I let myself revel in that grin for a minute before I responded, “Actually, I think you’re reading way too much into this. He probably had something in his eye.”
“Seriously?” Gavin actually sounded kind of annoyed.
“What?”
“You don’t know how hot you are, do you?”
Aaand, cue embarrassing blush.
I felt his eyes on me even though I was staring straight ahead. “You’re just proving my point, you know.”
“Shut up and drive,” I muttered, making him laugh.
By the time we pulled in my driveway, my face had returned to a shade that wouldn’t halt traffic. Gavin didn’t ask if he was coming in, and I refused to think about it too hard. Everyone we knew had seen us together and assumed we were an item. Not to mention, I was sixteen kinds of attracted to him and I knew he liked me. What could it hurt if I just spent a little more time with the guy?
I unlocked the door and he followed me in, carrying our takeout trash directly to the kitchen. I trailed him, and just the sight of Gavin near my kitchen island brought back all kinds of feelings…hot feelings. Tingly feelings. Feelings I wouldn’t mind experiencing again if I were being honest.
“What I wouldn’t give to know the thoughts running through your head right now.”
I started, not realizing he’d been looking at me. Oh, lord. I probably looked like some kind of dog in heat. He was leaning against the counter by the refrigerator, blatantly checking me out and looking so flipping gorgeous and casual with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Before I could think, I said the first thing that popped in my head. “Sandwiches.”
It was his turn to jerk his head back in surprise. The smirk dropped from his face—smug hot guy, assuming he knew what I was thinking about. Take that!
“Yeah.” I brought a hand to my hip as if to add some credence to my claim. “I was thinking of making sandwiches.”
“You were?”
“Yes.” Defensive much, Emerson?
“And this is because you didn’t get enough to eat in the car?” He hooked a thumb toward the door we’d just walked through. “You know, about ten minutes ago.”
God. How in the world did I make a good attorney when I was so incredibly abysmal at thinking on my feet? It had to be Gavin. He rattled the hell out of me.
“I thought lawyers were supposed to be better liars than that,” Gavin said, practically echoing my own thoughts as he stepped closer, grin back in place, eyes practically sparkling with mirth. Fudge. How was I supposed to fight that? I could almost hear Ari’s voice in my head yelling, “You don’t! You jump him instead!”
I obviously wasn’t going to jump him, but I was thinking the fight was over, and Mr. Baseball had just won.
He didn’t stop his advance, and I stood my ground, refusing to chicken out. I was a twenty-nine-year-old woman who had every right to engage in whatever the heck I felt like with another consenting adult. I didn’t need to feel worried or ashamed or anything but the heat in my belly and the thrum of my pulse in my neck. And if the kisses we’d shared were any indication, I was going to enjoy the ever-loving hell out of whatever Gavin and I did together.
When his hand reached out to wrap around the side of my neck, I willed my nerves and those damn monkeys to settle and let any doubt or trepidation drain away so I could, for once in my life, just live in the moment and take a chance. Gavin’s eyes burned into mine, and then I lost sight of them as his mouth crashed down on mine and I was lost in the feel of his lips on mine and his tongue against my own.
How had I never realized how awesome kissing was? This was amazing. I could feel it down to my toes as they curled inside my sneakers and electricity zinged along my spine, landing with a zap in the center of my womb. Gavin’s kisses reached every part of my body and had me moving against him involuntarily—instinctually. There was nothing mechanical about this joining of mouths and bodies as there had always been in my past experiences. I had assumed there was something wrong with me or that other people overexaggerated when speaking of their sexual adventures. It turned out all I’d needed all along was somebody who knew what they were doing. Either that, or whatever chemistry Gavin and I were sparking. It was ironic this was all coming from a guy I’d figured to be too young to take seriously. If this situation proved anything, it was that Gavin Monroe was seriously good at making out.
I hardly realized we were moving until I felt the wall at my back and Gavin’s hand move to my thigh, hitching it up along his waist. I took the hint in no time and matched the position with my other leg, at which point his hands grabbed my butt and didn’t let go.
“God, I love your ass.” He squeezed and murmured the words into my neck. I locked my ankles behind his back as he pressed in.
“Thank you. I love your wrists,” I said in response, my hormonal high rendering me a blathering idiot.
I felt his smile against my neck and silently thanked him for not calling me on my ridiculous statement. Instead, I leaned my head back on a groan and gave him better access.
At the sound, he abruptly turned us and began walking with me wrapped around him like a pretzel. I didn’t care where he was taking me at that point. It could have been outside to the lawn for all I cared. I just needed him to keep doing what he was doing so I could keep feeling the delicious tingles all over and through my body. This sex stuff was awesome, and we hadn’t even removed our clothes! I had the fleeting urge to write a letter to my past sexual partners telling them to sign up for Gavin Monroe’s “How to Do It Right” class because they’d all clearly been doing it very wrong.
It turned out Gavin was not taking me outside, but instead to my bedroom, some internal homing beacon having led him directly there without my assistance. Not that I would have been much help at this point anyway. His hardness was pressing into the perfect spot between my legs and I was shifting restlessly against him, needing more. More of what, I couldn’t decide, but I just knew I needed it. I moaned his name, not even recognizing my own voice as it bubbled up my throat in a breathy plea.
“Jesus.” I heard him say just as he lowered me to the bed, remaining firmly on top of me in the process. Which was a good thing, because if he had tried to remove himself, I probably would have tackled him to the ground to maintain contact. What in God’s name was coming over me?
I threaded my fingers through his hair as he continued to kiss and nip down my neck until his mouth hit the barrier of my t-shirt’s crew neck.
“Off,” he said, sparing no time for complete sentences. Who needed grammar when there was amazing sex to be had? I mean, I was assuming it would be amazing—I was pretty much assuming Gavin was good at everything at this point.
He lifted off me for the split second it took for him to pull my shirt over my head, and then his mouth was everywhere. I didn’t have time to worry about the sweat from the game that had surely dried on my skin, or the size of my breasts, or the freckles that dotted my chest. There was just his lips on me and the smell of grass and sweat from his hair that acted as some kind of aphrodisiac for me as I breathed it in and tried to memorize it.
My bra somehow disappeared without me realizing it—undoubtedly due to Gavin’s magic hands. But I didn’t care because my nipple was in his mouth, and his teeth and tongue were doing unbelievable things to it—things that revealed a theretofore unknown nerve channel that ran directly from my nipple to my vagina. It disregarded the presence of all my internal organs and drove straight lines through me, connecting all my erogenous zones and making my body light on fire.
“Oh, God,” I moaned, my fingers tripping over the muscles of his back and shoulders as he shifted over me and switched to my other breast. In a move that was completely unlike me, I pulled on his shirt until his bare skin was revealed to my fingertips. Then I impatiently tugged it over his head, sighing disappointedly when the motion caused his lips to lift from my breast. Luckily, he seemed just as eager as I was to get his mouth back to business.
&nbs
p; I felt one of his hands slide between our bodies and easily undo the button of my jeans before sliding the zipper down. I hadn’t fully allowed myself to contemplate the gravity of the entire encounter until that moment. I must have tensed involuntarily because his hand stilled.
I was about to have sex with Gavin Monroe. I didn’t have sex with men unless we were in a committed relationship. How had I let it get to this point? What had happened to the numerous dates ending in chaste kisses? The gradual transition to light petting and then to a bit heavier, eventually leading to the bedroom after a few months had passed? Months. Not days.
This wasn’t me!
A tiny voice in my head—one that had clearly been talking to my boobs—offered up a conflicting viewpoint. But it could be you, the voice said.
Indeed.
While my mind had been racing, Gavin had brought his head up. His eyes were heavy with desire, but there was also concern in his expression. I bit my lip, knowing this was the moment of decision. If I did this, did that make me a slut? If I didn’t, did that make me a tease? I didn’t want to be either one—I just wanted to be Emerson. Oh, God, why didn’t life have an instruction manual? I mean, really, it would make things so much easier.
Chapter Twenty
Don’t Diss the Woobie
GAVIN
Emmy’s brain was running a mile a minute, that was clear from just looking at her. I saw those flushed cheeks and hooded eyes, but indecision was written all over her face.
“Emmy, we don’t have to do this. Just say the word and this is as far as we’ll go.” I gestured down with my chin. “I’m very happy to concentrate my attention on areas we’ve already covered, believe me.” I went for a light tone so she’d stop worrying. But her bottom lip was still clutched between her teeth, and her brow was creased.
She finally let her gaze fall to the side, her arms still wound around my back, her firm tits pressed against my chest. I had never coerced an unwilling woman and I never would. I was about to change positions so I could button her jeans back up, when her eyes came back to me.
“No.” She motioned to the bed and then to me. “It’s just that I’ve never done this.”
Holy fuck. I felt the blood drain from my face. She was a virgin? How was that even possible in this day and age?
Her urgent tone cut into my panic. “No! That’s not what I meant. Of course I’ve done…it.”
I wasn’t convinced if she couldn’t even say the word, so I eyed her warily as she continued.
“I’ve just always been in a long-term relationship with the guy. I hardly even know you.” She gestured wildly with her hand, almost catching me in the face.
I felt a bit put out by that statement. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve even stopped counting the number of dates we’ve been on.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Showing up randomly at my house and kissing me in my kitchen isn’t a date, Gavin.”
“Sure it is.” I gave a shrug and then rolled off her so I was laying on my side, my head propped up in my hand. This gave me a perfect view of her naked breasts. I resisted the urge to reach out for a touch. When my eyes came back to her face, I noted her gaze was on my chest and travelling downward by the second. I grinned and the movement brought her eyes back to my face. She shook her head, as if trying to gather her thoughts again.
Her protest continued. “And neither is playing softball with my bosses and my arch-rival.”
“Now, wait a minute.” I pulled my chin back in shock. “I got to first, second, and third base. I could have hit a home run, I just didn’t want to be greedy. That, my friend, is a date.”
She shoved my chest, but the crease in her brow loosened and her lips tipped up. I fell on my back, pretending she’d knocked me over. “So violent,” I teased.
“I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Then stop beating me up. It’s a total turn-on, just so you know.” I propped myself back up.
She growled. I grinned, letting my eyes wander.
“I’m obviously attracted to you,” she admitted and then suddenly seemed to remember she was topless. She quickly—and tragically—pulled a blanket over her gorgeous tits.
I sighed as she continued, “I just don’t think I see this relationship going anywhere, and I’ve never thrown caution to the wind and just gone on primal instinct. I’m more of a…planner.”
I had to admit, that stung. I mean, she’d told me she didn’t have time for a relationship, what with her work obligations and the new responsibility of being Jay’s guardian. But I still thought I could make her change her mind. And I was busy too. It wasn’t like I was asking her to marry me or anything. At least I was open to possibilities, though. She’d already made up her mind that this wasn’t going anywhere.
I was mentally forming my response when I did a double take at the blanket she’d used to unfairly hide her goods from me. It was green and fuzzy and—no, my eyes hadn’t deceived me—had small pink pigs sewn all over it. I opened my mouth, completely forgetting what I’d been about to say.
“Um, are those…pigs?”
Emmy’s eyes flashed down to her body as she registered my words, and her face, already flushed from our activities, flamed an even darker shade. She flung the blanket off and onto the floor as if it were on fire. Then, realizing she’d exposed herself again, she frantically looked around for something else before futilely pulling at the covers I was laying on. The motions only served to jostle the very items she was attempting to hide, and I decided to take over.
I rolled onto her again and brought her arms over her head, holding them in place with my hands. “Emmy?” I asked slowly and deliberately. “Do you have a pig blanket?”
She sealed her lips together and shook her head vehemently. Her wild auburn locks had come loose from the ponytail and were spread all around her. She looked like every fantasy I’d ever had.
I nodded. “See now, I think you’re lying. I have a very clear memory of a pig blanket.”
She strained her arms, trying to break free. I didn’t let her.
“If you don’t feel like we know each other very well, here’s a great opportunity to remedy that,” I suggested. “Tell me about the pig blanket, Emerson. I can’t express to you exactly how eager I am to hear this.”
She scowled at me, keeping her lips sealed.
“Oh, and feel free to blush all you want. You know how much that turns me on.” I grinned. Yeah, I was a bit of an ass. But this was priceless. This woman had vehemently stressed how important it was to maintain the image of a serious adult, all the while cuddling up with a special pig blankie at night. It meant she had a chink in her armor. It meant she had a tender spot and wasn’t so rigid. It meant I had a chance.
“Fine!” she finally huffed. “I have a woobie!”
That made me throw my head back and laugh.
“Shut up and let me go!”
I looked down at her, still laughing. “Not until you say, ‘My name is Emerson Scott and I have a fuzzy pig woobie.’”
She shot daggers at me, her mouth pinched. Finally, the words escaped. “My name is Emerson Scott and I happily confess to the murder of Gavin Monroe by suffocation with a fuzzy pig woobie.”
I had tears in my eyes from laughter at this point, but I swear I felt myself fall half-way in love with this woman as I watched her face and heard those words fall from her lips.
What can I say? I’m easy.
Needless to say, we didn’t have sex. And I was completely fine with that. My cock? Not so much. But the evening ended up being one of the best I could remember. We talked, we made out, we cooled down, we had a late dinner, and we made out some more. Then we both fell asleep in our jeans, covered with the pig blanket—which I had to admit was damn comfy.
And I found out the origin of the Emmy’s childhood blanket. It was the only gift she could ever remember receiving from her dad that was purely frivolous and entirely girly. I was sure that revealed a lot more than she wanted me to kn
ow, but I held onto the knowledge just the same.
“Sugar!”
That single, strange word was the thing that woke me. Not Emmy shaking my shoulder like she was attempting to revive a dead person. I lifted my hand to stop her before she dislocated something. So violent, that one.
“Watch the shoulder. Do you want to break it again?” She’d discovered my scars from the motorcycle accident during her thorough exploration of my skin last night. I gave her the short version of the story, playing it down so things didn’t get too heavy. “What’s wrong?” I asked on a yawn.
“We fell asleep!” She said in an urgent whisper.
I kept my eyes closed and tried to roll over. “I sometimes do that in bed. It’s perfectly normal. I promise.”
The shaking resumed. I opened my eyes and turned to look at her. She sat next to me in bed, a white tank top covering her, but doing a very poor job of hiding her nipples. This shirt was now my favorite.
I motioned for her to come closer. “C’mere. I have something to show you.”
“Stop it,” she hissed. “We have to get you out of here before Jay wakes up.”
That’s what this vicious wake-up call was all about?
“Seriously?”
She just nodded and gestured for me to get my ass moving.
“Emmy, the kid’s fifteen. He won’t be up until noon at the earliest. And, speaking of fifteen, I’m pretty sure he already assumes we’re having sex—which, I might note, we aren’t.”
She gasped. “That is totally untrue. Fifteen-year-olds don’t think like that.” She frowned. “Do they?”
I nodded. “I’m around them a lot. Trust me.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I’m his sister and his guardian. I’m supposed to be setting a good example, and having you—a man I’ve been seeing for a nanosecond; a man who’s his coach, no less—spend the night in my bed is not the bar I want to set!”
I let the unintended dig slide because I knew she wasn’t going to like what came out of my mouth next. “I hate to break it to you, Emmy, but that ship sailed the minute his friend dropped him off last night. Correct me if I’m wrong, but my Jeep in your driveway is a pretty big tip off.”
The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 18