by Lexi Ryan
“Are you okay?” I lift my hand to tuck one of those stray locks behind her ear but drop it before I touch her. She needs to decide where the new boundaries are . . . assuming she wants to change them at all.
She takes a deep breath. “I like you, Brayden. I liked you before that night we spent together, and I like you now. But I don’t . . .” She shakes her head and meets my eyes. “I don’t do relationships.”
I raise my brows. “I’m sorry?” It sounds like something an asshole guy would say—a throwaway line he’d use to get the girl to sleep with him. But this isn’t some asshole guy. It’s Molly, and she doesn’t need a line if she wants to get me in bed. After all I said last night, she knows that.
“I made a decision when I had Noah. I’d met other single moms and saw what havoc dating could wreak on their lives. I know what it did to me when I was a kid.” She swallows hard. “Mom had relationships with three different guys before she married Nelson. Each of them serious enough that I thought they’d be in my life forever. I . . .” She searches my face as if she’s looking for a sign that I understand. “I got attached, and when they left her, they were leaving me too. By the time she married Nelson, I’d started to feel desperate. Kids aren’t stupid. They know they’re part of the equation of a relationship. They hear the adults fighting about money and errands and who has to take the kid to dance. I thought it was my fault the other men had left.”
“Molly . . .” My voice breaks on her name. Her eyes are locked on my headboard, as if it’s too hard to say all this while looking at me.
“Don’t give me your pity, okay? I don’t like talking about it because I hate pity, but I want you to understand. Even if Nelson hadn’t fucked me up, dating a single mom isn’t like dating someone without kids. If I bring you home and then we don’t work out, my son’s affected too.”
“Bring me home? We live together, Moll.”
She rolls her eyes and almost—almost—smiles. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “I think I do.” And I already know that I don’t like where this conversation is going.
“I decided that I wouldn’t drag guys in and out of his life like that. That if I wanted to see men, it would never go any further than a few casual dates. I’ll do whatever I have to do to save Noah from the screwed-up mindset I had. I never want my son to feel so desperate that he’d endure abuse for my sake.”
Screwed-up mindset. The way she says it like that, it’s almost like she blames herself for what her stepdad did to her. “It wasn’t your job to stop him. It was his job to never violate you to begin with.”
She waves a hand. “Yeah, I know all that.”
But does she?
She bites her bottom lip. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
My stomach sinks. I took a chance last night, crossed a line by telling her how I feel. “You’re saying this can’t happen.”
She shakes her head then she rises to her knees and straddles my lap.
I draw in a ragged breath—because fuck, I like her here—but I keep my hands fisted at my sides. “Tell me what you want.”
She flattens her hands against my chest and lowers her head to sweep her lips across mine. Lust surges down my spine.
“I’m saying,” she whispers, “this is all I can give.” She threads her fingers through my hair and nips at my lips. “But it’s yours—if you want it. Just this, for as long as I’m staying here.”
I grab her waist with one hand and thread the other through her hair. When I sweep my tongue across her lips, she moans and arches into me as I press my mouth to hers.
I can hardly think about what she’s telling me. I can hardly think about anything more than her mouth on mine and the way she feels straddling my lap. She deepens the kiss, and I’m ready to flip her onto her back and peel off her clothes when I hear the front door open and close.
“Mommy!”
At the sound of Noah’s voice, she scrambles off the bed, breathing hard. “You understand?”
“Mommy?”
I take a breath and try to direct the oxygen to my brain. I understand, but I don’t like it. “I get it.” I nod. I’m a guy, and Molly’s a beautiful woman. I should feel like I’ve won the lottery. But we haven’t even started, and I already know it’s not enough. She’s offering her body, and if that wasn’t enough for me seven months ago when she lived in New York, it’s not going to be enough now. Not now that she’s here. Not now that I know her and see her.
She gives me one more once-over before backing out of the room to greet her son.
Molly
Noah and I spend Saturday morning together in the snow. I only have a few hours with him before Mom comes back to pick him up so I can go to work to set up for the local bank’s Christmas party.
Noah and I built two snowpeople. His is a boy wearing a blue tie, and mine is a girl with a pink beret—both accessories were thrift-store finds I bought for Noah’s dress-up box months ago. Noah giggles himself silly when Brayden comes out back to put sunglasses on both of our creations.
“What?” Brayden asks. “It’s sunny, and snowman eyes are very sensitive.”
“Excuse me, sir, but mine is a snowgirl,” I say, propping my hands on my hips. “She doesn’t appreciate being called a man.”
Brayden presses one hand against his chest and bows dramatically before my snowgirl. “My apologies, fair snow maiden. Please forgive my thoughtlessness and tell me how I can make it up to you.”
“She can’t talk,” Noah says around a squeaky laugh. “She’s made of snow.”
Brayden covers her ears and gapes at Noah. “Now you’ve hurt her feelings too.”
Noah frowns then walks slowly up to my snowgirl and kisses her cheek. “Sorry, snowgirl.”
Brayden dips his head to put his ear next to the snowgirl’s mouth. “What’s that? Oh, really?” He turns to Noah. “She said that she forgives you, and because she wants to be friends, she’s put some of her special magic hot chocolate on the table inside.”
Noah perks up at the mention of hot chocolate, then looks to me. “Can I go see?”
“Of course, buddy. Go on in. I’m going to clean up a few things out here.”
Noah races into the house, leaving Brayden and me alone in the backyard.
I swallow hard as I turn to him. My heart’s just too full. “Thank you.”
He brushes the falling snow from his dark hair. “For what?”
“For being so good with him. For never . . .” My gaze goes to the house, where I can see Noah at the counter with his mug of hot chocolate. “For never getting annoyed that he’s around. Even if it means interrupting an important conversation.”
Brayden’s smile is gentle but full, and it sends a shower of snow flurries through my belly. “I like Noah, and I like when he’s around. As for this morning’s conversation . . .” He takes a breath, then tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I think I was done talking by the time he came in anyway.”
He skims his thumb along my jaw, and heat rushes through my blood as I imagine what might have happened if I’d found the courage to go to Brayden’s room at five when I first heard him up. His gaze drops to my mouth, his pupils dilating. I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. “You should go inside and drink your magical hot chocolate before it goes cold.”
I want to kiss him so badly, but when I follow his gaze to the kitchen windows, I see Noah watching us. “Did my snowgirl leave any magic hot chocolate for you?”
“Yeah. And it’s a good thing, too.” Brayden heads toward the door but turns his head to drag his gaze over me. “I’m definitely craving something sweet.”
Brayden
Molly is trying to kill me. That’s the only explanation for why she would walk into the kitchen in a fluffy white robe when her wet hair tells me there’s a ninety percent chance she’s naked beneath that terrycloth.
Jill arrived to pick up Noah shortly after we finished our hot cocoa, and Molly got
in the shower as soon as they left. It was all I could do not to follow her. Since I don’t want our first time back together to be a quick shower fuck, I made myself resist. But now she’s in my kitchen. In her robe. And probably naked underneath it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She leans against the pantry door and smiles at me over her steaming mug of coffee.
“I’m trying to decide what you are or aren’t wearing beneath that robe, and if you’re deliberately trying to make me lose my mind.”
She sets her mug on the counter and tugs on the tie around her waist—but sadly, not hard enough to make it come undone. “You should come find out.”
I stalk toward her, desperate to taste her again, to feel her skin under my hands. “When do you have to leave?”
“Too soon.”
I swallow hard. Now that I’ve been given permission to touch her, I don’t want her anywhere but my bed.
Permission to touch her but not to start a relationship.
It’s an offer I know I should resist, but I can’t. Christ. Maybe it’ll be worth it—letting her go, watching her walk away—if it means for a short while I get to feel her in my arms again.
I press her against the wall, and her body arches into mine as I lower my mouth to hers—a sweep of lips and tongues, her hands on my chest, curling into my shirt.
I snake my hand between our bodies and untie her robe. The material parts, and I slip my hand beneath it and hiss when I feel the scrap of lace at her hip. Breaking the kiss, I step back and push the robe off her shoulders. Her lips part and her eyes go dark as it falls to the floor. I study her—the pert nipples under the black lace bra, the barely there V of lace between her thighs.
I don’t know why, but the thought of her putting the robe on after her lace bra and panties makes this hotter. Maybe because it seems deliberate. Like she put on the lace, thinking of me, and came into the kitchen in her robe because she wanted to make sure I saw it.
I shake my head in wonder and drag a knuckle slowly down the side of her breast, the dip of her waist, and the curve of her hip. In the sunlight coming in the kitchen windows, I can make out faint stretchmarks across her belly I never noticed during our night together. The marks from carrying her son. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t imagine any way you could be more perfect.”
She pulls me forward by the hem of my shirt and kisses me hard before stepping back to tug it off over my head. “I want to look too,” she says, tossing my shirt to the floor.
I hold my breath as she runs her fingertips down my chest, past my waistband and over the fly of my jeans.
“We have fifteen minutes before I need to go,” she says, her eyes eating me up. “Take me to bed.”
I lean forward and nip at her neck. “That’s not nearly enough time.”
She whimpers and arches into me. “Sure it is.”
Smiling, I step closer so I can position a thigh between her legs. She smells so damn good, a heady cocktail of her arousal and strawberry shampoo. I want to kiss every inch of her. “I won’t be rushed,” I murmur, but I cup her breast in my hand and pinch her nipple. I love the way she gasps. The way her hands dive into my hair and tug.
“Please, Brayden.” She rocks against my thigh, circling her hips and moaning into my ear. “I want you so badly.”
The front door clatters open. The sound of my brothers’ bickering comes to us from the foyer.
Molly’s eyes go wide. Grinning, I grab her hand and guide her into the dark pantry with me, softly clicking the door closed behind us. My brothers storm their way into the kitchen, and I make a mental note to talk to them about knocking.
“We’re here early,” Jake says. “Let’s get this party started.”
“Brayden, where the fuck are you?” Carter calls.
Ignoring him, I step forward and skim my hands down Molly’s sides. She shivers. I cup her ass as I lower my mouth to hers.
“Brayden?” Jake calls. “You here?”
“What are they doing here?” Molly whispers.
“Shh,” I whisper, my lips brushing across hers as I speak. “They’ll hear you.”
She stiffens and shakes her head. “Can this be our secret? Are you okay with keeping it from your family?”
I still at her words. I meant I didn’t think she wanted my brothers catching her naked in my arms, not that I didn’t think she wanted them to know we were . . . involved.
She lifts her hands to my face. “I don’t want to answer questions about what we are and aren’t. You know?”
“This can be a secret. It can be whatever you want,” I say, leaning my forehead against hers. I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat. Staying inside her lines might just be torture. “You make the rules, Moll.”
She rakes a hand down my chest and unbuttons my jeans. She slips her hand into my pants and cups my cock through my boxers. “I want you. Now.”
I lift her onto the counter and spread her legs so I can step between them. Her hands find my hair again, threading through and tugging as our mouths meet in the dark. She’s intoxicating—her soft skin, the minty taste of her toothpaste, and the smell of her strawberry shampoo. She makes me feel like I’m sixteen again and sneaking strawberry wine and making out with my crush. But it’s better. Because we’re completely sober, and Molly McKinley is in my arms, trembling in response to my mouth running down her neck, to my lips skimming along her unbelievably soft skin.
I latch on to the tender spot right beneath her ear and roll her nipple through her bra. She makes a desperate sound that might be my name.
“Shh,” I say, but I’m barely aware of my brothers’ voices in the kitchen. They might as well be in Mexico for all their presence matters to me. I’m entirely focused on Molly—the feel of her, the way she reacts to me, and the things I want to do. We don’t have nearly enough time, but I’m not about to send her away aching.
I slowly make my way down her body, teasing her nipples, circling her navel, grazing the waistband of her panties.
On the other side of the door, I hear someone clear his throat, then Jake says, “Yeah, we’ll just come back later.”
They’ve spotted her robe and my shirt, no doubt. They’ll probably want an explanation for that and will see right through me when I tell them Molly and I aren’t involved. That’s tonight’s problem. All that matters in this moment is bringing some satisfaction to the woman in my arms.
With one hand in her hair, I drop the other to her parted legs and lightly brush a knuckle against her, feeling how wet she is through the fabric of her panties. She jerks her hips, chasing the pressure of my hand.
I do another teasing pass and suck her earlobe between my teeth. “I want to play with you for hours,” I whisper into her ear. I pull the lace to the side and circle her opening. She’s so wet. I could lose my whole day touching her. “I want to taste you right here.”
“Brayden.” She shudders in my arms. “I think about this all the time. Your hands . . .”
I slide a finger into her, and she gasps. She’s tight and slick, and the sounds she’s making . . . “When I have more time, I’m going to kiss you here again.” I bite her neck, her shoulder, sucking and scraping my teeth the way I know she likes. “I’ve thought about you coming under my mouth so many times. Have you thought about it, Molly? Thought about me sucking you? Licking you?” I thrust into her, pulling out and adding a second finger before giving her the pressure of my palm against her clit.
“Yes,” she whispers. “So many times.”
“I want you to think about it all night at work. About me and how I’m going to touch you when you get home.”
She trembles in my arms. Her body winds tighter around my fingers then releases. She bites my shoulder hard as she comes, muffling her cry.
I rub her gently through the last waves of her climax. She clings to me in the dark. Tonight, I’ll touch her with the lights on. I need to see her face, to watch the pleasure wash over her as she comes.
When I kno
w she’s spent, I kiss her—a long and thorough kiss meant to tell her what I’m not allowed to say in words. This is more than touching. This is more than physical. You’re worth more than you’re letting me give you.
I hold her until her breathing slows. “Sorry about the interruption, but I’m pretty sure they left. I’ll go out to get your robe and make sure they’re gone.”
She hops off the counter and strokes me through my unbuttoned jeans. I’m painfully hard, and the feel of her hand rips a groan from my chest. “What about you?”
“Later.” I take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her fingers one at a time.
“But don’t you want . . .?”
I kiss her palm, opening my mouth to suck lightly on the pad of her thumb. “If we’re going to be lovers, you’ll have to accept that sometimes it’s going to be about you.” I brush my mouth across hers. I want more. Deeper. Longer. I resist. “Sometimes the thing I want most is to feel you come.”
With those words, I button my jeans and slip out of the pantry to get her robe.
“The coast is clear,” I say, opening the door for her. “My brothers left.”
She squints into the light, and I memorize her face. I love the way her cheeks are flushed and her lips are dark pink from my mouth. “Why were they here?”
I shrug. “My family doesn’t need a reason. I’m guessing they wanted to talk about our plans for tonight.”
“Oh, right. The bachelor party.”
Nodding, I follow her gaze to the clock. “I didn’t give you much time to get ready.”
She grins. “Worth it.”
“What time does the party end tonight?” I’ll have to find a way to distract myself so I’m not counting down the minutes until I can touch her again.
