Her mother had called them gauche, but for that matter her mother hated most of the renovations Georgia had undertaken. Removing walls to open the space was gauche, and her contemporary decorating style was “naff”, a word she’d picked up from an English passenger who’d sat next to her on a first-class Virgin flight from New York to London that apparently meant “unpalatable” or “lame.” But as she lowered herself down now and felt Lennon’s arm wrap over her, she really didn’t give a shit. To her, it was the best place to be in the world.
Lennon hissed, then fidgeted. He turned onto his back then returned to his side before repeating the process. “Fuck!”
Quickly, Georgia sat upright. “What can we do to make you comfortable?’ It was pointless pretending she didn’t know what was going on when it was clear from the strain etched in lines across his brow that the two of them lying side by side was painful.
“Fuck if I know. This is totally not how I imagined this afternoon going.” He rubbed his hand across his stubble, eyes fix
ed on the ceiling.
She thought about it for a moment. “Wait here,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Like I was planning on going anywhere,” she heard him shout as she hurried down the hallway to her bedroom. It made her smile. He was mercurial and curmudgeonly, and she actually liked being around him. She enjoyed his company deep down in her bones.
She gathered the pillows from her bed and carried them to the living room.
“We’ll get you comfortable,” she said. “Then we’ll get me comfortable with you. And if we can’t, there is a perfectly good sofa over there that I can lie on.”
“That wasn’t the point of do-nothing day,” Lennon huffed as he sat up.
“Ironically, doing nothing would also imply doing nothing of a remotely . . . sexual nature.” Georgia carefully packed the pillows behind him to give him lots of support.
“Not in my world it doesn’t.” When Lennon leaned back, he threaded his hand through the hair at the back of her neck, his thumb tracing lines along her cheekbone. “This might have been the best idea you’ve had today,” he said before touching his lips to hers. “So, where are you going to go?”
She grinned at him. “Open your legs.”
Lennon smiled back. “Is this going to get kinky?”
“We’ll see,” she replied as she went to the foot of the couch and crawled toward him.
“Is it crass of me to say your tits look fucking amazing in that tank?” His eyes were hooded as he studied her.
“Not crass at all. Comments about the comeliness of my boobs is always appreciated.” Lennon raised one knee and Georgia settled between his legs, her head on his chest. She’d figured that resting a little distance away from his shoulder would be more comfortable for him.
The moment she was settled, Lennon began to run his fingers through her hair, the gentle touch soothing. “It’s not quite playing with those comely tits of yours, but this is nice,” he said. “Real nice,” he added quietly on a sigh.
“Yeah,” she said, shivers running down her spine every time his strong fingers touched her scalp. “So, what are we watching?”
“Figured we’d start season one, episode one, of Sons of Anarchy,” he replied.
As the opening credits began to play, Lennon’s hand began to wander further afield. Along the side of her face, down her jaw. He brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck to his soft touch.
Georgia breathed deeply, savoring the way she was encased between his firm thighs, the way her chest pressed against his, which was slowly rising and falling. Suddenly very aware of the effect he was having on her, she moved slightly, pressing her knees together.
His hand slid from her neck to her shoulder, drawing circles on the back of her arm before he returned the stroke gently behind her ear. The titles to the show played softly in the background, but all Georgia could hear were the birds on the balcony outside the condo and the beating of Lennon’s heart, loud and strong in his chest.
The man was vital. Alive. And every day she found something new about him that she liked. This restful, peaceful, sexily lazy man was driving her crazy.
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “You know,” he said quietly, his breath warm on her skin, “moments like this I can almost imagine that it’s all going to be okay.”
His words stirred her, especially when she thought about what he’d said to her in the bus about letting him go.
She turned her face to meet his gaze. His eyes focused on her, not on the roar of the motorbike that blared from the television. His stare was heated as he slipped one of her fingers into his mouth and teased it gently, swirling his tongue around it, savoring her like she was as delicious and sweet as the cookies they’d just baked.
Goddamn, the guy was getting hard beneath her.
Turning between his legs, she made her way to her knees and moved her hands to either side of his chest. He wanted her, and she was determined to find a way for the two of them to be together, to progress their relationship in the way they both desperately needed.
His hand threaded through her hair again, gripping a handful and pulling her down to meet his lips. The move caused her stomach to tighten in anticipation. Displays of dominance had never really been her thing, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as this moment right here and now. She smiled at the thought that the two things were connected.
“Got a thought you want to share?” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips.
For a moment, she closed the gap between them, savoring the way the two of them came together every time. If the simple meeting of lips could make her feel like this, how in heaven’s name would they survive what happened next?
“I was just thinking,” she said as she trailed kisses along his jaw, “that it shouldn’t turn me on when you grip my hair and pull me to you like this, but it does. And that this probably explains my underwhelming previous sexual experiences, as I’ve always dated nice guys.”
She shifted her grip to the neck of his T-shirt, tugging it out of the way so she could taste his skin, lick her way along the taut muscles in his neck, along the line of his clavicle. “Oh, and that I’m contemplating giving you a blow job. You know. If you feel up to it.”
“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asked gruffly. She could feel his stomach muscles tighten beneath her chest, could feel the way his dick was now pressing into her stomach, hard and long.
Georgia stopped her progress, taking her weight on both arms so she could look down at him. “What’s that?” she asked, surprised at just how breathy her voice sounded.
“How good it’s going to feel tugging on that hair of yours when you are sucking my cock.”
Holy shit. The idea had heat gathering between her thighs as she felt the wetness start to pool in her underwear. As if on reflex, she licked her lips, and Lennon followed the slow progress of her tongue. Words failed her, her mouth suddenly drier than Phoenix in August.
“Good to know you’re down with that plan,” Lennon said with a wink as he crushed his lips to hers.
* * *
Fuck. He wanted her. No, needed her. Needed her on him, needed to be in her. Something. Anything that would bring them closer.
He’d watched her as they’d made cookies. Who knew it could be sexy as fuck to watch her slender fingers measure out cups of flour with a precision that was wholly unnecessary? His cock had twitched at the sight of her firm ass every time she’d bent down to get something out of the cupboards or drawers. When they’d worked side by side, scooping out the cookie batter before rolling it into balls and placing them on the baking sheet, her breasts had occasionally rubbed against his arm, making it impossible to focus on her one-rounded-tablespoon requirements as he considered hoisting her onto the counter to fuck her senseless.
Or make love to her.
Which seemed so incredibly . . . necessary.
And wanted.
And now she was here. Enclosed in his grasp. Pressing up against his cock in a way that might have him coming in his jeans. Her lips were on his in a kiss that took them beyond the early flirtatious kisses into a most definite need for ownership.
Which was so fucking primal it was stupid.
But he did want her. All of her. All to himself.
As he pressed his tongue into her mouth, as he savored the sweet fucking taste of her, he wanted her to be his. To pretend that she was his everything, and that he was hers.
That the two of them were a possibility that had hope.
“Lennon,” Georgia half-whispered, half-moaned against his mouth.
The soft words drew him out of his own head.
He couldn’t disappear inside himself like he always did.
While normally doing so protected him, he knew that the reverse—opening up to her, giving her everything—was the only way to save himself.
Reluctantly he let go of her hair, desperate to slide off the tight tank that had teased him mercilessly. He shook off t
he thought that having two hands would have made the task a whole lot easier. “Help me,” he said.
Georgia moved to her knees and whipped the top off, throwing it onto the sofa across from them. Without him having to ask, she unfastened the sexy-as-fuck white lace bra and slipped the straps over her shoulders and tossed it to join the tank.
Jesus Christ. Her tits were perfect. Soft and round, not high and fake. Her deep pink nipples matched the lip that was currently clamped between her teeth and were taut and firm. He slid his hand along her ribs and cupped her right breast, allowing his thumb to brush lazily around the tip.
“You’re beautiful, Gia,” he said. Yeah, reverence filled his tone. But she deserved to know just how he saw her. He knew he’d been gruff and unpredictable and wished he was better able to manage his moods, but when it came to her, she was like the break of sun on a rain-filled day.
She cupped her other breast with her hand, and he watched as she tugged gently on her own nipple. There was a beauty to the contrast between their hands as they both played with her breasts.
“I want to take your top off,” she said, gasping as he tugged a little harder. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
He lifted a little off the pillows, and the two of them made light work of his black Henley. It joined her growing pile of clothes.
They both groaned as she lay down against him.
You can’t hold her.
You can’t hug her.
You can’t play with both breasts at the same time.
Your bandage looks fucking ugly.
You are less.
“Stop,” Georgia said softly. “I see you when you go inside yourself, Lennon. I feel it as truly as if you physically stepped away from me.” She began to kiss her way down his torso, licking and biting his nipple as she moved. “Stay in this moment with me, Lennon,” she encouraged, her words heartfelt, soft. “Don’t go somewhere I can’t join you.”
The jolt her quiet words gave him was akin to how he’d imagined the surge of electricity from the paddles of the defibrillator he’d required during surgery had felt. She needed something from him. Something he could give her.
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