Page 146 of Spicy Ever After
Our room.
Hell, no, we can’t have that.
I set our cake plates down on a padded bench at the foot of the bed before relieving Hattie of her buffet score. I set that down too.
When I turn back to her, Hattie’s eyes are wide and her bottom lip is clamped tight between her teeth.
No time to waste.
My arms band around her, and I crush her against me before I kiss her hard. A startled, approving whimper wobbles from her throat before she softens in my arms.
I kiss her and kiss her like I’ve wanted to for hours. Stroking her tongue, suckling her bottom lip, soaking in the heat that blooms between our bodies.
When I slowly pull back, a heavy-lidded gaze has replaced her look of uncertainty, and a flush spans from the V-neck of her gown to the apples of her cheeks.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out lust-roughened.
She blinks. “What for?”
One side of my mouth hitches. “For bringing me here. It’s been a while since I’ve been alone with you.”
Now she triple blinks. “We were alone in your truck on Thursday.”
When she did another delivery run with me. When we made out in the alley behind The French Press where we met a month ago.
I nod. “An eternity.”
Her giggle is my oxygen.
But then she glances to the bed like someone playing Freeze Tag. As if it’s moved closer since she last looked.
“Hattie.”
I wait for her to look back at me. When she does, hazel eyes alert again, I reach down and squeeze her hand tight. “Talk to me.”
Her nostrils flare as she inhales. “I want—” Her eyes dart again to the bed, but not with a look of longing.
She’s nervous.
“Whoa.” I clasp her chin and guide her focus back to me. “There’s a bed in here and we can totally ignore it for the rest of the night.”
Her brows pleat. “And sleep on the floor?”
I glance down at the restored cypress planks beneath our feet. “Admittedly, it doesn’t look very comfortable.” I shake my head. “I mean nothing is going to happen in that bed unless you want it to.”
“But that’s just it. I do want it to. I want to do it, but I don’t—I don’t know if—” She shakes her head. “I get a lot of things wrong. What if I do it wrong?”
I nearly choke. Now is no time to laugh, but I can’t help my grin. “H-Hattie—honey—” Now I shake my head. “As long as we’re doing what feels good, it can’t be wrong. And we’re not doing anything—not anything—until we’re ready.”
She looks unconvinced. “But?—”
I let my hand fall from her face. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re not?” Her eyes fill with dismay.
Technically, I got hard the moment she said our room, but no one could fault me for that.
A rough chuckle leaves me. “Honeysuckle, I want you like butter wants to melt on biscuits. No stopping it.” I shake my head. “But it’s got to feel right, and it won’t feel right until we’re both dying for it.”
