Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4

by Locke, Adriana

  I shrug.

  “Do you like them?” she asks.

  I shrug again.

  “I don’t understand,” she says.

  “The lady at the store said that’s what goes in a salad. I don’t know that stuff. So if she’s wrong, blame it on her. Not on me.” I laugh. “I also got sunflower seeds, but I do like those. Never had them in a salad, but I like them for sure.”

  She laughs, her voice blending with mine. “If you basically don’t like anything that goes in a salad, then why are we having it?”

  “Don’t you like salad?”

  Her shoulders fall as a smile graces her lips. “Yes. I do. And I like tomatoes and cucumbers.”

  “Good,” I say, trying not to show her how proud I am of myself.

  She turns away, her hair covering the side of her face. A song plays from her phone, the lyrics about candles dripping on bodies striking a chord deep inside mine.

  She flips her head so that her hair falls on her far shoulder, exposing the side of her face to me. She chops the vegetables, her hips moving with the beat of the song. The bass is deep, the beat slow and sensual. Her lashes fall closed as she loses herself in the words.

  I walk toward her, unable to look away.

  Holding her breath as I get closer, she stills.

  I stand behind her and peer over her shoulder.

  Kissing her would be so easy. Touching her would take all of a half of a second. But if I do either, I’m not going to stop.

  And I have dinner to make.

  “Looking good,” I say.

  She blows out a breath.

  I’m lying. She looks incredible. She smells fucking awesome. She has shown me more empathy in a few days than many of my friends had throughout my life. She is sexy as hell. But she will get to eat her dinner because I’m starting to realize that she deserves someone looking after her.

  I laugh at her frustration—because, fuck, I get it—winking as I head to the refrigerator.

  Twenty

  Dylan

  The unexpected charm of this man is on full display as he maneuvers around the kitchen with ease. “For someone who doesn’t ever cook, you sure know your way around the kitchen.”

  “It’s never been fun to cook for one.”

  “But it is for two?”

  He lifts from checking on the potatoes, gazing through the oven window as if he’s admiring newborns in the nursery. When his blue eyes land back on me, my hands press a little harder onto the counter to steady myself.

  That level of sexy should be outlawed.

  The corners of his lips shoot up. “It is for you.”

  The kitchen suddenly feels like a hot August day with him standing so close. I look away, directing my attention back to the salad. The blade of the knife slices through the tomato, cracking down on the cutting board.

  “Careful,” he says, coming around me. “I just sharpened the knives.”

  He sets a cutting board next to mine and starts chopping the onions. I think it’s the first true glimpse of how comfortable we’ve become in our living situation. I don’t know if I should be worried or appreciate it by living in the moment. The latter is feeling like a favorite T-shirt right about now, so I go with what feels good.

  Peck Ward feels good. Every brush of his arm against mine, the way his laughter tickles my ear, and the heat that exudes between us is heightened. I finish dicing the tomato and take a step back, leaning against the opposite counter to get a better look at him. From that ass to those biceps and broad shoulders, he knows how to get attention without even trying.

  “What are you doing, Dylan?”

  My eyes shoot up to find his on me. “Just … thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Your body.

  “I … um …” I laugh. “Thinking about how that kiwifruit makes things soft.”

  “Really?” He pretends to consider that. “I don’t know that I’d go with soft.”

  “That’s true. Nobody likes soft meat.”

  His smirk digs deeper as he sets the knife down. “How do you like your meat, Dylan?”

  I have no idea if we’re still talking about actual meat or not, but I’m willing to play this game. If for no other reason than to see his face when he wears the look like he wants to eat me.

  I gulp. “Hearty.”

  He chuckles.

  “Or aged to perfection,” I offer.

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “What word do you prefer?” I ask. “To describe meat, of course.”

  He sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek. He’s such an insane mix of playful and sexy that I don’t know which to focus on. My cheeks ache from smiling, but my thighs burn from desire.

  “I’d say … hand-rubbed,” he says.

  “Well done.”

  “What? My comeback or that’s how you like your meat too?”

  We laugh together, the sound filling the room.

  He plants both palms on the counter behind him and gives it a shove. The momentum sends him across the kitchen toward me.

  I can’t look away as he gets closer. My heart thumps in my chest, sending a flow of blood over my ears that makes me dizzy.

  He stops in front of me and peers down. The playfulness is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the heat in his eyes.

  I want him even though it goes against everything I know is right for me. He’s in love with someone else, and I’m likely just a rebound of sorts who’s being used as a tool to the nth degree. And when it doesn’t work, he can eject me out of here like yesterday’s trash.

  But right now, looking up into those gorgeous eyes of his, I just. Don’t. Care. I’ll deal with it later.

  “You standing this close to me isn’t fair,” I tell him.

  “Why?”

  His voice is a dead giveaway to the fact that he wants to see if there’s any fire under all this smoke billowing between us.

  “Because I want to touch you, and you know that.”

  It takes a few seconds for that to register. When it does, I know.

  He adjusts his weight, widening his stance to encapsulate both of my feet. He surrounds me with his wide frame as a grin touches his lips.

  “Since when do you not do what you want?” he teases.

  “I can touch?” I wink, making that smirk of his grow.

  “You most definitely can touch.”

  Letting my hands land on his abs, I rub around and then dip under his shirt. It wasn’t the kitchen that’s been bringing the heat. His warm skins heats mine, and my breathing quickens.

  “Why are you so irresistible?” I breathe the words out because I’m a hot mess of a turned-on and insatiable.

  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt like this.

  His arms wrap around me. He holds me tight against him, his chest rising and falling as wildly as mine.

  His body is hard and steady, and I could stay all day with my cheek pressed against his chest. He leans down, his lips fluttering against my ear.

  “I could ask you the same the question,” he says. “But why bother with small talk when I can show you.”

  The moment his lips land on my neck, I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side, never wanting a man more than I do him. I was flirting—both with him and the line between us—but now I want him. I need him.

  I glance at the oven timer. “We have time. Just saying.”

  A chuckle vibrates from his chest. “How much?”

  My breathing goes in and out at a ragged pace. I lean back to see his face. “Twenty-five minutes.”

  “I only need ten.”

  I start to laugh as his face wrinkles in disgust.

  “Calling it like it is,” he says. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to last long with you.”

  I slide my hands in his hair. My body angles toward his. “As long as it’s a good ten minutes.” I can’t stop myself from laughing.

  He rolls his eyes, but then h
is arms tighten around me, and he lifts me on top of the counter. “Damn straight, it will be.”

  “Time’s a ticking, Wesley.”

  He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck. “I love a challenge, but I’m not sure if I want to win this one or not.”

  I pull away and take his face in my hands. It’s smooth, freshly shaven, as I hold his jaw in my palms. If I continue, this will be a go. There will be no way out. But as I watch him lick his lips, his eyes as constant and unshakable as I know him to be, I realize a truth: I’m already all in.

  “How about we race to the finish together instead?” I breathe.

  He leans forward and presses his lips softly against mine. His body moves closer until he’s up against me. I hook my ankles around the small of his back as he deepens the kiss.

  I moan into his mouth; the contact glorious but not quite fulfilling. I need more.

  His tongue swipes past my lips. He wraps his arms around me again and draws me even closer.

  I’m surrounded by Peck Ward.

  He tastes of warmth and wishes, of heat and happiness. There’s no rush, no urgency to his sweet kisses. It’s as if he has all the time in the world to commit this to memory.

  The song changes. Peck slowly breaks the kiss.

  I sag as his lips separate from mine. Air is pulled into my lungs, and I search his face, desperate for more.

  “That wasn’t ten minutes,” I tell him.

  “Change of plans.”

  My dress is lifted, and on a gasp, my panties are removed. Sinking to his knees, he presses his silky lips against my inner thighs. I lean back on the counter, propping myself up on my elbows, and watch him watch me enjoy his touch.

  “Ah,” I eke out as his hands run up and down my legs.

  I’ve missed this feeling of being so desired, so wanted, that my partner just can’t wait to have me. I don’t even think I had this with Charlie. Not even once.

  He bunches my dress at my waist and licks up and down the inside of my legs. Just when I’m about to lose my mind in the feel of his tongue stroking closer and closer to the apex of my thighs, he stands.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He calmly opens a drawer next to me. “I need to flip the steaks so they don’t burn.”

  “I’m burning over here. With desire.” I half-laugh because it’s only half-funny. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “Don’t worry,” he says, clapping the tongs together. “I plan to get back here with plenty of time to take the checkered flag.”

  “I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but that better mean what I think it does.”

  He opens the back door. “It does. Relax.” The door closes, and I sigh in frustration. There’s no way to actually relax like this—not with my body staging a riot for some kind of relief.

  The door opens again, and he tosses the tongs on the counter. He stands between my legs, and I sit up.

  “Now, where were we?” he asks.

  “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

  “That’d be the first time you don’t try to tell me what to do.”

  I smack at him, but he captures my hand. I’m quickly scooped into his arms and kissed as he carries me to my bedroom.

  “Is this okay?” he asks.

  “If it makes you remember where we were, then it’s perfect.”

  He grins.

  I turn around. Lifting my hair above my neck, I ask, “Do you mind unzipping me?”

  He kisses the nape of my neck and plants a few random pecks down the side. My skin tingles with anticipation as the zipper slides down my spine. The right side is taken down my shoulder and then the left before the dress puddles at my feet. I step out of the dress, turning around to face him.

  His shirt comes over his head, and all the fun, the teasing, and the games we were playing have been left in the other room. Gentle touches and soft kisses replace the laughter as his hands cover my bare back for the first time.

  The reserve that usually constrains my physical interactions with him doesn’t exist between us now. Everything he’s done is to show me how he cares and that I’m safe with him. So I begin to unbuckle his belt while he reaches around to unfasten my bra.

  When his jeans come down and my bra comes off, we don’t hide from the sunlight streaming in through the window. We take our time to appreciate each other.

  I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do under his gaze, a smile that’s genuine and kind, and hands that touch to explore, not rushing to the next step.

  I watch with rapt attention as his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. His eyes cast down, and when he looks up, I see a struggle in his eyes. “I did this wrong, Dylan.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I should have taken the time to kiss you more.”

  “We kissed in the kitchen, Peck. Checked that box,” I say, bringing a finger down and then back up in a check mark motion in the air.

  He grins. “But not like I wanted to.”

  “Then kiss me now.”

  Strong hands take hold of my face with such care that I cover his hands with mine, feeling weak in the knees. I close my eyes just as our lips press together for the first time in a caress. Our tongues meet, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, never wanting this moment to end.

  When it does, I’m left breathless and sit on the edge of the bed before lying down. “Are you going to leave me waiting? Again?”

  “No ma’am, I’m not.” His pulls his boxers down, and every thought I ever had about him below the waist were wrong. He’s better.

  He catches me staring.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “You know how to build a guy’s ego.”

  “Judging by what I see, you have every right to be downright arrogant.”

  When he laughs, I smile with him. Whatever this is between us is nice. Hovering over me, he leans down and kisses me again. “So do you. You’re gorgeous and so fucking sexy.”

  Since my panties were left on the kitchen floor, there’s nothing between us.

  He shifts his weight so the head of his cock presses against my opening. I gasp at the contact despite expecting it. Despite wanting it.

  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. I reach up and place my palm on the side of his neck. His heartbeat pounds against my hand, and I feel mine amp up to match.

  “Peck …” I whisper.

  Our gazes lock, the heat between us sizzling. I try to look away but can’t. He holds me in place with nothing but a look as he moves his hips.

  Inch by inch, he fills me.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I pant.

  “Open for me, baby.” It’s a command, there’s no doubt about it, but it’s said with such a sweetness that I think I might fall apart already.

  My knees fall farther to the sides. He slides inside me, fulling seating himself inside my body.

  “Damn it,” I whimper.

  He closes his eyes and doesn’t move. The vein in his neck throbs in a look so sexy that I shudder.

  His head dips, his mouth covering mine. I press my hands to his chest and then run them up to his shoulders. The muscles flex as he moves, rocking himself into me.

  The blanket is soft against my back, his arms hard on either side of me. It’s an overwhelming contrast of sensations. I gasp for air but am cut off by his kisses.

  Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back into the mattress. He doesn’t relent, covering me with kisses, licks, and nibbles across my mouth, jaw, and neck.

  I’ve never felt this treasured, this desired, by anyone in my entire life.

  “Peck,” I pant, holding his face in my hands.

  “Yes, beautiful?”

  I grin, bringing his lips back to mine.

  “You feel so good,” he whispers, dragging his hands up my arms when I raise them above my head and loop my fingers around the rails of the headboard.

  “You feel amazing,” I say.

&
nbsp; He pulls out, taunting my clit, before dipping inside me again.

  “Do that a couple more times,” I groan, pleasure ripping through my body, “and I’ll come.”

  “I’m having to think about fishing so I don’t lose it right now,” he says with a chuckle.

  I clench my muscles. He feels it because his eyes widen.

  “You do that a couple more times, and this is over,” he warns.

  I lock my legs around him. Digging my heels into the small of his back, I look him right in the eyes and clench again.

  “Dylan …”

  He slides in and out, hitting the spot that brings me closer and closer to an orgasm.

  “Right … there,” I say.

  It feels so good it almost hurts.

  “Look at me,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”

  I do. And when I do, that’s it. It’s all it takes.

  I clench again, a mass of colors tangling through my vision as I melt around him.

  His name screams from my lips as a rush of fire floods my veins. He presses harder, faster, driving me into the mattress as he finds his end.

  “Fuck,” he groans. He stills inside me.

  I watch him fall apart. His eyes squeezed closed, his jaw tightened, his biceps strained as he gloriously hits his climax.

  The ringing of a bell accompanies our victory lap.

  Wait …

  He pushes up and looks me in the eyes. “Do you smell smoke?”

  I sit up.

  “The steaks!” He runs out of the room, and I hear the back door slam against the stopper. “Fuck,” echoes from outside.

  I hurry into the kitchen. The smoke from the grill has filled the house. I rush over to shut the door but stop when Peck comes inside with the steaks stiff between the tongs … naked.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I say, wiping back tears from my laughter. “Now that’s a sight to see.”

  He drops the charred meat on the cutting board. “So much for impressing you with a nice meal.”

  His disappointment isn’t just seen in his expression, but defeat drops his shoulders. I stop laughing but continue to smile.

  “Everything is fine.” I lean against his back, resting my cheek to him. “You wanted to impress me?”

  “Yeah, but I screwed it up.”

  “You sure did.” I slip around him, coming between him and the steaks. “In the best of ways.” With wide eyes and a big sassy grin, I ask, “Want to go screw up again?” I reach up and rub his shoulders. “I was thinking we could try your bed this time.”