I swallow, ignoring the sudden emotional cramp in my side. “Well… thank you, I think.” I smile as I fold a pair of Archie’s school shorts. “And thank you for the chili dogs.”
He wags a finger at me as he sinks into the couch, getting more comfortable as he goes to town on yet another towel. The man has already folded three. And they’re perfect. “Careful. In a couple of hours, a house full of people who ate chili… you could be cursing me.”
I can’t help but smile, and laugh to boot. “Was that… a fart joke?” I ask, feigning shock. “A fart joke on our first date?” I drape a hand to my chest, clutching my proverbial pearls. “Dean McAllister, you’re bad,” I tease.
He winks, and my pussy pulses. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, mama.”
Dean lowers the laundry basket to the floor, loops his long, strong arm around my waist, and yanks metoward him. Our hips bump and I let out a laugh in response, almost feeling silly for the eruption because… I’m a thirty seven year old mom of three. Do I have any business giggling on the couch with a hot cowboy?
Hovering feet above me because of his sheer size, Dean smiles, and pats my leg. “There we are,” he says simply, as if it’s obvious.
“What?” I ask, trying desperately to make my voice normal, not raspy and thin like I’m about to hump the arm chair. I'm so horny.
“I finally get to sit right next to you.” He reaches for the remote, and turns the TV on, lowering the volume to a dull hush. “I’ve been wanting to sit close to you all night.” He takes a beat, contemplative, his eyes searching mine. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve been wanting to get close to you for a long time.”
If I ducked my head between my knees and looked, I very well may find a wet spot there. I swallow against the truth lodged into my throat. I want Dean, but I haven’t been able to have an orgasm in years. Maybe it would be different with him, but maybe it wouldn’t and I’m totally broken? The fear dances through my mind, virile and bright, making me shudder.
Dean’s eyebrows pull together and he pats my thigh, leaving his hand there to slowly trace circles right below my knee. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, Clara June?”
“Nothing,” I lie, or, actually, I’d prefer to think of it as stalling instead of lying. If things continue to bloom between us, I’ll tell Dean all about my problems. About my poor broken vagina, or, alternatively, about my angry, defeated clit. I’ll tell him how I can get all the way to the finish line, but never across. I will tell him. “Just thinking… we should move slowly, you know?”
I don’t want to move slow. I actually would like to packageslowup in a box, duct tape it shut, travel to the biggest bridge, and launch it to its untimely death.
But if Dean calls things off when he finds out I’m all… well,all cat and no purr, then he’ll surely and most reasonably stop things. Who wants a girlfriend that can’t have an orgasm? I would understand. I definitely would.
Dean nods his head, then takes his hat off, resting it atop the pile of folded towels. He tugs his hand through his flaxen hair, the ends curling against his neck in that way I love. “Clara June, it kind of scares me to think that if Tanner didn’t play ball, I’d never have run into you.”
Embarrassment licks at my cheeks, but I reach into the basket, snatching a pair of Spiderman underwear. Dean’s hand takes the underwear and drops them into the basket, and I stare at our fingers as he links them together. Resting them between us, Dean smiles, then he leans down, his warmth and scent overwhelming my senses as he presses his lips to mine.
His lips are soft, and he applies the perfect pressure as our jaws torque and flex, mouths opening, tongues colliding. The coarse, teasing brush of his mustache grazes my upper lip, igniting a cascade of electric shivers that explode up my spine, leaving my body molten, pulsing with raw, untamed desire. He tastes sweet, the moans he leaves in my mouth have me throbbing against the seam in my panties, and it takes great restraint not to yank off my top and climb into his lap.
I want to.
But it’s too fast.
I just said I wanted to take it slow, anyway.
We pull apart, and I find myself out of breath, looking up at Dean who is smiling in a way that makes my stomach lightand my heart beat too fast. I feel like I’m fourteen, standing against the closed bleachers at a school dance, with my crush walking directly toward me, our song blaring through the gymnasium.
“Was that okay?” he asks, his voice quiet and tender, his lips flushed with pink.
I nod. “Yes.”
He smiles. “Okay. Good.” He kisses me again, but this time it’s brief, no tongue, simple but warm. “I promise we’ll go slow. In fact, slow works well for me. But I just had to taste those lips.”
I wrinkle my nose as the TV light flickers against our profiles. “Is that right?”
“Mm,” he groans his response, tipping his head. I love the way his shadow eats me up, even in the low light. His eyes sweep over mine, hesitant and hovering on my lips for a moment before coming back to my gaze. “Been curious about you since the first night I met you on the field.”
I pull back from him only slightly, because the warmth of his body and the feel of sinking against him on the couch is divine. Heavenly. Something I didn’t know I was missing until now.
“You were curious about me? All these weeks?” I hate how shocked I sound but I can’t help it. Dean McAllister fills a pair of Levi’s out like a goddamn rodeo champ and owns a cowboy hat better than John Wayne. He’s single, and he coaches football—the community’s collective favorite sport. His friends in town? Theotherhottest men in Bluebell. Dean McAllister wondering what my lips taste like is… insane. “Me?”
His brows furrow, and I don’t see any playfulness as he squeezes our joined hands. My heart flutters, and warmthprickles along the insides of my thighs. “Why do you say it like that?”
I shake my head, answering easily, because this isn’t a hang up. It’s just the truth. “Because you’reyouand I’mme.”
A displeased growl moves through his chest. “I don’t quite know what that means, but I think I may understand the sentiment.”
