by Maisey Yates
“Bah.” She stalked into the kitchen and hauled herself up onto the counter, her knees planted firmly on the granite surface as she rummaged through one of the cabinets for a bottle of wine. Probably she would have to get a real fancy-ass wine rack for when guests were here. Luckily, she had a little time.
She took two glasses down, along with the wine, because in all honesty, Eli probably needed a drink, too.
She wondered if he would get more relaxed if he had a glass or two. If she could get him to smile. If his lips would taste like merlot and sin and the smile that was the rarest thing she could think of.
She licked her own lips in anticipation and carried the objects she now considered her fantasy aids into the living room.
She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier—sad for Eli, no matching bra and panties for him today. But after the incident at the diner, she’d thrown herself into B and B things, including looking at website proofs, which were fan-freaking-tastic, and choosing the stain for her deck, which was very nearly done because a whole team of burly men could handle decks like no one’s business.
She hummed as she set the glasses on the old-fashioned captain’s trunk she was using for a coffee table and sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her.
And for one heart-crinkling moment she really wanted Eli to just come and sit next to her. To release his stress while she let go of hers. To share in a calm moment.
She blinked. No. That wasn’t what this was about. It wasn’t supposed to be about sharing emotions. It was supposed to be about sharing nakedness and orgasms.
The heavy knock on her front door saved her from her thoughts. “It’s open!” she shouted.
She heard the door open, then close, the heavy shoes on the wood floor, and finally Eli appeared in the living room entryway.
“Hiya,” she said, surveying his tall, lean frame. He’d changed. Dark jeans conforming to muscular thighs, a tight black T-shirt giving hints of all the fun that lay beneath the fabric.
“Hi,” he said.
“You can come in,” she said, patting the empty spot beside her.
“Right.” He cast a long look at a sleeping Toby, who was in the chair he’d claimed as his own, before walking across the room and joining her on the couch, keeping a healthy distance between them.
“Wine?” she asked.
“I don’t really care for it.”
Well, dammit. There went her merlot-flavored fantasy. She’d just drink enough for both of them. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I drink,” she said, tugging the already-popped cork out. She poured herself a generous amount, then picked the glass up and clinked the edge against the empty one still sitting on the trunk. “Cheers to me, then.” She took a sip and sat back, feeling distinctly broody now. Because she’d gotten a picture in her head that shouldn’t have been there, and now she was disappointed for him not conforming to said ill-advised picture.
“Are you mad at me now?” he asked.
She looked up over her glass and at him, at serious brown eyes that made her stomach do tricks. “A little.”
“Why?” he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up.
There was her smile. A small one, but she’d gotten it. “Because you were supposed to drink wine and be cozy with me.”
“That doesn’t sound like what we agreed on,” he said, his tone gentle. Why was he being so nice? She was trying to be peeved.
“No, I know it doesn’t. But I was sort of hoping for it. Because I am a fickle and difficult creature.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“You weren’t supposed to agree so readily.”
“Sadie,” he said, his dark eyes burning hotter now. He reached out and gently touched her glass, lowering it. “You know what this is.”
“I know,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“Because,” she said, setting her wineglass down on the trunk and standing, moving over to where Eli sat and standing in front of him, “I had a little fantasy.”
“Did you?” he asked, his focus sharpening.
“Mmm-hmm.” She put her knee on the couch, next to his thigh, and then the other one, straddling his lap. “It had to do with getting you to relax a little.”
“This is not the way to relax me,” he said, putting his hands on her hips. “You realize that, right?”
“I was going to relax you,” she said. “Lick the wine flavor off your lips.” She leaned in and traced the outline of his top lip with the tip of her tongue. “But I have to say you taste pretty good all on your own.”
He took a deep breath, his hold on her tightening, his head falling back. “You’re dangerous. Do you know that?”
“I’ve never been accused of being dangerous.” She planted her hands on his chest and leaned forward, kissing him hard. “Flaky. Fun. Fluttery. Lots of F words, none too naughty. Never dangerous.”
“Then the men you’ve been with before were blind.”
“Or maybe we just didn’t have this kind of chemistry. It’s definitely a little bit more combustible than the norm.”
“True,” he said, sliding his hand upward, forking his fingers through her hair, his thumb teasing the edge of her lips. “You still mad at me?”
“Not really,” she said.
“Good. Because I didn’t come here to fight.”
“I’m hoping you came for another one of those F words.”
“Yep,” he said, “and I stand by my original statement. You, Sadie Miller, are dangerous as hell.”
“You’re not exactly a kitten, Deputy Garrett.” She arched her hips forward and gasped as she came into contact with his erection, rock-hard and obviously ready for her.
Really, she was becoming less and less disappointed in the loss of her brief domestic fantasy.
He tightened his hold on her hair and tugged her face down to his, kissing her deep and long. Leaving her gasping for breath. “Not exactly,” he said.
Just like that the intensity was back. The need that hit hard like a punch to the stomach and made it hard to breathe. The desire that verged on pain, her core already so slick with need for him, so sensitized, one more calculated move against his cock would send her straight over the edge.
But the releases Eli offered weren’t easy. Not a sweet relief like the opening of a flower, they were like going through a storm. And she was charging in willingly, knowing full well how it would be. Knowing that this time might be the time that saw her washed overboard, completely adrift.
It was worth the risk. Every time it was worth the risk.
She kissed him back, bit his lower lip as she tugged his T-shirt up over his head. Then she put her hands on his chest, all that hard, hot muscle for her to explore. Just for her.
“You, too,” he growled.
And she hastened to obey, tugging her shirt up over her head, undoing the front clasp on her bra. She leaned forward, a short, sharp sound escaping her lips when her nipples came into contact with all that hot bare skin.
He moved his hands over her back, his touch firm and sure. He touched her with the kind of authority she had no issue with at all.
He tightened his hold on her and picked her up, switching their positions so that she was lying sideways on the couch, on her back, with him over her, his hands on the snap of his jeans. Heat flooded her face, her body, anticipation coursing along her veins as she waited for him to get his pants off.
She undid her jeans and pushed them and her underwear down her legs. “Come on,” she said, “you’re going to kill me.”
“I don’t think you’re going to die,” he said, leaning in, tracing the outline of her nipple with his tongue.
“Yes,” she said, the breath rushing from her lungs, “I really think I might.”
“I didn’t realize you were so fragile,” he said, kissing her lightly on the breast before moving downward, pressing another kiss to her stomach.
“I am n
ot fragile.”
“You sure, baby? Another one of those F words.”
“You turn into such a bad man when your dick is hard,” she said, her voice shaky.
“And you like it,” he said.
“Hell yes, I like it.”
“Then we don’t have a problem.” He took hold of her leg, his fingertips sliding along her inner thigh, her muscles quivering in response.
“Except the little problem where I die because you won’t give me what I want.”
“What do you want?” he asked, pressing his lips along the path his fingers had just traced.
“Oh...I... You know.”
“You want this,” he said, leaning in, hot breath blowing across her clit.
“Oh...yes. Please.”
“You’re going to have to ask me by name.”
“Please, Eli,” she said. She wasn’t above taking orders. Hell, at this point, she was so desperate for release she wasn’t above begging. “Oh, please.”
“Please what?”
“Please do...you know.”
“You want me to lick you until you scream?”
Heat shot through her, her face burning hot. She was not a prude, but she’d never had a man talk to her like this before, either. And the fact that it was Eli, straight-arrow Eli Garrett who didn’t get double entendres and who’d once put her in handcuffs in an un-fun way, made it feel all the more illicit and shocking.
“Eli...”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He curved his hands around both of her thighs and tugged her down hard, his lips meeting her tender flesh, his tongue stroking her clit. She threw one arm over the back of the couch, putting the other one on his shoulder as he teased her, as he pushed her, mercilessly, straight over the edge into a climax she wasn’t even remotely prepared for.
Pleasure poured through her, threatening to drown her, and all she could do was cling to Eli. Cling to him and hope she survived the storm.
“Turn over,” he said, his voice rough.
“What?”
“On your knees, babe,” he said.
She sat up and obeyed, resting part of her body against the arm of the couch, her knees pressing into the cushions.
She could hear him getting his wallet out, tearing the condom packet. Her throat was dry, her body throbbing. She could not need to come again this bad less than a minute after that last orgasm. It wasn’t even possible.
But it was happening.
She was shaking, she needed him so bad. And shaking with fear because this level of need was terrifying. But she couldn’t stop him. Which only made it scarier. Because she didn’t want to. She should be running. She should be in her Toyota and halfway to the Washington border. But she was here, bracing herself on the couch, waiting for Eli. Needing Eli.
She didn’t have to wait long.
He pushed inside her, and she lowered her head, her forehead pressing against the arm of the couch, the brocade pattern biting into her skin.
He gripped her hips and established a steady rhythm, his hand drifting between her thighs, stroking her clit, making her shiver. She was powerless in this position, at his mercy. And she loved it.
It was so different from the last time they’d been together, when she’d ridden him until they both lost their minds. This was his game. He set the pace, and he had total control. She’d never liked this, submitting to a guy like this. But she liked it with him.
She more than liked it.
He pulled her back against him and increased the intensity, her whole body tightening up, pleasure twisting around her, reaching that unbearable point where she knew something had to give.
He pressed down hard between her thighs, the added pressure the final straw that snapped the tension, sending waves of release pounding through her.
He put both hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he rode her hard, chasing his own release. He found it on a harsh growl as he stiffened against her, then relaxed, his head resting against the curve of her back.
He moved away from her, her skin prickling in the cool air after he removed his warmth. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
She lay flat on her stomach, her knees and arms like wilted kale. She tried to catch her breath, to catch a thought, before he came back. So she didn’t do something dumb and needy like crawl into his lap and bury her head in his chest.
But she kind of felt dumb and needy. Which was really aggravating.
She pushed herself into a sitting position so that she would look a little less pathetic upon his return.
He walked back into the room, beautifully naked, his eyes most definitely focused on her breasts. “Hi,” he said.
“I’m having déjà vu. Except you were wearing clothes last time you walked in and said that.”
“So were you.”
“Yes, well. Not now.”
“Obviously.”
“Don’t leave,” she said, and she could have bitten her tongue off.
“I won’t,” he said. “Just yet.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Just not...right now. We could... We could go into the bedroom, and...”
Toby chose that moment to jump onto the floor between them and look at them both, judgment gleaming in his golden cat eyes.
“Oh, you,” she said, “go make yourself useful. Catch vermin!”
“You said he didn’t catch vermin,” Eli said, a smile curving his lips.
“He needs a hobby. One that is not staring at us after we have sex. Over it, cat. I’m over it.”
Toby meowed and walked over to Eli, rubbing against his bare legs and winding his tail around his calf. Eli looked pointedly at Sadie, his eyebrows arched.
“He can smell your disdain. It’s...well, it’s like catnip to him. He feeds off hatred.”
“Why do you like him again?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think for reasons similar to the ones I like you for.”
He looked back down at the cat, who was winding himself around his ankles, then back at her. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t always get along. You can be grumpy. Standoffish. Judge-y as hell. But there is just something about you.”
“You’re really selling my personality.”
“Hey, I know what I like. Grumpy, judgmental cats and...grumpy, judgmental men in uniform.”
“I’m not judgmental,” he said.
“Sure you’re not.”
“I’m not.”
“You seem upset. Are you going to punish me to the fullest extent of the law?” She wiggled her brows and stood up, her legs wobbling beneath her.
“I might,” he said, his voice getting deeper, huskier.
Oh, yes, this was better than the alternative. Desire was better than that other stuff. The intense aftershocks of sex with him. The deep need that it seemed to expose, without ever satisfying it.
“I think it’s time for us to go to bed.”
And for once, he didn’t argue with her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS EARLY. It was cold. And it was fence repairing time.
All things that, in many ways, Eli found enjoyable. All right, so fence repair wasn’t the most fun thing he could think of to do on a Saturday, but it was quiet work. And he and Connor had thermoses of coffee set on the fence posts, their breath putting out bursts of condensation in the cold air, and there was something about it that was familiar. Constant.
Of course, his brain was back in bed with Sadie. He’d gone to her place every night that week. He hadn’t slept there any of the nights, but last night he’d stayed until the sky had started to lighten, slept for an hour, and now, here he was out in the field.
It was jarring. To go from this sort of out-of-reality experience with Sadie, in her arms, in her bed. He had the kind of sex with her he’d barely even fantasized about. Because he hadn’t thought it was real. Or even a possibility.
What they had was hot, on
a level he hadn’t known existed. He wasn’t used to sex consuming him like this, but he sure as hell wasn’t arguing.
But yeah, the transition from there, to sleep, to this had him a little off his game.
“Hand me the wire cutters,” Connor said, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Sure,” Eli said, reaching out and taking the cutters from the ground, and placing them in Connor’s outstretched hand.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Connor said.
“And you appear to have woken up with an estrogen surge.”
“What the hell?” Connor asked.
“Seriously, what was that? ‘You’re quiet this morning.’” Eli knew he was being a jackass, because he was tired, because he’d been up all night having sex. Which he felt kind of smug about, but also which he didn’t want his brother to know about. “Only women say crap like that.”
“You seem to have woken up on the asshole side of the bed this morning and stepped in a pile of sexist on your way out to the barn,” Connor said.
“You make a similar trek every morning. Why should it bother you if I’m trying to speak your language?”
“Because you don’t normally. You are normally very well-adjusted, which actually kind of pisses me off, because you’re my younger brother and your shit is way more together than mine. In fact, no matter what’s going on, it all seems together for you. Which makes me very suspicious of why you’re acting this way.” Connor straightened and tugged off his glove, leaning against the wooden fence post and picking up his thermos, unscrewing the cap. “Yeah, very suspicious.” He poured himself a cup, black, no sugar. “Either you’re still mad because you want to screw Sadie, or...oh, no,” he said, a smile curving his lips. Eli groaned internally. “No, that’s not it. You said you weren’t going to sleep with her, so even if you were in full monk vow of celibacy mode you wouldn’t be grumpy like this. You did sleep with her. And you’re mad because you broke your little vow.”
Wrong. He was not mad about sleeping with Sadie. He loved every minute of it. He was, however, more than a little pissed that his brother had guessed so close to the truth.
“Shut up, Connor,” he said, reaching for his own thermos and pouring himself a cup, with cream and sugar.
