Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Her street was charming, the houses solid. Twenties-style Craftsman-built, they were set farther apart than the houses in the cookie-cutter neighborhoods popping up around the college. A mix of widows, retirees, and young families jumbled into a vibrant mini-community within Cottonbloom. She loved it.

  The chimes hanging from an overhead beam held an off-key, haunting concert accompanied by the squeak of her swing being pushed by the invisible hand of the wind. Summer storms alternately filled Monroe with excitement and fear.

  She loved watching the trees bend to the will of the winds that rolled off the plains of Texas, through Louisiana, and across the Mississippi River. But at the same time, those winds could coalesce into the swirling mass of a tornado. From her earliest memory, tornadoes had been the monsters in the night her mother had warned against.

  The storm brewing from the southwest wasn’t the stuff of nightmares. It had the feel of Mother Nature relieving the heat and tension that had built around them like a pressure cooker. The winds blew straight across the trees lining Monroe’s street. Dark clouds snuffed out the fading orange rays like an inkblot spreading across the sky and bringing with it an early gloaming.

  She unloaded her groceries and took a quick shower. The afternoon outside with Cade had left her sticky and off-balance. In shorts and a T-shirt, she stepped back onto the porch with a glass of iced tea. The wind seemed to speak to her. The swirling chaos matching the turmoil Cade incited. A different sort of storm, but no less destructive. After the layers of the past they’d peeled back, he could still flip a switch and turn distant.

  She huffed a laugh. Hadn’t she herself recognized his defensiveness long before now? Why did she think she was special? She wasn’t; she was foolish. It was better this way. Better if they left things murky and unexplored. She would duct-tape the cracks of her heart back together before he could inflict any more damage.

  Streetlights flickered like beacons up and down her street. Lightning flashed behind the darkness followed by a rumbling thunder, as if the gods were hungry. Another flash of light zigzagged its way from sky to ground. A loud crack made her flinch.

  The night dimmed further. The streetlights no longer lit a path and the beckoning lights in the windows of her neighbors had been extinguished, giving everything a surreal, abandoned feel. A shiver ran up Monroe’s spine, and she chafed her arms. The air had dropped several degrees in the few minutes she’d been standing there.

  The first raindrops on her tin-roofed overhang joined the wind chimes in an off-key duet. Drops plopped faster and faster until a solid sheet of water obscured the houses around her, lending her a sense of isolation.

  When the wind tangled her hair and surged rain onto the porch, misting her legs, she retreated to her house. The power might be back on in a few minutes or it might be out for hours. Holding a small penlight between her teeth, she riffled through her junk drawer for a box of matches. As she was lighting the last candle on her mantle, a hard rap on her front door had her jumping and dropping the match.

  A shot of adrenaline coursed through her body triggering trembles. But it wasn’t a debilitating fear she faced. It was something darker, more dangerous. Exactly what she’d been yearning for even as she’d tried to talk herself out of it. Her heart knew who was on the other side of the door, and her body knew it was time.

  She threw the door open without checking through the peephole. One of Cade’s hands was propped on the doorjamb; the other held the heels she’d left at the farmhouse. Rainwater dripped down his face and had soaked his white T-shirt. At the curb, his rusted-out truck peeked through the rain.

  The moment was heavy with unspoken promises. Her destiny had intertwined with Cade’s from the moment he found her on the river.

  “Brought your shoes.” His voice slid through her like thick honey even as his excuse registered as thin.

  “You drove out here in a torrential rainstorm to bring me my shoes?” She tried to inject some tease in her voice but failed.

  He was static, waiting. She touched his arm. That was all the invitation he needed. He swept inside her house, so fast she could only process his body pulling hers close, his rain-soaked T-shirt wetting her. He banded his arms around her so tight she lost her breath. Or maybe it was his kisses—intense, deep, possessive—that made her breathless.

  The shoes clattered to the floor. He glided his lips down her throat and nipped at the skin, sending tingles through her body. Her nipples were hard, painfully so, and she squirmed against him. He reached behind him, grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, and ripped it over his head.

  Could he read her mind? His hard, warm chest eased the ache in her breasts. She ran her hands up his biceps and over his shoulders and back. The muscles jumped and shifted under her explorations. “You’re beautiful.”

  He raised his head from where he’d been tugging on her earlobe with a huffing laugh. “What?”

  She had no room for embarrassment. “You’re beautiful. Perfect.”

  A serious cast came over his face like blinds being pulled. “I’m neither of those things. Especially not perfect.”

  When would he drop the chip from his shoulder and believe he was good enough? “You’re perfect for me.”

  He shook his head, his eyes still somber, but didn’t contradict her this time, only dropped his mouth to claim hers for another kiss. This one spoke of tenderness and yearning, and she rose on tiptoes to return it with everything she had.

  “I’ve wanted you so damn long.” His lips moved against hers as if he couldn’t bear to break the kiss.

  Now it was her turn to smile, their lips still touching. “You’ve been back less than three weeks.”

  He pulled back, the seriousness of his expression cutting her smile away. “It seems like a lifetime.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant it in a good way or more like a life sentence in prison. He stole rational thought with his lips, his hands inching her V-neck shirt up. His movements accelerated and her shirt was gone, a puddle of pink at their feet. Next he worked on the button of her shorts, and they fell to her ankles.

  The power outage had forced an unintentional romantic vibe. Candles flickered, and a variety of scents wrapped around them. Pine combined with lavender, the combination earthy and arousing, but it couldn’t compare to the clean, wild scent of man.

  He walked her backward and lifted her to sit on the heavy antique desk in the corner, the wood cool against her skin. She parted her legs, and he pressed against her, the fit as easy and natural as if they’d done this a thousand times.

  She propped herself on her hands, the position highlighting her simple lace bra that screamed outlet mall instead of high-end lingerie store. He didn’t seem to care. His hands moved from the dip of her waist to cup both breasts. When he brushed his thumbs over her peaked nipples, she moaned and let her head fall back.

  He snaked his good hand around her back. Her bra loosened. A shot of self-consciousness flooded her, heat burning up her chest, and she splayed a hand over the front of her bra in a fit of modesty.

  She raised her eyes to meet his. Everything about Cade Fournette induced an instinctive trust. Always had. He waited like he had at the door for her to make the move. She drew her bra off and tossed it aside.

  A rumble came from his chest. He forced her to lean back on her hands, one of his arms supporting her around her waist. Her arching back put her breasts on display, and he took full advantage. He dropped his lips to one nipple, while his hand tormented the other.

  She chanced a glance down, the sight nearly sending her over the edge. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting crescent shadows in the candles’ light. His face was a mask of pleasure overlaid with determination.

  As if sensing her stare, he looked up, his mouth slack and her nipple gleaming. “You are beautiful. Perfect.”

  Had he repeated her earlier compliment on purpose? An automatic denial formed in her head but was swept away by his eyes and mouth and hands. He made her feel pe
rfect.

  Desperation overtook her like a fever. She straightened, forcing him back, and grabbed the waistband of his jeans. The damp denim made working the button free a challenge. The distraction of the ridge pressing against the zipper didn’t help her concentration, either. With a mind of its own, one of her hands kept falling to rub the length of him.

  His good hand joined hers to tug at his pants. Finally, the button gave way and she worked the zipper down. He had gone commando. His heavy erection slid into her palm. She tightened her grip and stroked him. Hard and soft and mouthwatering. She tried to push him back so she could fall to her knees, but he made a small sound of denial in the back of his throat.

  “I know this is our first time, but I need to be inside of you. Now.”

  His words thrilled and terrified her. He grabbed her panties and roughly pulled them down, the giving of a seam sounding unnaturally loud. He curled his hands under her knees and pulled her legs apart, but instead of pushing into her, he looked. It was almost as if his gaze were physically licking her, up and down, over and over.

  “Cade, please. I need you, too.”

  Her declaration seemed to light a blaze in him. He clutched her legs and spread her even wider, but this time he stepped into the void, the head of his erection brushing her. She bit the inside of her mouth to stop from climaxing at the light contact.

  “Do I need a condom?”

  She hummed, his voice barely registering. He took her chin and forced her to look at him. “Do I need a condom? Will you get pregnant?”

  “N-no. I’m on the Pill.”

  It was all he needed. He pressed forward inch by inch. She gloried in the stretch, and when he was halfway home she flew apart in a white-hot blaze. As if in a dream state, she heard his curse, felt him slam deep inside of her, was dimly aware she moaned and writhed in his arms.

  He lifted her off the desk, his hands scooping under her butt, his erection still inside of her, hard and hot. Her back hit the cushions of her couch, and he came over her, his jeans hanging around his thighs, his boots still on.

  He grabbed her wrists, pressed her hands over her head, and hammered into her. She felt neither used nor trapped by him. His gaze stayed locked with hers, even as the build to pleasure became more intense.

  He groaned, his eyes closing. She pressed her heels against his flexing backside to keep him in place. Whatever this thing was between them, it went deep. Deeper than merely dating and more meaningful than a hookup. At least to her.

  He fell over her, his chest heaving against hers, his face buried in her hair. His hands still circled her wrists, but his grip had slackened. She pulled free and let her hands wander up and down his back and over the taut curve of his butt. Turning her face, she kissed his cheek and jaw and felt his lips brush the shell of her ear.

  After an eternity, he heaved himself to his elbows, nose to nose with her, his erection still semi-hard and inside of her. The moment seemed important, bordering on sacred.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Artificial lights flicked on with a blinding intensity. Rain continued to pelt her windows, but the hum of her AC kicking on brought him back to reality with a thud. Even though what they’d done had seemed inevitable, now they were on the other side he wasn’t sure what to do.

  She squinted against the harsh overhead light, hiding the clear blue of her irises. Her blond hair cascaded over his arm and down the chocolate-brown cushion of the couch like silk.

  He hadn’t been throwing a smoke show to get in her pants. She was the most beautiful, perfect woman he’d ever seen, and it was for that very reason he needed to leave.

  He pushed all the way off her to stand next to the couch. Jesus, he hadn’t even managed to get his pants and boots off. At least his getaway would be quick. He yanked his jeans up and zipped them, but between his bad hand and the wet denim the button proved too difficult.

  He made the fatal mistake of looking down. She blinked up at him in a daze, her lips soft and red and swollen, her nipples little points that begged for his mouth, her bare legs spread in welcome.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered truthfully.

  She rose and notched herself into his side, her arms around his waist, her breast against his bare chest. “You weren’t leaving, were you?”

  “Maybe?”

  Instead of throwing a hissy fit or getting teary-eyed, she pulled back and shook her head, her blue eyes soft. “Nope. We’re going to cuddle. In bed.”

  Her tone reminded him of the way she talked to the girls she trained—this was the take-no-shit Monroe. He couldn’t help it, he smiled, but he forced a warning into his voice. “I don’t cuddle.”

  She harrumphed, grabbed his hand, and led him toward a dark hallway, blowing out candles and flipping lights off as she went. She led him to her bedroom. Honestly, he would have followed her sweet little ass into an alligator-infested swamp.

  “I need to clean up. Why don’t you shuck the boots and jeans and wait under the covers?” She popped up on tiptoes to brush her mouth across his and sashayed toward the hall bathroom, shaking her hair out along the way.

  Off-balance and fumbling around in the dark—literally and figuratively—he did exactly as she’d commanded and slipped under her cool cotton sheets naked.

  The fury of the storm had passed, rain falling in the aftermath. He’d never slept over with any woman he was seeing. He was the jerk who rolled off and grabbed his pants. He wasn’t the chump who took off his pants to cuddle.

  When the rain stopped, he would leave. The argument between his brain and his heart quieted with the compromise. She was back, her hips and hair swinging, her breasts small but full and perky, her legs long and lean. He silently thanked his gene pool and the ability to see every glowing curve of her body.

  She slipped under the sheet and pulled at his far shoulder, forcing him on his side to face her. Then, she scooched closer and wiggled until their bodies were pressed together from chest to feet. “There now. Cuddling isn’t so difficult, is it? Even you can learn to do it, Cade.”

  He smiled into her hair and breathed her in. Under the vanilla scent of her soap was the smell of sex. He smelled good on her. No, more than good—perfect.

  He roamed his hands over her back and down to her butt and up into her hair while her hands were performing a similar trek over his body. She nipped his neck and his pulse jumped.

  “You smell so good I could eat you.” The words were out before the double entendre registered, or maybe it was a Freudian slip, because his assessment was perfectly accurate.

  “Cade.” The way she whispered his name cast her back into the shy Monroe.

  He loved she could be genuinely sassy and sexy and shy all within a few minutes and sometimes at the same time. He laughed softly and hugged her close. Thank God the rain still fell outside her window, because he wasn’t ready to leave. Not quite yet. He’d definitely undervalued the act of cuddling.

  He closed his eyes when one of her hands threaded through his hair and massaged his scalp. How long had it been since anyone touched him without wanting anything in return?

  He cast back to his childhood, when his parents had been alive. His days and nights had been full of a freedom he’d tried hard to replicate after he’d left Cottonbloom. Freedom from having to worry about food, keeping his family together, keeping a roof over their heads. Freedom from responsibility.

  Feeling as close to that freedom as he’d been in a long time, he drifted into a state of limbo, the sound of the rain in his ears and her hands on his body performing an ancient alchemy. Time became irrelevant. Everything was laced with her scent and touch. He might have dreamed.

  He was hard again, maybe harder than he’d ever been. Painfully so. Restless, he shifted, the night air cooling the heat building in the core of his body. A warm, wet mouth closed over him.

  He lifted his head off the pillow. Monroe’s hair was spread over his thighs, her hand
around the base of his erection, her tongue circling the tip. This was a dream. He let his head fall back with a groan and raised a hand to cup her hollowed-out cheek. Bold, sexy Monroe was back.

  “If I’d known cuddling involved this I would have taken it up years ago.” He’d tried for teasing, but his voice was harsh.

  Her mouth left him, and his hips bucked up, seeking her warmth. “Consider this cuddling with benefits.”

  He pressed the side of his face into the pillow and smiled. Their bedroom banter was as foreign to him as the cuddling was, but he liked it. A lot. And while the Cade Fournette who didn’t cuddle or tease would have selfishly let her finish him, the one in her bed wanted to drive her as crazy as she made him.

  In an athletic move that had her squealing with laughter, he pulled her up his body and rolled her over, his body on top of hers. The darkness was too deep to see the color of her eyes, but he could see her smile, easy and accepting. A warmth spread from his chest.

  He kissed her. She wound her arms around his neck and opened for him. It was her nature to give and expect nothing in return. It was his nature to take. Or at least it had been the past few years, but he hadn’t always been a selfish bastard. She brought out something in him he’d tried to leave behind. Maybe he’d had to come home to find it. All he knew was he didn’t want to take from her. He wanted to give, to hold, to protect.

  He broke their kiss and stared down at her, both of them breathing hard, all tease gone. Words swirled in his head but didn’t assemble themselves into a coherent thought. Past, present, and future coalesced into a single moment.

  Fear had him sliding down her body. Pleasure was simple, and something he could give without losing part of himself. Everything about her was sweet and welcoming. He could have stayed between her legs until the sun rose, her body writhing against his mouth, hearing her chant his name and tug on his hair.