She presses her hands into her cheeks, eyes wide in disbelief, but there’s an undeniable joy there. “Oh my gosh, it’s so weird. I went through more of the scrapbook and we talked through some of it.” Her expression turns thoughtful before she shakes her head. “It’s just wild, is all.”
I tug on her braid to draw her into my arms again. “I missed you today.”
Her soft lips land gently on mine. “Missed you, too.” Another kiss. “But only a little because I went back to see Gene today.”
I bark out a laugh. “You did not?”
“I most definitely did,” she declares, turning back to the stove. “He’s like Willy Wonka, but with books and, you know, without the creepy tunnel boat ride.” She pulls a jar of seasoning from the cabinet. “He let me help package up a few books to ship out and, you didn’t hear it from me, but Julia Roberts’ husband is about to receive a very coveted copy ofThe Great Gatsbyas a gift.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a decent fallback in the book industry if this fashion thing doesn’t work out.” I quirk a teasing brow.
“Nah. I love reading too much to make books my job.”
“Really? I’d think that’s why you might love it.”
Shrugging, she answers, “I thought about it when I applied to NYU, but I worried it would suck the joy out of reading for me. Like, if I go behind the curtain, I might come out jaded. I’m happy to just be a lover of books.
“I love fashion in the opposite way. The weeds of the industry—following trends, shopping designers to stock a store—that’s the part I enjoy. I get to love both this way, I guess.” Gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, she contemplates her words. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“It does.”
“Unless Gene ever wants to hire me, then I might reconsider.”
“Be honest, Fish. How much did you pester him about the wild horses?”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I poke her in the ribs and the spatula she was holding drops to the counter as she hikes up a knee to block my reach.
“Connor, stop!” She breaks into a fit of giggles. I don’t stop as I continue to poke and prod with my fingers, coaxing her where I want her to go until she ends up back in my arms. The air settles on our satisfied sighs as our hearts and our bodies melt into the embrace. Ever so slightly, we begin to sway from side to side.
My person,barefoot and dancing with me in my kitchen—I recognize the moment for what it is. Something I’ve craved. Something I’ve never had with anyone else…beforeher.
Her exposed shoulder with that peek of black lace teases me. I pepper soft kisses there and then lift to meet her eyes.
The kiss begins slow and unhurried, soft hums of contentment echoed between us as we languidly explore each other’s mouths, bodies swaying. My hand cradles the back of her head while hers fists the back of my shirt. Before I know it, we’re pushing harder, breaths heavy between every pull of our lips as the kiss deepens and I press her back into the counter.
Without breaking the kiss, I turn off the stove with one hand,her body tensing in anticipation, while my other hand moves under the hem of her—my—shirt. I caress the bare skin of her stomach and her mouth opens wide, a plea for more. We fall into each other, head first.
I will never tire of kissing this woman. Euphoric and claiming, I’m completely addicted.
My palms run the bare skin of her lower back, up and down her spine. Underneath her shirt, I squeeze one breast in my hand and she rakes her nails across my shoulders, a soft moan pressed against my lips. I drag a hand up her thigh and she hikes her leg up to my waist.
Slowly, I work my thumb behind the fabric of her underwear from under the hem of her shorts. Her head falls back on a stilted breath when I sweep over her already soaked entrance.
“I wanna use my mouth.” I plunge my head toward her chest as my hand underneath her shirt peels the lace bra down to cup her bare breast. I suck the hardened nipple through the fabric and she arches into me, her palm slamming down, fingers clenched around the edge of the counter. “Can I use my mouth?”
Her head lolls forward as I run my thumb between her legs again. She whimpers, vigorously nodding in approval.
I hoist her up by her thighs and turn us to the dining area. I drop her on the table and shove the chairs aside as she sweeps the salt and pepper shakers and napkin holder out of the way. Items clattering to the ground, we giggle as our lips find each other again. I yank her forward, drawing her to the edge of the table. My shirt hangs long on her, almost completely covering the tiny shorts underneath. When my hands move up to grasp her waistband, Gretchen leans back on her palms at the ready.
“Hips up,” I command, my hooded eyes locked on hers.
I swipe her shorts and underwear over the curve of her ass and down her legs in one fell swoop, tossing them aside.
Her legs dangle off the edge of the table, the hem of my shirt resting at the apex of her thighs, still covering the area I plan to devour in a matter of seconds. Knowing that I’m the lucky bastard she let strip her from the waist down, makes me want to own her. Tomake it so good for her that she could never imagine this with anyone else.
Nerves flicker across Gretchen’s features. I stand between her legs and take her face in my hands. Like my life depends on it, I kiss her fiercely, stealing the breath from her lungs.
