“You don’t have to do this,” I warn again, although I’m silently praying she won’t stop. My hips buck forward, her touch too gentle, too safe. She’s going to kill me with her hesitancy.
“Grip harder,” I explain, and when she does, I nearly come out of my skin.
“Like this?” My arm shakes to support me, and my knees give a little.
“You’re perfect,” I lie as she fumbles at first, then she shucks my jeans a little lower, releasing me and I can’t look. I’m going to blow too soon if I watch her examine me with curious fingers. Her pace increases. Her rhythm intensifies.
“Nae,” I choke, not knowing if I’m warning her, telling her to stop, or begging her to keep going.
“I want to do this,” she says, those innocent eyes sheepishly looking up at me. “But I’m going to be bad.”
Sweet Goddess, she has no idea how that sounds in the low rumble of her voice. My dick leaps and her grip tightens, tugging and stroking harder. With my hands supporting me on the shelf above her head again, I hold back from thrusting forward too fast. Still, my hips buck.
Keep it slow, Nathan. Let her lead this dance.
“You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart. I enjoy giving you pleasure.”
Shut up, my dick weeps. Why are you trying to talk her out of this? I don’t want her to stop but I also don’t want her to do something she’ll regret ten minutes after we finish. We’ve moved like a rocket shooting off, which is going to be me if she keeps this up.
Who knew poetry could inspire such sensuality?
“Just like that, Nae,” I whisper, rocking into her squeezing fist. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a hand job, but fuck, that’s nice, my brain sputters as her hold increases.
“Nae,” I warn, as my hip movements are beyond my control. She grasps me with inexperience and determination, a combination that makes me see stars within seconds. I unfurl, waving a flag of surrender. Tendons tighten, and invisible fingernails crawl up my back as the orgasm races to the forefront. With my fingers suddenly in her hair, I warn her again. Her name is a spell hissing from my lips.
With determination, her pressure intensifies, and I spill into her fist, releasing a build-up of denial. My forehead falls to hers as she watches my body react to her touch. It doesn’t take long before I can’t take the sensation. It tickles in a torturous way.
My hand covers her wrist to stop her movements.
“I was bad at that, wasn’t I?” she whispers and closes her eyes. Cupping her chin, I tip her face upward, but she refuses to open her lids. I kiss her, slow and grateful for what she’s given me.
Trust. Her trust in this experience.
“You’re perfect,” I remind her, pulling back as the tenderness of the kiss fills me with an ache in the pit of my stomach. I pull a bandana tucked in the back of my jeans’ pocket out and wipe off her hand. She stares down at her fingers as I swipe between them. We need a little better clean-up but the furrow to her brow has me concerned. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
Her lingering eyes close. “I don’t understand myself when it comes to you,” she whispers, her head lowers, and her wild hair curtains her cheeks.
“Try to explain it to me,” I say, stroking back her hair, brushing it behind her ear.
“I don’t want to want you like I do.” Like a sucker punch to the gut, the comment hurts. Then she looks up me, intense silver eyes gleaming. “But I think about you all the time. I don’t want to get caught up in you again and yet I’m already caught. I don’t understand why you want to date me, but I very much like you.”
Her ramblings remind me I asked for an explanation, and while slightly juvenile, I find I like what she says.
“I’ve experienced this out of control feeling one other time, with you, and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Heck, I’m thinking a whole house might be falling on me soon, but I’m hoping to outrace it and get what I want before it happens.”
“And what do you want, sweetheart?”
“I want you,” she whispers, her voice so full of desire and confusion. “Why do I want you so much?”
I can’t directly answer her any more than I can explain the attraction I have to her. But I’d like to beat my chest with pride at her admission. She wants me.
“Maybe it’s the universe telling us something.”
She shakes her head, her lips pursing as if I’m teasing her.
“Just hear me out, what if I’m right. What if somehow, we’re meant to come back together. A cataclysmic force reunited. Or unfinished business.” She just stares at me like I’ve sprung two heads and I’m painfully aware I’m still sticking out of my jeans. Hastily, I tuck myself in. “Listen, I’m not opposed to discovering what this is. Are you using my body to prove something … to yourself or to me?” She opens her mouth to interrupt me, but I continue. “I don’t care if that’s what this is. I just don’t want you to regret anything.” I already regret not calling her, but I had my reasons, and once again, the timing isn’t right to explain myself.
“I’m not using you,” she says a bit sharply. “What about you? Are you trying to make up for something? Unfinished business, like you said.” The ache in my stomach grows. That isn’t what I meant.
“I’m not trying to do anything other than get to know you better. I very much like you as well. I want to know more of you … who you are, what you like, where we’ll go next.”
Her mouth pops open but I cover her lips with two fingers.
“Don’t give up yet, sweetheart.” My fingers stroke back her hair and then gently tug, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I’m stuck on you.”
Her eyes widen. “In my hair again?” She tries to twist thinking we’re back to jewelry malfunction, but I hold her head in place, keeping her focused on my eyes.
“No, Naomi. Me. I’m stuck on you.”
Her expression softens and her lips twitch as she fights a smile.
“You’ve put a spell on me, and I don’t want it broken.” Ever, I think, but I can’t tell her that yet. My mouth comes to hers, the whisper of her name imprinted on my lips. What if I’m stuck on her until I get it right with the universe? But I find I don’t seem to mind. I don’t want to be stuck anywhere else.
“Ready for the not-official-date ice cream I promised earlier?”
“I could use a vanilla swirl dip,” she teases, her mood lightening, as she has no idea how much I’d like to dip her in a little vanilla swirl.
On Saturday night, I pick Naomi up at her house, and I’m a bundle of nerves. When I surprised her on Thursday at the poetry reading, I never expected the surprises she gave me in return. Allowing me to touch her. Her fingers touching me. I’m still on a high from the experience when I knock on her front door.
When she opens the door, her smile takes my breath away, but in her hands is a pile of fur.
“What the heck is that?” I chuckle as she steps back and allows me in.
“This is Dewey,” she says, purring at the pile in her palm. “He’s a hedgehog.”
“Dewey?” I question.
“As is in the Dewey Decimal Classification.” Her head pops up, widening in pleasure at the reference. “He looks like a decimal point when he balls up.”
“Library humor?” I tease and she chuckles as she strokes his underbelly. He doesn’t look very cuddly but he’s cute. “Is he legal?”
“In most states.” She holds him higher to bring him eye level.
“In Tennessee?”
She shrugs in response. “I suppose I should have a better therapy pet, but he was too cute to pass up when I was in Louisville at a library convention.”
“What about a cat?” I can’t help myself, and I scan the floor looking for additional animals.
“Witch humor?” she snarks. “I suppose a cat would be stereotypical, even more so as a librarian, but I don’t like cats. I wanted a sea otter but there aren’t any saltwater reservoirs in the mountains, and I read they a
re actually mean creatures.” She makes her statement so matter of fact, I laugh.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” She does. Her hair is in a fancy braid again and her dress is short and black. She doesn’t wear tights tonight but knee-high black boots, hinting at skin on her thighs. I wonder what she’d look like naked and I’m ready to skip dinner to find out, but I promised three dates, and this is officially date two. Dinner. Dancing. Maybe some pseudo-cavorting.
I’ve been inside her house before, when I picked her up for date one, but I take a moment to look around her place while I wait for her to return the hedgehog to a cage upstairs. The front room has a small couch, an overstuffed chair with a matching ottoman, and a large rocking chair in a corner. Her furnishings are primarily blue, including the rocking chair. Stacks of books rest next to the couch as does a basket with balls of yarn. A braided rug over light-gray hardwood floors centers the room, giving the space a French cottage feel.
“Bill Monroe was right. This place is like a gingerbread house.” I say to her when she returns downstairs. I’m a large man and I feel like I’m taking up a lot of space in this quaint room. “I like it. It suits you.”
“Thank you.”
I reach for her long coat and she gives me her back to help her slip it on. I lift the thick braid and free it from the coat, laying it over her shoulder.
“I love your hair.” My voice lowers and I notice her shiver. I can’t help myself and I kiss her neck which she tips to the side, allowing me more skin. “You offering me your neck like this will lead to us never leaving this room, which I’m not opposed to doing, but I promised you date number two.”
She quickly spins to face me, embarrassed by my hint of wanting more. Those eyes stare up at me.
“Naomi, I’m warning you. You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The lick-me eyes thing.”
“Oh yes, remind me again what that is.” She’s teasing me, right? Is she flirting with me? I like this side of her.
“The look you give me, like you want to lick me or want me to lick you. I’m game either way, but I think we should have dinner first.”
Her mouth pops open and it’s even more tempting to consider what she could do with those lips.
“Yes, dinner,” she says, breathless and wanton, and suddenly, I’m only hungry for her.
“Naomi,” I groan. “You want special and meaningful and I want to give it to you.” I choke on the words and then clarify. “You have to let me take you out on dates.”
She nods like she understands but she still doesn’t speak. I place a hand on her lower back and guide her to the door. No more licking discussion. Dinner.
Genie’s is packed for a Saturday night, but we’re able to secure a booth. The music is loud, and I don’t want to have to shout so I sit next to her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, eyeing me as I settle in next to her.
“I don’t want to I feel like I’m yelling at you, and I want to hold your hand.” I reach for her fingers, which are gripping the skirt of her dress. Slipping my digits between hers, I lift her hand to my mouth and press a kiss to her knuckles before lowering our collective hands to my thigh. “Better.”
I order a beer while Naomi gets a water.
“Do you never drink?” I ask, just curious about her.
“I will on Samhain and maybe Beltane.”
My brows pinch as she tells me about the two holidays relating to Fall and Spring. It’s fascinating to hear her explain her religion. My elbow rests on the table blocking out the rest of the crowd. I took her to a public place so I’d behave myself and yet my position makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the room.
Her explanation is interrupted when a waitress comes to take our dinner order. I get a giant cheeseburger while she orders a salad. I don’t want her to be one of those women—cautious and all I’m fat—on a date, but she quickly reassures me that she tries not to eat processed foods.
“Which is almost hypocritical of me, as I love a good brownie or cookie.” Note to self, I decide.
When the waitress walks away, we talk a few minutes about the Bickerton build, as it’s next to her home. Somehow this leads to the fact she didn’t grow up in Green Valley, but Cedar Gap, and then she mentions a brother, who she hasn’t spoken of before.
“He wasn’t a bad person, just did bad things. Stole motorcycles for one thing, but then he took me on rides with him. It was very freeing.”
My thumb reaches out for her lower lip, tracing over the sad smile she gives me. “I’d like to give you freeing experiences.”
She surprises me by leaning forward, quickly kissing me. It’s short and sweet, but it grounds me. My eyes remain closed a second longer as she pulls back.
“I like to think you are,” she whispers.
“Just make sure I’m the only one,” I tease but I’m totally serious. I don’t want her with other guys. I want to be the only one.
The food arrives and I order a second beer. We continue our casual talk while we eat, chatting as we have many nights the past week on the phone. When a slow song comes on, I ask her to dance. I slip out of the booth, tugging on her hand still linked with mine.
“Just follow my lead,” I assure her. I just want to hold her, but her eyes look so hesitant, so panicked. I’m about to give up when Jackson James stops at the table. Jackson is a deputy sheriff, working under his father who is the sheriff. His dad is a decent man while Jackson can be a bit of a pain in the ass.
“Miss Winters, you doing all right this evening?” Jackson hitches his waistband as if he’s wearing his uniform instead of regular blue jeans. There’s something in his tone that disconcerts me, and my eyes jump to Naomi’s, which have switched from frantic to paranoid.
“Why wouldn’t she be all right?” I ask defensively, shifting my gaze from Naomi to Jackson. He’s younger and shorter than me, yet he straightens as if to exert authority. He clearly knows something I don’t, and the protective hackles rise on the back of my neck.
“Just checking in after the other night.” Jackson winks at Naomi, insinuating something I don’t like. I drop Naomi’s hand and swivel my head to look at her.
“What’s he talking about?”
“In her yard the other night.” My eyes narrow at Jackson’s vagueness, remaining on Naomi, who lowers her face.
“Something you want to tell me, Nae?” The nickname mixed with the accusation could be insulting but the jealousy in my head is near exploding. Does she have a thing for Jackson? I know some women like a man in a uniform.
“Not really,” she says, her voice dropping as she avoids my icy glare.
“Want to clarify what the hell you’re talking about?” I address Jackson.
“The fire. Just want to make certain everything was taken care of.”
“What fire?” I turn back to Naomi feeling like a pinball wacked around in a machine.
“Um …” She glances at Jackson, but he interjects. “The one set in her yard. Don’t you worry, Miss Winters, we’ll continue to do our drive-bys until we catch whoever did it.”
“What the …” I swing my attention from Naomi to Jackson, dismissing him by saying, “Thanks for checking on her, Jackson.”
“Deputy James,” Jackson corrects me, and I tip my chin to acknowledge the title before I decide to punch him. Blindly, I reach into my jeans for my wallet, drop some bills on the table, and pick up our coats. I’m too worked up to address this issue in front of half of Green Valley, and Naomi doesn’t speak as she follows me out of the bar.
A fire? In her yard? What the hell? Who the hell?
Without a word, I open the driver’s door to my truck and help her up, then I slip in after her, forcing her to the center of the bench seat.
“Naomi, why didn’t you tell me this happened?”
“It’s nothing,” she lies, and the vibration rolling off me tells her she needs to start talking. “When I got home on Thursday ev
ening the fire was in my driveway,” she explains but the shake to her voice tells me she knows it’s something.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
Her nonchalance bothers me, and I exhale, dragging both hands down my face. Dangling one wrist over the steering wheel, I drape my other arm over the seat.
“Naomi, I like you. We’ve established this, so I worry about you. You’re free to be who you want to be, but I don’t like you dismissing this as if it’s nothing but kid’s playing around. As if it’s even okay. I think Dwight is up to something, and I don’t like it. At least you called the sheriff this time,” I huff.
“Actually, I called the fire department as I couldn’t get the fire out with just my kitchen extinguisher. Jackson arrived as well.”
“Naomi,” I groan, reaching for a twist of her hair and curling it around my finger.
“Don’t you think Dwight might be a little old to set Halloween decorations on fire?” she mocks. “It was probably just some kids.”
I’m not satisfied with this answer. “What do you mean?”
“It was one of those witches that look like they flew into a tree …” Her voice drifts as I stare at her. She doesn’t have anything like that in her yard which means it was purposefully brought to her home and set on fire. I hate that this happened to her, and I hate that it might be my fault.
“Regardless, Dwight’s not too old to threaten you. He’s a dick like that.”
Silence fills the truck, weighing thicker than the mountain mist around us.
“Come here,” I quietly command, slipping my arm from the back of the seat around her shoulders and tugging her into my chest. “I’m glad you called the fire department. Hell, I’m even glad that dweeb Jackson came to your rescue. For a moment there, I thought something else happened with him. But most of all, I’m glad you’re safe.”
“What could possibly happen with Jackson?” She scoffs into my chest, ignorant to the fact Jackson could be attracted to her. She pulls back but I don’t release her.
Love in Due Time Page 16