Melt For Him

by Lauren Blakely

  Maybe. The word from the art gallery played in his head. Maybe they had a chance.

  “I’m falling for you too,” she said, tracing a soft line along his jaw.

  More than a chance, he hoped.

  “Let’s keep falling together,” he said. He brought her closer, holding her tight in his arms as they both drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “When do we get to the secret ingredient?”

  Becker sounded disappointed, and Megan parked her hands on her hips. “Just you wait. We’ll get there.”

  “I’m all for treats,” he said, as he cracked an egg for the brownie mix on the kitchen counter the next morning. They’d already enjoyed eggs and toast and morning sex, and Becker had made a grocery store run while Megan had lounged on his couch, finishing the book she was reading on her phone as she waited for him. Funny, how she’d gone from self-protective and fearful, to ready or not in a matter of a few days. She hadn’t shed all her worries in a week; that would be silly. But she was learning to live with them for the time being. She might still be scared, but she was dealing with it because the reward was worth it.

  Now they were making her specialty. As she stirred the mix, he moved behind her, roped his arms around her waist and bent down to rain sweet, hot kisses on the back of her neck. She shivered under his touch and leaned her head back against his shoulder. “You do that and I won’t be able to concentrate on these brownies.”

  “You in my shirt already makes me unable to concentrate,” he growled, and inched his hand from her waist to the top button on his blue button-down that she’d commandeered from his closet this morning, searching for a fresh top to wear.

  “Mmm…”

  He unbuttoned one button on her shirt, dipping a hand inside to cup her breast, naked and uncovered. “You don’t have a bra on.”

  “Why would I?”

  “Good point. Just like the night I met you.”

  “You didn’t even pretend that night that you looked away. You just watched me take it off, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to miss a gorgeous woman stripping behind my bar. Besides, now I have you stripped in my house. Even better.”

  He feathered a calloused hand over her flesh, squeezing, then pinching her nipple as it hardened under his fingertips. She dropped the wooden spoon into the brownie bowl, closed her eyes, and pressed her back against his chest. Another button came undone, and soon the rest, then both of his hands were holding tight to her breasts, fondling them with the tantalizing mix of soft and rough that sent sparks of heat through her body and turned her panties wet. Good thing she’d tucked an extra pair in her purse before their date last night, so she had a fresh pair to pull on this morning.

  “I’m going to need to keep extra undies here if you keep touching me like that.” She wriggled her backside against him. At the first touch of his hard cock nestled against her rear, she moaned in satisfaction.

  “Or just stop wearing underwear around me. Makes things easier,” he said, in a hoarse voice. “Go commando on top. Go commando on bottom. Just be naked all the time.”

  “We’ll never leave.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Feel what you do to me, Becker.” She grabbed his hand, guiding him between her legs. With one finger, he stroked the outside panel of the cotton panties that were already damp.

  “There’s nothing better than that,” he whispered in her ear, his voice turning hazy. He ground against her backside, the steel length of him hard and heavy against her.

  “I know of something better, and it involves you getting a condom right now.”

  He bit out a curse and gave her a quick slap on the butt. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  She didn’t entirely follow his command. She stepped out of her undies, gripped the edge of the counter, and then flattened her back so she’d be in the perfect position when he returned.

  He whistled under his breath. “That’s a hell of a view.”

  She looked over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face. He shook his head appreciatively, then gripped her ass with both hands, pressing into the soft flesh. He ran a thumb along the line where her cheeks met her thighs, then spread her wider.

  “Damn, woman. I want to go down on you in this position.”

  She wouldn’t have minded that any other time. But right now, she was aching between her legs. Wound tight with a throbbing need to feel him deep inside her.

  “Just fuck me instead.”

  He skimmed down his jeans, rolled on a condom, and teased the head of his cock against her center.

  “Have I told you how much I love being inside you?”

  “Tell me again,” she whispered.

  “So unbelievably much.”

  “Then please take me now,” she gasped.

  “If you say so,” he said, and in one hard thrust he filled her, and she released a breath she’d been holding. It was as if she’d been stunned, with shock and desire. In this position, she felt him even more deeply than the night before. He filled her all the way up, bordering on pleasure and pain with his size. She didn’t want to move, because she teetered on that fine line. She tensed, and he bent over her, keeping still inside her. He moved her hair back gently, giving himself access to her neck. He kissed her tenderly behind her earlobe, then whispered to her, his hot breath causing goose bumps. “Relax, baby. I won’t hurt you. I’ll take it slow.”

  She nodded, breathed out, and let go of some of the tension she’d been holding on to in her belly. She sank deeper into a flat back, raised her ass higher, giving him more access, giving herself even less control. She liked letting go with him. Giving in to him. He could take her as much as he wanted to, because she wanted to be ravished.

  She stretched her neck to look at him. “Do whatever you want to me,” she whispered, and his eyes went hazy with lust.

  She thought he would take her hard and fast. But he didn’t. He moved slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Each stroke was greeted with a moan, hot sparks shooting through her body. He moved in her like that, steady and luxurious. He was practically humming, enjoying the torture of the slow pace as he took his time, and kissed her neck, and made her moan nonstop. Her body was not her own. It was an instrument he played, like a virtuoso, and every move hit a new note of pleasure in her. She’d be singing an aria soon with the way he slid in and out. But she couldn’t take the tease much longer. She wanted speed and friction now. She wanted to succumb to the ache between her legs.

  “Becker,” she cried out. “I can’t take it anymore. It feels so fucking good, and I want more of you.”

  He needed no further instruction. He slammed into her. Hard, heavy, fast.

  He grunted and pounded deeper, and each thrust sent her higher, and soon the world blurred, spiraling away as her orgasm descended on her, blasting through her, needing no assistance from his or her hand. She gasped sharply, barely managing words, hardly able to even say his name as she came on him. He chased her climax with his own, his large hands gripping her hips as he drove into her.

  After he’d pulled out and cleaned up, she was still there, bent over, spent from the best hard fucking she’d ever experienced.

  He kissed the small of her back, then ran his tongue along her spine and up to her neck, wrapping his hands around her waist to gently tug her away from the counter. He lifted her and carried her a few feet to a chair, letting her sink down on his lap.

  “Did I turn you into a rag doll?”

  “Yes,” she whispered and looped her arms around his neck, finding his lips and kissing him tenderly. “But I’m glad.”

  “Me, too,” he said, returning her kisses, his soft lips brushing against hers. “I hope you know I love kissing you as much as I love fucking you.”

  “I feel the same,” she said, dropping her mouth to his one more time, claiming his lips with her own.

  When she stopped, she tipped her forehead to the bowl they’d left on
the counter. “Should we finish making the brownies?”

  “Yeah, because I’m getting hungry from you making me service you all the time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Ha. I think you like my demands for your services.”

  He grabbed her hand. “I love your demands.”

  Megan retrieved her underwear from the floor and took off for the bathroom. After straightening up and washing her hands, she returned to the kitchen, and they finished mixing.

  “And now for the secret ingredient,” she said as she stirred.

  “Dark chocolate. Like you told me at the river.”

  “You’re a good listener,” she said, then poured the batter into a baking pan.

  Megan popped the mix into the oven, set the timer, and grabbed Becker’s hand, leading him into the living room. She pulled him onto the couch with her, sliding alongside him.

  She traced her finger across his lips. His eyes floated closed, and he sighed happily. She was going to miss him when she left for Portland. He’d mentioned last night that they might try to see each other still. Crazy thought, but then so was her being involved with him. Her stomach twisted with nerves, but she ignored the worry and charged forward. Making plans with Becker was not like making plans with Jason.

  “Becker,” she started, her voice pocked with nerves.

  “Yes?” He opened his eyes.

  “Did you mean it last night when you said maybe I should come back from time to time?”

  He sat up straighter on the couch, looked her in the eyes. “Yes.”

  “Because I know we talked about just doing this”—she gestured from him to her—“while I’m in town. But I’m kind of thinking that maybe we can continue.”

  He nodded vigorously. “I want to keep seeing you.” He said the words reverently, like a prayer. An offering.

  Her heart pounded perilously close to her skin, as his lips curved into a small grin and his eyes sparkled. “Me, too.”

  “I can visit you, and you can come back here, and we can figure it out. My schedule is crazy, but there are plenty of days and nights when I’m off duty.”

  For a moment, Megan froze. Off duty. Those words were a sharp reminder of his job. For the last several hours she’d been enjoying their little corner of the world, all cozy and warm in his house, but this wasn’t all there was. He could leave for duty at any moment and never come back. She knew that, had always known that, but she’d thought she’d swept that fear out the door.

  The worry wasn’t going away, though. It was creeping up on her now, a ghost leaving a cold imprint as it passed by.

  “I’ll be here, Megan. I’m not going anywhere,” Becker said softly, as if he’d sensed the knot of fear that had set up camp. She tried to shoo it away by reminding herself that they were in limbo. But she still felt that nagging sense of unease. She’d hoped it would be gone by now, banished forever from her trunk of emotions. Yet there it was, taking some kind of hold anew. It didn’t matter if she was leaving town. Didn’t matter if their love affair ended now. She already cared too much. In seven days, in a month, in a year, whether she was in Portland or New York or Austin or someplace entirely new, she’d still care.

  Was it easier to be the one with the dangerous job than the one who loved a man who took those risks? She didn’t know, but her mind was racing into all sorts of debates and arguments that made her body feel cold.

  “I think I’m going to jump in the shower,” she said, hoping a few minutes alone under the hot stream of water would calm this new fleet of reckless nerves.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “The brownies are going to be done in a few minutes. Can you get them out instead when the timer goes off?” she asked, because she needed to be alone.

  “I can do that,” he said and they pulled apart. As he turned into the kitchen, he tapped the on switch on a scanner. “Old habits die hard. Sometimes I just like to listen to what’s going on.”

  As she stood under the hot water minutes later, she tried to talk herself down. Remind herself of how far she’d come. She scrubbed her skin, and washed her face, and let the stream of water pound onto her closed eyes. Soon, the tightness in her chest and in her heart started to fade.

  As she turned off the water, she heard a loud, sharp sound.

  Must have been the timer for the brownies, she figured.

  She reached for a towel and dried off, but now there was movement. Footsteps. She heard Becker’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but he was talking on the phone. Rushed, but businesslike in tone. Her spine straightened.

  Seconds later, there was a knock on the bathroom door, then he opened it.

  “I have to go. One of the old furniture warehouses down in Sandy Valley is on fire,” he said.

  “But Sandy Valley is thirty miles away. It’s not even your—”

  He cut her off. “It’s moving fast. So they’re asking for help. I’ll call you later. I promise.” He cupped her cheeks in his strong hands and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “I promise,” he said again.

  He turned and left.

  She knew how fire stations worked. Even if another station was called in for backup, only the men on duty went. Becker was choosing to go. He wasn’t even on call, and he was making a choice to jump headfirst into danger.

  As she heard the sound of the front door closing, she felt thrown back in time. A little girl again. Left. Scared. Alone. She hated that feeling. Hated it with a deep-seated passion that had been a part of her very makeup her entire life. She bit her lip, doing everything to fight the feeling. She towel-dried her hair. She pulled on her jeans. She grabbed her bra and shirt and shoved them on. Then her boots.

  She didn’t know when he’d be back, but she wasn’t going to let the fear paralyze her. She’d simply finish the brownies, then head to her mom’s house. Megan was looking forward to seeing her mom again.

  There was a loud beeping sound that startled her. The brownies. She hustled into the kitchen, hunted for a potholder, and opened the oven door. She grabbed the baking pan and placed it on the counter, then considered the brownies from every angle.

  Perfect. They looked perfect. She’d let them cool, then cut them into squares, then arrange them on a plate, and leave Becker a nice, loving note. Maybe even draw a little raccoon for him, their mascot. He’d find it when he came home, and it would make him happy, knowing she’d done this for him while he was off fighting a blaze. He’d call her, and she’d finish up whatever she was doing, and she’d grab a change of clothes, come join him, and they’d spend the night together.

  Everything would be fine.

  She put that word on repeat in her head—fine, fine, fine—as she wandered around his house waiting for the brownies to cool. She needed to keep busy. She headed to the living room, surprised to find there were no framed photos on his mantel, not even of his brother. Then to his living room. There weren’t any magazines on his table, or any books left out that he’d been in the middle of reading. Just his laptop and some printed spreadsheets that were probably from the Panting Dog. Her brief trip through his home revealed more proof that he was a loner with few signs of attachment. His love was his work, right? She returned to the kitchen, plopped down at the table, and thumbed aimlessly through the stack of newspapers.

  She had nothing to hold on to.

  Megan closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. Her mind skittered and raced. When had the fire in the warehouse started? How fast had it moved? How dangerous were the flames? She pictured beams falling, and sparks hissing, and men never coming back out. Her shoulders heaved and thick, salty tears fell. She swiped at her face. Stupid tears. Stupid fate.

  Stupid her.

  Because as much as her heart lurched for the men in the line of duty, her selfish soul ached, too.

  This was some kind of reminder, wasn’t it? This was the life of service, and a man in service was on call twenty-four hours a day. She knew that from her dad, and she knew that from Travis, and sh
e might admire their work to the ends of the earth, but dammit. There was a reason she’d erected walls and set up boundaries.

  Because she didn’t want to know how it felt when the walls crumbled down.

  This wasn’t about a date interrupted. She could deal with that. What she was afraid of dealing with was the next time, and the next time, and then the time after that when he didn’t come back, and might never come back.

  She thought she’d made peace with the random zigs and zags of life. She’d even helped Becker realize that he didn’t have to be beholden to the past. Hell, she believed all she’d said to him that night in the bar when her heart had finally cracked open, right along with his. But that was the problem with letting your heart open. It could hurt like hell.

  And right now, it ached. So painfully. The prospect of losing him felt like a knife carving through her chest. She didn’t just care for Becker; she’d fallen so far in such a short amount of time that she didn’t know what she’d do without him. He was a part of her life, a part of her soul, a part of her future. She was terrified of never seeing him again because he meant the world to her now.

  She returned to his bedroom, found her purse on the floor, and slung it on her shoulder. The covers on his bed were still messed up, and she latched onto a moment from last night, when he’d held her tight, and she’d felt warm and safe and oh so happy.

  She clutched that image in her hands, grasping it. But she couldn’t hold on. The memory slipped away.

  She wheeled around, returned to the kitchen, dropped her purse on a chair, and tested the brownies. They were cool, so she sliced them and placed them on a plate, then washed the pan and the mixing bowls.

  So domestic, the woman waiting for her man. Like her mom for so many years, waiting for a man who would never return.

  Megan hated waiting. She needed to move, to swim, to travel.

  She found a piece of paper and a pen in her purse. She started to write a note, to let him know she’d see him soon. But she only got as far as his name. She stared up at the ceiling, cycling through what to say next. As the shadows of the past gripped at her heart, she knew what to say. Because she didn’t want to be the person who waited. If she stayed here, then she’d always be waiting with brownies for him.