Page 8 of Bookworm
I’m sure Russia needs teachers.
God, what am I thinking? This t-shirt is barely hanging on. What kind of respectable woman pulls this kind of thing?
I try to remember Morgan’s pep talk, but I’m interrupted by a deep voice.
“You’re up late.” Holt clears his throat and stares down at his plate before glancing up at me again.
Oh God. Thethoughtof doing this, and therealityof doing it, are two completely different events. I cover myself up as best I can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”
Lies!What kind of monster am I? No. I have to own this. What would a romance heroine do? Would she cower, or would she take the man she wants?
“Don’t be sorry.” Holt pulls out a chair beside him. “Sit and keep me company. I’m driving myself crazy with indecision about this rodeo thing. I need to get out of my head. By the way, thank you for dinner. It’s delicious. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you go back to your real life. I’m getting used to these fancy meals.”
“It’s just crock pot stew. You don’t need to get excited… but thank you. Your cabin really feels like a home to me.” I trace my finger along the edge of the sugar container still in the center of the table and stare toward Holt. Do people havesecurity objects?If they do, I call sugar container.
His eyes gaze toward mine as he bites into the apple hand pie that I wrapped for him. “Well, I have to say, it hasn’t felt like a home in a long time. I think it might be you making it feel that way.”
My heart swells and warms. I’d do anything to be that hand pie right now. Wrapped up warm in his big, calloused hand as he angles me into his mouth. My clit throbs, and my nipples harden at the thought of it.
Why does he have to be so handsome? He’s not built like he spends hours in the gym. He has the body of a working man. Strong shoulders and bulking biceps from hauling feed bags and bales of hay. I wouldn’t mind being either of those as he tosses me across the mattress and has his way with me.
I laugh to myself at the thought. I really need to get a grip. He’s clearly complimenting my food, not my eyes or the shoulder I have hanging out.
“I saw you reading a book last night.” His voice is low and graveled, and the sound alone sends a shock of arousal straight through me. “Anything good?”
“It was a romance novel. I swing from everything geeky to everything romantic. It’s an obsession. I love being at the library so much. I get to see all the books people choose. Do you do any reading?”
“Does the back of a feed bag count?” He grins and runs his big palm over his beard. “Not much time for reading these days. I’d like to hear more about your book, though.” His eyes are on me so intently, that I think they may be burning a hole in my face, but I like the heat and I stare back at him, sparks flying everywhere.
I hope he feels them, too.
Howling winds cut through the eaves of the house and my eyes go to the window of white in the kitchen. The storm picked up. I’d bet we have another foot or two of snow on the horizon, but the storm could be a world away as I focus on Holt’s energy.
I inch my hand toward his. It’s a subtle move, but one that I figure could double for anything. I could be reaching for his plate to clear it, or I could be getting him a fresh glass of milk. It could be anything… but it’s not. It’s not anything. I want my hand in his. I want our bodies against one another.I want him.
Holt’s massive, inked hand rests on top of mine, his gaze still on me hard and heavy. “Did you wear that out here on purpose?” His voice is deep. “Did you want me to see you like this?”
My heart slams against my chest and I nod, biting my lower lip, completely unsure of what I’m getting myself into. His question is so poignant and I’m not sure how he means it. He could be insulted that I’m dressed so scantly in front of him.
He stands from the table, unfolding his body until he’s towering over me, reaching for my hand. I’ve never been this close to him. From here, he smells like cedar and bales of hay.
When I scan his body for the source of his musk, I begin to feel our size difference. I’m not a tiny thing, but standing next to him, I’m dwarfed. It’s only now that I realize how strong he must be.
A second goes by, maybe two. He bends down and grips the back of my neck and kisses me hard. His tongue dives into my mouth and he growls out inside of me as though he’s an unchained animal taking what he needs.
I love it. I want to be taken. I want to be needed. My panties soak and my clit throbs hard.
He leans me back on the clear end of the table and bends over me, touching my throat, my breasts, my stomach, and my thighs. His touch is heavy and rough, but careful and focused.
“You wanted me to see all this soft, pale skin… didn’t you, trouble?” He bends down and pulls my tits from the break in my t-shirt, palming his big hands over each one before bending into run his tongue over the tips.
“Trouble?”
He groans into my neck. “That’s what you are, right? A sweet, little ball of trouble? I’ve been trying to deny whatever it is I’m feeling, but you’re out here enticing me, aren’t you?”
My clit throbs as his warm, heavy breath tickles my ear. Why do I like being histrouble?Why do I want to hear him say it over and over again? Preferably while he’s thumping inside of me and spreading me wide.
“Maybe I am.” My hips rock against his and for the first time the hard ridge of his cock is apparent. This is real. He’s real. He’s turned on by me. The hottest man I’ve ever seen is somehow turned on by me. How does that happen?