He leaned a hand on the frame of the door, boxing her in. “If you say so.”
“I need to hear you say it.” She held her ground, because there was so much riding on the next few weeks and maintaining this job with him. “Nothing gets weird between us?”
“What do you think I’ll do?” he asked. “Sleep with you now and fire you Monday?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
He studied her for a long moment, then his eyes softened, along with his voice. “Nothing gets weird, Emi. I promise. And I might not be the kind of guy you’d bring home to Dad, but I never go back on my word.”
“Then no second thoughts.” And no ditching out before she had her fun. “I was just wondering if I should pick the wall next to the fireplace or the shower, then I remembered my body soap is green, so maybe wall?”
“Smart-ass,” he said, his hands skimming down her dress as he walked her back a few inches and the door gave way. Suddenly they were inside, the door kicked shut, and even though it was completely dark, she could feel the fire of Dax’s gaze, his warm breath as he ate up the remaining distance.
“You like it when I’m a smart-ass,” she challenged.
“I like it better when you’re a naked smart-ass,” he said, slipping his jacket off her shoulders and continuing to guide her backward, past the couch, the table, and into the kitchen.
“Admit it, you’re just a fan of my ass.”
“I need to do a thorough investigation before I can make that endorsement.” His hands slid up her thighs, slowly over her tush, giving it a little squeeze, then all the way up her back. Her body tingled with every inch his fingers rose. When he got to her shoulders, he lowered his hands back down, only she heard the whisper of her zipper going with them. Felt his world-roughened fingertips following the long descent of the dress.
Then her dress pooled to the floor and his hands palmed her ass, molding and shaping it, even tracing the seam of her silk panties from the back, then—oh, sweet baby Jesus—the front.
“Still not sure?” she asked, a millimeter away from a complete meltdown.
“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, taking a cheek in each hand and scooping her up and setting her on the really cold wood surface of the kitchen table. She squeaked and then he flicked on the light. “I just needed a moment to really compare.”
His gaze raked over her, taking her all in as she sat on the table, splayed out for his viewing pleasure. He paused on her garter belt, then flashed her a grin that was all trouble, causing her pulse to skyrocket and her mouth to go dry. Everything else went wet, because that was all it took. A single flash of his teeth and that slow burn deep in her belly was lit.
“The shower’s that way.” She pointed down the hall, wondering how this had already spiraled out of her control.
“I can’t appreciate you fully in the shower.” She reached over to flip the light switch and he caught her hand. “Or with the lights off.”
She imagined he used that commanding tone when he was giving out orders. It sure made her want to take direction. “You can’t appreciate anything because I’m sitting.”
He laughed low and gravelly, sounding very male and very amused. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Emi.” To prove it, he rested his palms on either side of her and leaned forward. Her lips parted in anticipation, desperate for his touch. But at the last minute he dipped his head to run his tongue over the lace trim of her bra, then sucked her aching bud into his mouth.
“Dax,” she moaned, her head falling back to give him better access. Access that he took full advantage of, teasing and nipping until she forgot what they were arguing about.
A fact she was certain he knew, because she felt him smile against her skin, and he kissed his way down her belly, making it quiver the farther south he journeyed. “A man can’t enjoy dessert in the shower,” he said and she felt his words vibrate against her skin. “He wants to feast slowly, take his time to savor and enjoy.”
His statement was as alpha as they came. Confident and assured, with enough cockiness that she had no doubt he would deliver on his promise. And then some. Plus, his teeth were nipping at the lace along the upper edge of her garter belt, causing that slow burn to turn into a wildfire.
Then, without warning, he planted one final kiss, so close to home she wanted to weep with relief, until he pulled away.
Emerson’s eyes flew open, and it took her a moment to gain her wits and realize that he was sitting on a kitchen chair, making himself comfortable.
“What are you doing?”
“What I’ve wanted to do since I woke up in San Francisco and found you gone.” He gently took her ankle and placed it on his thigh. Then the other, giving them both a little squeeze, telling her to leave them there. As if she could possibly move.
Her mind went fuzzy when, with a masterful flick of the fingers, he let the clip open on her fishnets, hooked his thumbs in them, and slowly slid them over her knees, down her calves, and finally off. “Actually I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you walk out in this dress tonight. But this,” he said, eyeing her barely there silk panties. “This I have been dreaming about for months.”
Emerson watched breathlessly as he lowered his head to brush his mouth along the inside of her thigh, sliding ever so slowly up to the lower edge of her panties, where he gave a sexy tug with his teeth, then a more deliberate one with his fingers. As he pulled the silk down, his lips followed, kissing every inch of skin he exposed.
Dropping her panties to the floor, he looked up at her through his lashes. “Ready, Emi?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, instead sliding his hands beneath her bottom and dragging her forward until she was teetering on the edge of the table. Then, without breaking eye contact, Dax slid his soft tongue all the way up her center.
And his mouth? His mouth was everything he’d promised: diligent, skilled, deadly accurate—and equipped with teeth that had her worked up in a complete frenzy in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
Dax was also the ultimate tease, keeping the pace slow and purposeful, taking her higher and higher without letting her crash. But there was something reverent about the way he held her hip, the way his thumb slid back and forth over her stomach, offering her comfort and connection.
His big, calloused fingers slid up her leg, then one slipped between, while he thoroughly took her apart, stroke by stroke, slowly driving her out of her mind until her heart was pounding against her rib cage and her need was so intense it ached. The harder she reached, the further away she seemed to be. Then she heard herself begging.
“Dax, please.”
“Please what, Emi?”
“Please,” she breathed. “Now.”
She could have sworn he said, “Now what?” Or maybe that was him chuckling, but the big jerk didn’t please her anything. He just kept feasting and teasing as if he had no intention of ever letting her come.
“Now,” she said, tightening her legs. “No more foreplay. I need you in me now.”
“You can boss me around all you want, Emi,” he said against her burning flesh, and yup, he was chuckling—and slowing down. “But in my world, it’s ladies first. Always.”
And true to his word, he slid in a second finger, his sniper skills coming in handy, allowing him to hit the target.
“Do that again,” she said, realizing she was bossy.
“That?” Another bull’s-eye and her body tightened.
“Oh yeah, just like that.” Because bossy be damned, she was so close to an orgasm. When he did it again, her core coiled to ride that fine line between pain and pleasure. He gave a final pass, and her body arched up against his mouth and she exploded around him, her hips jerking with sweet release.
She had no clue how long she lay there, but when the aftershocks faded she fluttered her eyes open to find herself flat on her back and Dax standing over her, a forearm on either side of her head. His tattoos were taut and flexed as he held himself above her, and he was
wearing a slow, sexy smile.
And nothing else.
Dax was naked. Completely and gloriously naked.
“Are we going to the shower now?” she asked when she was able to breathe.
“Oh, no. That’s dessert. We still have the main course.” He pinned her to the table with his deliciously hard body, running his hands down her sides, molding them to her butt.
He smelled good, felt even better, and when he leaned down and whispered, “Wrap your legs around me, Emi,” she did as she was told, because even though he could be bossy too, she wasn’t rude enough to point it out.
He gave her a devastating kiss, thorough and slow, building the heat, and she decided she liked him bossy. Because he rose in one fluid motion with her in his arms, and when they settled he was sitting on the chair and she was straddling his lap. She slid forward, rolling her hips so his hard ridge pressed against her sensitive flesh.
“A man has to sit to feast?” she guessed, then remembered his injury. “Or is it your knee?”
He laughed. “It’s not my knee that’s the problem, trust me.” At her confused expression, he took her face in his hands and whispered, “Baby, I have to sit because with you I have a hard time finding my footing.”
The honesty in his statement shook her. So did the undertone of affection she heard in his voice. Lust, fun, passion. Those emotions she could handle. They were basic and singular in nature. That’s what she’d signed up for. Not this weird fluttering that was happening in her chest.
She opened her mouth to say something light, something flippant to get them back on the same page—the page that ended come morning—but he was kissing her again, long, intoxicating kisses that scattered every last thought from her mind. And reminded her of why she’d chosen him.
Dax was a temporary kind of guy. Perfect, since she was temporary’s newest best friend. So when he leaned to reach for the condom he’d set on the table, she took it from his hands and, acting like a girl who did this all the time, ripped the foil.
“The rule at my house is—”
“There’s a rule?”
“Oh, you’ll like this one. I promise.” She moved enough to slide the condom over him, giving a little stroke and squeeze in the process. Then she laced her arms around his neck and tightened her legs until she was pressed up against him. “No one leaves the table until everyone is finished.”
“Best rule I’ve ever heard,” he said, running his hands up each rib to caress the underside of her breasts. With a little tug the lace came down, propping them up on display. “Almost as good as this look on you.”
His arms went around her, tight and unyielding, pulling her to him as he kissed her. Hard and all-consuming, he devoured her mouth. His hands roamed her body, his tongue traced the seam of her lip, her neck, even her breast as his grip tightened around her waist and lifted her to his mouth.
He had her on the brink and shuddering in less than two seconds. She was so caught up in the feel of his stubble rasping against her flesh that she gasped when he entered her in one slick, long thrust.
Dax groaned and held still as if savoring the moment. Emerson was savoring it too. Savoring how full she felt, how free.
Then she opened her eyes and saw him watching her, and she knew what else she felt. Connected. He must have felt it too because he didn’t move for a long moment.
Eyes on her, he guided her up, then back down, setting the pace. Taking them to exactly where they both wanted to be, and her further and further away from the soul-deep exhaustion that had become her life, until her grief and responsibilities melted away and all she could do was feel.
Feel Dax and their insane sexual connection.
Wanting more, she slid her arms around his neck and they moved together, skin to skin; the friction of their bodies was what she was seeking. Even then she needed more—more connection, more contact, more Dax.
She buried her face in his neck and breathed him in.
As if he could read her body, he deepened the thrusts, one hand sliding up to cradle her head to him, the other slipping under to stroke her swollen flesh. And she was gone.
The orgasm took her over and she clenched around him, screaming out his name, blissfully floating toward heaven. With one last thrust, Dax let out a rough groan and came with her.
His cheek rested on her head and they both sat there for a moment, breathing hard and holding on tight, as though if they let go it would all be over. Things would go back to the way they were before they’d entered her house.
Except that was what they’d agreed on.
Dax’s hands slowly ran up and down her spine, making her want to snuggle in closer. But that might be mistaken for being in this for the long haul, so she gave him a nudge and pushed back. “I still have my bra on.”
“Not for long.” He reached out and, poof, her bra fell to the floor. He looked at his handiwork and smiled. “Wouldn’t want it to get ruined in the shower.”
Monday morning, Dax slept through his alarm clock for the first time since basic training. He woke feeling relaxed, rested, and nightmare-free. Great sex seemed to be the cure his doctors had been looking for. He’d see if Kyle could write him up a prescription. Maybe it would change Emerson’s whole one-night stance. He hoped so, because it had been twenty-four hours since Emerson pointed out the sun was up and their night over, then kicked him out—and he could still taste her on his lips.
Pulling on his running shoes and a pair of sweats, he headed toward the Silverado Trail, where he was meeting Adam for a “therapeutic” jog. Last night a cold front had moved through and the early morning frost had yet to burn off, but the thick scent of harvested grapes hung in the air.
Adam was at their meeting spot in some matching name-brand ensemble, stretching like a playboy, when Dax sprinted up.
“I thought the point to this morning was to ease into things,” Adam said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “So that you don’t blow all the hard work the surgeon did in San Diego.”
“Are we talking easing in army terms or fire department? Because I’m not doing any of that prissy shit.” Dax waved a hand in Adam’s direction.
“You mean like handing out dildos with built-in laser pointers?”
Point taken. “I’m just saying you run with empty hoses, we run with telephone poles. Just want to make sure you can keep up.”
“I would have thought you’d be nicer after Saturday. You were actually making headway with the cute cart girl.” Adam turned his ball cap backward and studied him. “Unless you didn’t get any.”
Dax ignored this and took off in a hard jog, because that wasn’t the problem. He’d gotten plenty. It was a steaming, mouthwatering, three-course affair. Only just like the first time, come daybreak it wasn’t enough.
Adam easily caught up, which meant Dax was in worse shape than he’d thought. They jogged in silence, following the same route they’d done when they were kids and he was training for the day he could enlist. Only the farther they went, the more he thought about the other night.
“You’re pouting,” Adam said, then stopped and laughed, resting his hands on his knees. And just when Dax thought he was laughing at him, Adam laughed some more. “No way, you like Cute Cart Girl.”
He did. He liked the crazy cart cutie. She was funny, quirky, sexy, and tough. Her entire world had been buried with her mother, yet she kept pushing forward, even carrying the added weight of her family without complaint. Never once allowing the extra baggage or unfairness of it all to take her under.
Then the other night, she’d dropped the tough-girl act and showed him her soft edges, and man, soft looked good on her. Almost as good as Emerson looked on him.
“I’m not pouting,” Dax said.
He was strategizing.
Dax was doing his daily PT in the gym off the kitchen when he heard a knock at the door. It was prickly and impatient, which meant Emerson was early. He glanced out the window but didn’t see her car.
The
knock sounded again, followed by a text on his phone. He grabbed his phone, read the screen, and laughed.
I know you’re home.
He texted back.
Are you stalking me?
His phone buzzed immediately.
That would be weird. And we promised no weirdness. Remember?
Oh, he remembered. And nothing about it felt weird to him. He texted back.
Knock knock . . . You say “who’s there?”
To which she replied:
Seriously? Just open the door.
Dax found himself smiling.
It’s unlocked.
He gave a few rapid curls to make the tats stand out, then set down the weights and, ignoring his shirt, grabbed a rag off the bench to at least clean the sweat off his face when he saw the front door burst open.
Emerson stormed inside, her flame-covered Converse squeaking on the wood floors as she stalked the length of the house and right up to him. She was sporting another one of those fantasy-inspiring leather skirts, a black tank that did nothing to hide her curves, and enough anger to singe his nuts off. She also had a canvas grocery bag in hand.
“My dad just called me,” she said, her eyes sparking with fury. “Do you know why?”
He had an idea. Not that she gave him time to answer.
“It seems someone”—she set down the bag to throw up jabby air quotes—“from Baudouin Vineyard called him and asked him to come in for an interview tomorrow.”
“Good for him.” Dax crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the door frame, waiting for the bad part of her story. Because he knew if Roger was interested, the job would be his. He knew this because he’d called his grandpa that morning and asked him for a favor.
“It’s for a tasting room manager position,” she said dramatically. “My dad has never even gone wine tasting!”
Dax still didn’t see the problem. Most women would be thanking him, and even though he knew Emerson wasn’t most women—hell, she was unlike any woman he’d ever met—he still hadn’t anticipated this kind of response. “Well, he lucked out then, Baudouin wines are the best in the valley.”
Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) Page 15