Sift

by L. D. Davis

  “You bastard,” I whispered harshly after pushing the window up. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Making it convenient for you,” he whispered back with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

  “You do realize that you’re almost thirty-one years old, and you’re asking me to sneak out a window?”

  “Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This ain’t adventure, Connor. It’s silly and stupid.”

  “And it’s making your heart pitter-patter,” he cooed. “Admit it.”

  I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling. “Okay,” I said with a loud sigh. “Let me at least put on a jacket and my sneakers.”

  “Hurry up. If your dad catches me out here, he might put a bullet in my butt before he realizes who I am.”

  “Wouldn’t be anything less than you deserved,” I said haughtily and climbed off the bed to find my sneakers, jacket, and satchel in the dark.

  A few minutes later, I was back at the window, trying to figure out how I was going to climb out with my stupid leg. It was taking so long to figure it out that it was just comical. I giggled the whole time. Finally, I slid the top half of my body out. Connor gripped my waist and pulled. He pulled a little too hard, though, and he fell backward onto the hard ground, and I fell on top of him. Fortunately, I didn’t break or re-break anything.

  A light suddenly appeared on us, before we could even untangle our limbs to get up. It blinded us and made us blink rapidly as we tried to see the person behind the flashlight.

  “What in the hell are y’all doing out here?” Daddy asked, bewildered.

  Connor and I could only cling to each other and laugh.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  “Your dad wanted to shoot me.”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “No. He didn’t want to shoot you.”

  Connor and I stared at each other silently for several seconds before I lost my composure and laughed.

  “Okay. Yeah. I think he wanted to shoot you. But it’s your own fault.”

  He tried to scowl. “Simmer down and carry on with your work.”

  “I should shoot you for tricking me,” I said, flicking flour at him.

  “What? Trick you? I didn’t trick you.” He at least tried to look appalled at such an accusation.

  “You just wanted me here because you wanted cookies.”

  When we had entered his kitchen after leaving my dad’s, there had been a mysterious bag of groceries on the counter. It only took a moment of unloading the bag to realize that I had been duped. The oatmeal and the chocolate chips were dead giveaways.

  “I wanted you here because I like you a little bit…and because I wanted cookies.” He laughed as I tossed more flour at him. “You would have been pissed if I bought the cookies somewhere else, admit it.”

  I shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.

  “Besides,” Connor continued, “You’re not doing it alone. I’m helping.”

  I looked at the mess he had made on the countertop and considered the eggshells that were most likely mixed into the oatmeal cookie dough. He had flour on his face and in his beard, egg yolk on his shirt, and he had just dumped way too much brown sugar into the bowl for the chocolate chip cookies.

  Connor actually wasn’t very helpful at all, as far as baking went, but he was fun. I was actually enjoying myself for the first time in a long time. I hadn’t laughed so much in months. At least for the time being, my problems and my lost dreams seemed very far, away.

  “Yes,” I said softly. “You are helping.”

  Something in my voice made him pause and look over at me. I didn’t look away. I had ceased what I was doing and had become very still. We were already standing close side by side, but Connor turned and touched my cheek with a sticky hand. I could feel the granules of sugar scrubbing against my skin.

  Without ceremony or declarations of love, his lips touched my lips. The rest of my body froze as it was, turned toward the counter and our cookie-making activity as his soft mouth moved sensually against mine. His hand moved slowly down my face and cupped my jaw. He exerted the slightest pressure, just enough to make my lips part with enough space for his tongue to slide inside my mouth.

  I moaned softly. The stainless steel sifter I was holding slipped from my hands. I heard it hit the counter and then roll off and clamor on the floor. My body turned toward his as his arm wound around my waist. He pulled me against him and his kiss became more aggressive and possessive.

  Connor had never kissed me like that, as if he were laying claim to me and ready to battle anyone who dared to oppose him. His fingers tightened around my jaw. He held me so tightly that it hurt, and his kiss was unyielding and unforgivingly hard. I whimpered into his mouth as my fingers gripped at his shirt.

  Without separating from me, his hands dropped to my waist, and he carefully hoisted me up onto the countertop. A few things fell to the floor. I didn’t know what and I didn’t care as I wrapped my good leg around Connor, drawing him close. One of his hands cupped the side of my neck and the other eased under my sweatshirt and the T-shirt under that and touched the bare skin on my side. My fingers locked together behind his head, and my body arched toward him as his hand began to move up my side toward the curve of my breast.

  Connor tasted like flour. And sugar. Powdery and sweet. He smelled like…like burning cookies.

  I wrenched my mouth away from his just as the smoke alarm came to life with an ear-piercing sound. Momentarily stunned, we looked at each other and then at the oven. Smoke was pouring out through the sides.

  Connor cussed, using a four-letter word I had only heard him use maybe one other time, and raced to the oven. He threw the door open and stupidly reached for the pan with his bare hand just as I shouted out a warning. He drew back instantly, but not before he burned his fingers. He cussed again and reached for the oven mitts on the counter. He reached inside the oven for the blackened and smoking cookies and raced for the back door, screaming that four-letter word the whole time. The back door was flung open and—I don’t know why—he threw the cookies—cookie sheet and all—onto the patio cement.

  I covered my mouth with my arm as I coughed and blinked at Connor as he came back into the kitchen. He was still wearing one, smoky oven mitt. Carefully, I eased down from the countertop, never taking my eyes off of him. Every smoke alarm in the house was going off, set off by the first. The room wasn’t as smoky with the offending cookies gone, but there was still a haze floating lazily above our heads.

  I glanced back at the oven, still gaping open, and the mess on the countertops and on the floor. I peeked around Connor to the burnt cookies on the patio floor, illuminated by a motion-activated spotlight. My eyes came back to floury, sugary, eggy, and slightly burnt Connor and his one oven mitt and that was it. I lost it. I laughed harder than I had ever laughed in my entire life and quite literally nearly peed my pants.

  Connor growled as he threw the oven mitt to the floor and stalked toward me. His hands covered my cheeks, and the last of my laughter left me in a whoosh as he kissed me again. I was lost in him, lost in the scent and feel of him for minutes. Hours maybe? It was like being in that state of unconsciousness all over again, and being unaware of the fluidity of time; except, I could feel him like never before. Feel the warmth of his hands on my face, the hardness of his body against mine, and the silkiness of his tongue gliding over my own.

  When he finally gave me the opportunity to breathe in the crisp night air that had seeped in through the open door, our foreheads touched.

  “Darla,” he murmured against my lips.

  “Connor,” I whispered.

  He kissed the corner of my mouth. My jaw. My cheek, and my ear lobe. Then he whispered, “You burnt the cookies.”

  I laughed softly. “How is your hand?”

  I gently took his injured hand into both of mine. There was an angry red line running across his palm.

  “It hurts,” he said, placing his
other hand on my hip. “You should kiss it and make it better.”

  I brought the hand to my mouth and placed three soft kisses on it. “How is that?”

  “Better, but I need your healing lips once more.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

  He pointed to his mouth. “Here.”

  “Hmm,” I said again. I stood on my toes and kissed one corner of his mouth. “How is that?”

  “I think you missed your mark. Right here.” He tapped his lips.

  “Right.” I kissed the other corner of his mouth. “Better?”

  The hand on my hip dropped lower. In a tone of voice just above a whisper, Connor said, “I think you should try once more.”

  “One more try,” I capitulated.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, tilted my head, stood on my toes once more, and touched his mouth with mine. I kissed him softly, gently running my tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened up for me. When I made him moan into my mouth, it gave me a thrill, and I wanted to do it again. I caught his tongue between my teeth and bit gently. He moaned again as his other hand curled into my hair.

  I broke away from his mouth a minute later, gasping for air. “Better?”

  He pressed himself against me. I felt the length and thickness of him against my lower belly.

  “Much better,” he murmured, and then joined his mouth with mine once more.

  Time disappeared again. Seconds, moments, minutes, and hours slid by without our notice. At some point, the back door was closed, and the lights were turned down. The mess in the kitchen was left there for when time mattered again.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  We stood in the living room, in the firelight, touching and kissing. I had missed his mouth and hands on my body. The way he caressed, stroked, and teased. The way he liked to be caressed, stroked, and teased in return. He never restrained me, never prevented me from running my hands over his body.

  Connor kissed my collar bone, the valley between my breasts, each perky, pink nipple, and circled my navel with his tongue. Kneeling before me, he kissed each hipbone before slowly pulling my panties down. I knew the moment he saw my scar up close because he paused and I heard his sharp intake of breath.

  My surgical scar wasn’t as big and ugly as it had been the weeks following the surgery on my broken femur, but it was still an eyesore. Connor seemed unable to take his eyes off of it.

  I started to back away from him, but he grabbed a firm hold of my thighs and made me stand still. To my surprise, he leaned in and lightly kissed the ugly scar, from one end to the other. He peered up at me with a small smile.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  I dragged my fingers through his hair. “Hmm. Almost. But not quite. I think you’re just a little off.”

  He kissed my other thigh where the skin was nearly flawless. “Better?”

  I pursed my lips and shook my head once. My whispered voice came out a little shaky. “I think you should give it one more try.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off of mine as he gripped my thighs in his hands and dragged his tongue through my center. I gasped and tightened my fingers in his hair. He did it again and again until I couldn’t count the strokes of his tongue. I could only shake and moan and pull on his hair.

  When he finally stood up, he cupped my neck in one hand and kissed me deeply. His erection—held back by the single layer of fabric of his boxers—pressed against me. I reached for it, stroked it and squeezed it in my hand, making Connor groan and thrust.

  As our kiss slowed, his other hand smoothed over the shaved side of my head. I wondered if he missed my hair, despite what he’d said about liking the new style. He must have sensed the unspoken question. He answered it with his lips moving restlessly over my throat.

  “When you dropped by McKenzie’s to show off your new hair, I was a little shocked at first. You know how much I loved your hair. I used to love seeing it hang over your shoulders and brush over your breasts when you were naked and on top of me.”

  He dropped his hand from my neck and followed the length of my hair to my shoulder. It wasn’t as long anymore, but he didn’t seem to mind as his hand continued down and closed over my breast.

  “But it was such a courageous move,” Connor continued, looking into my eyes now. “And you looked so proud, so strong, and so damn beautiful. I loved you so much at that moment, Darla.” He moved his hand down my stomach and around to the small of my back. He pulled me hard against him, making me gasp. “And I wanted to be inside you so badly. I wanted to bend you over your sister’s table and fuck you until you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Didn’t even know your own name.”

  My eyes widened, and my jaw slackened. I didn’t know if I was more surprised that he had said the word fuck or if I was more shocked that he had used it in that context. Sex with Connor had always been very good, but even when he’d had me hard and fast, it had still seemed…sweet. Even gentle in a way.

  He saw the surprised look on my face and smirked, even as his hands began to move over my body.

  “I am just a man, Darla,” he said huskily. “Like any other man, sometimes I just want to push you up against something and make you scream.”

  Breaths all gone, I managed to say, “So, do it.”

  He studied my face for a moment before giving me a small smile. “I will, but not now.” His hand left my hair and covered my cheek. “Now I just want you to feel how much I have missed you. I want you to feel how much I love you, and I do love you, Darla. I thought we could start off slow, get to know each other again and then maybe see if there was a chance for us later, but…I love you. I can’t go any slower than I’m going now. The more I see you, the more I want you. You still have my heart, and I don’t want to take it back.”

  I swallowed hard, hoping to keep any incoming tears at bay. My voice was small and quiet.

  “Even after…even after I broke your heart, you won’t take it back?”

  His thumb stroked my lips again as his eyes burned into mine as he whispered back to me.

  “Nothing broke my heart more than the first time I saw you in that hospital bed, unconscious, bruised and battered, and too damn close to death.”

  I saw the pain in his eyes and had to look away. I dropped my gaze to his chest as my thoughts and emotions whirled. His fingers moved under my chin, and he gently tipped my head back so that our eyes met again.

  “Let me show you how much I love you.”

  I stared at him for many beats of my heart before I finally stood on my toes and pressed my mouth to his.

  “Show me,” I whispered on his lips. “And I’ll show you how much I love you back.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Connor sat on the floor with his back against the couch. I was between his legs, with my back against his chest, my head tilted back on his shoulder. His arms were around me, his hands squeezing and pinching the tips of my breasts. I held onto one of his arms with one hand, and my other hand was between my thighs, rubbing in a slow circular motion.

  “Now I understand the lure of vampire books and movies,” he murmured against my neck. “I have the craziest desire to bite you.”

  I managed a heated smile and tilted my head more, giving him an open invitation to bite me if he wanted to. His teeth grazed my skin, making me gasp softly.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he whispered, and squeezed my nipples harder.

  I moaned loudly, and said, “Do it.”

  He did. His teeth sank into my flesh, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave marks behind. I moaned and writhed and rubbed myself harder as he squeezed and released my nipples over and over. He sucked on me hard, with small grunts of desire as he grew harder against my ass.

  My orgasm hit me suddenly, making me cry out and push my hips off of the floor. Connor moaned as he continued to suck on my neck and manipulate my nipples. When the orgasm went on and on and became too much, I pushed his hands off of me and wrenched away
from his hungry mouth.

  He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my shoulder softly, chuckling as I shook with aftershocks in his embrace.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  “Do you shave your chest? Or are you one of those men who can’t grow hair on their chest?”

  Connor was offended, but I wasn’t sure which part of the question offended him.

  “I can too grow hair on my chest,” he said indignantly.

  I smiled up at him teasingly before planting another kiss near his nipple. “So, you shave?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Yes, I shave. In my experience, women don’t like hairy chests.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How many women are we talking about?”

  His hand smoothed over my hair. “I plead the fifth on that one, but think about it. Most of the men women go crazy over don’t have hair on their chests. Models, celebrities, rock stars.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know about that. Really, I don’t know about other women. I just know what I like, and don’t like.”

  It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You like a hairy chest?”

  “I don’t mind a hairy chest. You should let yours grow out, and we’ll see.”

  Connor smiled. “You do realize that this means you have to stick around long enough to see me in all my hairy chest glory, right?”

  Running my fingers over his stomach, I said, “I’ll be sticking around for a long time. Now. How many other women?”

  He actually rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to know that right now. While we’re both naked, and you’re lying on top of me admiring my herculean body.”

  I giggled. “It’s not herculean, but it sure is sexy.”

  “I think that was a veiled insult,” he said, frowning.