Unwrapped

by Maisey Yates

  Tonight, though, she had to meet her own expectations and not be drawn in by talk of butter and of lingering for dessert.

  “I can do that.”

  And she did.

  Fortunately, five-year-old girls were pretty good at filling silences left by two somewhat awkward adults. Or maybe Walker wasn’t awkward so much as trying not to bust out the inappropriate innuendos.

  She’d been all set to concede the fact that their night together hadn’t been so great for him. As he’d said . . . he’d just wanted a . . . well, that word he’d said. And he’d gotten it. So there was no reason for him to look at her like she was . . . buttered potatoes.

  “Hey, sprout,” he said, looking at Kayla. “It’s bed time.”

  She frowned. “I don’t have school tomorrow.”

  “I know, but you want to stay on a good routine so you can be ready to wake up Christmas morning, right? Seven days until Christmas.”

  She brightened at that. “Oh, yeah!” She got down from her chair and gave Walker a kiss before trotting up the stairs.

  “Can you hang out a minute?” he asked Sarah. “I want to talk to you after she’s in bed.”

  Come into my den, said the wolf to the lamb . . .

  “Sure. I can do that.” And she could. She had granny panties. They were her modern-day chastity belt.

  She lingered at the table and waited while Walker did, presumably, the bedtime routine with Kayla. She tapped her fingers on the solid oak surface while she waited, eying the partially full bowl of potatoes and trying not to think of them as a metaphor for decadence.

  She’d had one little taste of decadence. And it had been a gorgeous, perfect disaster.

  If only she’d just never seen him again. No, even better, if only she’d felt nothing but a post-orgasm buzz after they’d had sex. If only she hadn’t felt that intense swelling of emotion in her chest after they’d finished.

  Then she could have stayed all night and sated her lust for him. And she would have been able to see him in her classroom and not feel . . . sad and yearny. She wouldn’t be feeling yearny now, or counting on dowdy underwear to be her last guard against total ruin.

  She heard his boots on the stairs and her heart leapt into her throat. He probably just wanted to talk about Kayla. That was all. He was a wonderful father and of course he wanted to know how she was spending her days. It was only natural he should.

  “Come into the living room,” he said, not bothering to stop by the dining room on his way in.

  She got up and wandered through the entryway and into the living area. Vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, along with large windows that, during the daytime, surely offered a magnificent view, gave the space an open feel.

  And yet, in spite of that, she felt like the walls were closing in on her.

  He went to a cabinet and took some keys down from high up on the top of it, then unlocked it and produced a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two tumblers. “Drink?”

  “N-no.” She still didn’t have the nerve.

  “I’ll pour two anyway. We’ll see if I get to the second one. I keep it under lock and key now. And I only drink after she goes to bed. Which means I usually drink alone. So that’s its own kind of sad.” He poured a measure of butterscotch-colored liquor into both glasses and set them on the coffee table in front of the leather couch. “Sit.”

  She gave him her frostiest glare. “Do most women follow your one-word commands like that?”

  “Sorry, I’m out of practice,” he said. “Please sit down.”

  She complied, her eyes on the alcohol, rethinking her earlier no. “Kayla was really great today. She’s a fun kid. We did some crafts and reading. And she actually asked to work on her letters, so we did. But of course this is break, so I’m not going to force schoolwork on her if she doesn’t want it.”

  He picked his glass up and took a drink, moving to the far side of the room. “Great. You feel like everything is going well then?” He paced in front of the windows, his reflection following his movements. “No concerns?”

  “I can tell she’s been hurt.”

  He grunted. “Yeah.”

  “I just want to make sure I keep my word to her. She’s been let down too many times.”

  “Yeah. My damn ex.”

  “She has you though. And that’s good.”

  “Yeah.” He looked at her, his dark eyes glittering, and then he walked to the couch and stood in front of her. “Stand up.”

  “I just sat down.”

  “Then I’ll sit down.” He did, putting his glass on the table, and then he cupped her cheek with his hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “I want you.”

  “Oh no . . .”

  “You left before I was done.”

  “You said you only wanted a . . . a . . . sex.”

  “Well, it is all I wanted. But I wanted more than I got. And don’t go playing the wounded maiden here—it was what you wanted too, and we both know it.”

  She shifted. “Well, yeah, but that’s the thing. I kind of was a, uh . . . maiden. So there was some irrationality on my part. Both in my desire to, uh . . . off-load my maidenhead and in the actions that followed that resulted in the loss of said . . . you know. So . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t know what I wanted.”

  “Bull. Shit.” He drew closer, and she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. “You knew what you wanted, and I gave it to you.”

  “I . . . n-no . . . I . . .”

  “Shut up.”

  “Okay.” And then he was kissing her, his tongue getting things good and slick before he slipped his lips over hers in slow, maddening friction. His mouth was barely pressed against hers. Nothing more than a tease.

  She found herself leaning in, gripping his shirt, pulling him to her as she leaned in to him, deepening the kiss. Crushed his lips to hers. Because she needed more. Needed to taste the slow burn of the Jack Daniel’s on his lips.

  She was afraid to drink it herself, but she wasn’t afraid to take it from Walker’s lips. Maybe because, just like that first night, things just seemed clear when he kissed her. Completely focused.

  Because when he kissed her she knew only one thing: that she wanted him. That she wanted to be as close to him as possible. That nothing, not the future, not fat rolls and not granny panties, mattered more than getting naked and getting him inside of her.

  It was amazing. He took her from outraged near-virgin to scarlet woman with just the flick of his tongue. The man was magic. The kind you should stay away from. But never did. Because it was too seductive. The lure too strong, the power too intense.

  Damn Walker Callahan and his black magic kiss. And yeah, damn. Not darn. It was that bad. That deep. That desperate.

  She released his shirt when she was sure he wasn’t going anywhere and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then suddenly found herself on her back, her head on the armrest of the couch.

  He was kissing her deep, his tongue tracing patterns against hers. He put his hands on her stomach, fingers edging beneath her shirt as he abandoned her lips and pressed kisses to her neck, her jaw.

  “I haven’t made out on a couch like this since I was sixteen,” he said, his voice rough, his mouth hot on her skin.

  “I”—she gasped for breath—“haven’t made out . . . on a couch . . . ever. With anyone.”

  “That’s a shame. It’s fun,” he said, his teeth scraping her collarbone.

  “Unf!” she said, the closest thing to articulation she could get with his hands making their way upward and his kisses burning through her system. “I . . . yeah. Well . . . I can see that.”

  “Why weren’t you out kissing all the boys?” he asked, his lips hovering at the edge of her shirt collar.

  “I wasn’t allowed to,” she said, gasping as he flicked open the top button of her blouse.

  “Well, I wasn’t allowed to get frisky in the back of Denise Jameson’s Camaro, but I did.”

  “I did what I was told.”

 
“I’m going to file that away for later,” he said, undoing another button, “because it’s very interesting. But for now”—he pressed a kiss between her breasts—“I think we should take this upstairs.”

  “Kayla?”

  “Asleep.” He hesitated. “You can’t stay the night though. If that’s a problem . . . well, I don’t see why it should be. It didn’t bother you last time.”

  The accusation burned, but it was true. She’d been the one to run out. But the thing was, she didn’t want to get booted out of his bed and into the cold. And it wasn’t rational, because she knew why he had to get rid of her before morning. She knew she couldn’t be here when Kayla woke up and that it wasn’t meant to be insulting to her in any way.

  It was life. She couldn’t be a part of confusing or disappointing that little girl any more than she already had been. So that meant that she had to either leave now, or deal with the fact that she was going back home tonight after she and Walker . . . made love.

  Though it wouldn’t be making love. She looked at his dark, glittering eyes, at the intent there. Oh, no, making love wasn’t on his mind. And she didn’t have to know much to realize that.

  She didn’t want love . . . maybe a little more experience?

  A chance to be wanted.

  Okay, that thought wasn’t the most appropriate. It shouldn’t be about how she felt. Not emotionally. But she could admit that it was nice—more than nice—to have a man who was looking at her like she had something to give him.

  Something he craved desperately.

  She had no idea what to do. She only hoped that, for once in her life, she would be enough.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “I bought condoms,” he said. “If you didn’t.”

  Her face burned and she felt something hot in her stomach. Anger. Jealousy. At the thought that he’d bought condoms, because it meant he was probably planning on using them with someone else. Well, of course he had been, because they were only supposed to be together once. And the idea of him with other women . . .

  Get a grip, Sarah!

  Yes. A grip needed to be gotten. She should be thankful he had protection, because she didn’t. And she wanted sex, but without a pregnancy, thank you very much, so that meant one of them needed to be in possession of condoms.

  “I didn’t. Yay for preparedness. I would give you a gold star if you were in my class.”

  “You would give a kindergartener a gold star for buying condoms?” he asked, a dark brow arched.

  “I . . . no.” She slapped his bicep, and he laughed. “You know what I meant. Stop making my witty banter sound stupid.”

  He pulled her off the couch and up against his chest. “Is that what we’re doing? A bit of witty banter before the main event?”

  “Yes. It’s just one of those things you do.”

  “Says?”

  “Common knowledge, Walker. Don’t you read, or watch British television?”

  “Nope.” He scooped her up into his arms and headed toward the stairs. “Do you know what I have done? Had sex. So you can trust me when I say witty banter isn’t part of the necessary repertoire.”

  “Verbal foreplay, they call it.”

  “Nope, baby, no one calls it that.” They came to the top of the stairs and he pushed his bedroom door open with his shoulder, crossing the room quickly and depositing her on the center of the bed.

  He tugged his black t-shirt up over his head, and the air rushed from her lungs. “They . . . they do,” she said. “Because it’s invigorating.”

  “You know what’s invigorating?” he asked, tugging his belt through the loops and pushing his pants and underwear down to the floor.

  She swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Actual foreplay.”

  “Well, sure, I guess so. If you want to be base about it.”

  “Oh, baby, I intend to get very base here in a second.”

  He got onto the bed and kissed her, hard and deep. She held him close, returned the kiss, felt his erection, hot and hard against her hip. And she didn’t feel nervous. Except . . .

  “Oh crap.” She scrambled away from him and scurried into the bathroom that was off the bedroom. “Just a second!” she shouted, stripping all of her clothes off, most especially those panties, those faulty, useless panties that hadn’t done anything to keep her from hopping into bed with Walker, and then she went back into the bedroom, leaning against the bathroom door, naked and trying to look casual.

  “What was that about?”

  “I was not . . . dressed for the occasion.”

  “What the hell did you have under your clothes? A wet suit? Bondage gear?”

  “Ack! No. I don’t even really know what that would look like.”

  “Crotchless panties. And you lost your nerve.”

  “No. I wasn’t trying to seduce you. Anyway, less talking, more kissing.”

  “You were the one who wanted verbal foreplay, Miss Larsen,” he said, leaning back on the bed, his legs spread, his erection jutting up against his flat stomach. He looked completely indecent, and wholly tempting. “This isn’t working for you?”

  Oh, it was working. And it made her feel wicked.

  “I’m just ready for kissing,” she said, climbing onto the bed.

  “Mmm. I see. And if I don’t comply, Miss Larsen?”

  She crossed her arms. “Do I have to punish you?”

  His smile turned wicked and something pitched in her stomach, sharp and hard. “You might.” Her brain didn’t quite know what to do with those words, but her body was all over them.

  “And what would be a fitting punishment?” she asked, not sure where the confidence was coming from. Not sure what rabbit trail she was following now.

  “I think you should tease me,” he said. “Until I’m begging you to take me.”

  Her cheeks got hot. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think I could make you beg for me.”

  “Oh, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not. I’m just a . . .” Suddenly she felt like a fraud. Like an idiot, standing there, totally naked with Mr. Tall, Dark, Muscley and Chest-Haired staring at her like she was going to deliver him some sweet dessert. She had no sweet dessert. She barely had carrot sticks.

  “Miss Larsen, I’m begging you right now. Come here and kiss me.”

  “Walker . . .”

  “Please, Miss Larsen,” he said, lying back on the bed. “I need your mouth on me.”

  She let out a slow, unsteady breath, uncertainty coursing through her. She didn’t know how to do this kind of thing. Didn’t know how to play sex games, or make a man want her.

  But he seemed to want her already. She got onto the bed and leaned in, her lips hovering over his. “This is what you want?” she asked, boldness hitting her square in the chest. Because he was hard. For her. This man who was so impossibly gorgeous. He was begging—for her.

  And how could she not feel powerful? How could she not feel beautiful?

  How could she not feel wanted?

  “Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “This is what I want.”

  “You’re going to have to say please,” she said.

  “Kiss me,” he said. “Please.”

  Chapter Seven

  Walker waited for Sarah to make her move. Her lips were so close, a tilt of his head and he could have them. Could take them and claim her mouth for his own.

  But he was going to wait. He was going to make her choose it. He was going to let her have the control, and for some reason, the prospect of that got him even hotter.

  Now that he was committed to this little piece of debauchery, he was all in. Yes, it was a bad, bad idea for him to keep sleeping with Sarah. But the simple fact was, avoiding her for the past few days had been torturous and awkward. Their only hope was to have sex until they didn’t want to anymore.

  Which, he was dimly aware, was som
ewhat faulty logic. Convenient, penis-led logic. But dammit, it was the line of logic that got him laid, and he was following it.

  “Since you asked so nicely,” she said.

  Sarah dipped her head and swept her tongue between his lips, quick, a touch so light he might have thought he’d imagined it if it weren’t for the intense ache of need it sent firing along his veins.

  “More,” he said, his voice rough.

  “More?”

  “Miss Larsen,” he said, between clenched teeth.

  “And ask nicely.”

  “Please,” he said. “Please, Miss Larsen, do something about this.” He took her hand and guided it to his cock. Her eyes met his, wide and filled with . . . wonder, of all things. Like his dick was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. And damn if that didn’t go a long way in soothing his battered ego.

  He hated to admit that his ego was battered, but it was the truth. You didn’t spend years feeling like your touch was an inconvenience without those feelings getting buried under your skin. Like getting hit by a porcupine. And every movement he’d made to try and fix it had driven the barbs in deeper.

  Every time he’d tried to touch his wife, seduce his wife, and gotten rejected, they’d sunk in further. Now they were there just beneath the surface. Not easy to remove.

  This was like balm for those wounds. This woman who was taking her time with him. Who was looking at him like he was God’s gift. And yeah, the fact that he was the only man she’d ever been with probably had a lot to do with that.

  But then, if the sex had been crap the first time, she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. And she wouldn’t have wanted a repeat performance.

  “I . . . can I . . . ?” She leaned forward, the slide of her tongue over his shaft like the strike of a match.

  “Oh . . .” He swore. “Sorry, baby.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, tasting him again. “You did this for me. And I liked it. I thought you might like it. I mean . . . I know men like this, but . . . I don’t really know what I’m doing, so I was hoping you might still enjoy it. But you don’t seem opposed.”