Page 115 of One Week Hating You
I shake my head. “You’re doing it right now, being cocky again.”
He smiles playfully. “C’mon, you love it. Don’t tell me you don’t want to come and sit on me right now.”
A laugh escapes me. “Seriously? No, do I look like I’m in the mood?”
“You look damn good to me,” he says. “I could get you in the mood, real fast. Help you forget everything.”
I shake my head. He does look pretty delicious sitting there in the middle of my gourmet kitchen. Just the mention of sex brings me back to the feel of his touch, the taste of his mouth, and the sensation of him inside me.
He leans back on the chair and spreads his long legs, in that casual way men have. “I’m ready and willing.” He winks.
Before I can talk some sense into myself, my gaze is drawn to where it shouldn’t go. Those sweats don’t leave much to the imagination. Yes, he’s ready and willing all right. Suddenly, I forget about all my problems. There’s only him and I, and that kitchen chair.
I walk slowly over to him, and set his glass of water on the table. His gaze doesn’t leave mine. I don’t think he’s thirsty anymore, well not for water anyway. He extends an arm, wraps it around my waist and draws me to him. I don’t fight. I go willingly, lift one leg and straddle him. His erection presses against my sex as he cups my face in his large rough hands. His kiss tastes sweeter than usual, like fresh strawberries. He tastes like berries but he smells like man. I press the palms of my hands against his unkempt beard. I’ve always preferred clean shaven men, like Peter, but there’s something to be said for the feel of a beard against your skin. Blake suits it; he’s so wild and intense, almost feral. His kisses are rough, but also soft.
I don’t ever want to pull my mouth from his, lost in the taste of him. He slides his hands through my hair, and down the length of my neck. “I love your hair like this… wild,” he mutters between kisses. “Beautiful.”
I rub myself harder against him, wanting that release. His laugh is muffled in the hollow of my neck. “Not so fast, Freckles.”
“I want you,” I whisper, my lips pressed against his cheek.
His hands travel down the curves of my hips, and he grabs the flesh of my ass and pulls me up. We’re standing and I’m sure he’s going to take me to my bed, but he throws me on the kitchen table savagely, eager. He tugs at the waistband of my sweats and I throw my head back. I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked on the kitchen table. That just wasn’t Peter’s style.
Blake’s mouth is hot on my skin, traveling down the curves of my stomach, as he explores me. When he pulls down my sweats, he discovers simple cotton panties with little hearts on them. “I like these,” he says. His voice is always a little deeper, a little coarser when we’re fucking – it drives me wild.
“You’re beautiful,” he says again.
I laugh. “I look like hell.”
“You look free,” he says as he travels down my legs, and then he stops and a soft chuckle escapes him. “Very free… this is new,” he says as he rubs his hand along the length of my calf, my very hairy calf.
Oh shit… my legs!
I’m so mortified, I can hardly look at him. I peek through one half shut eye. A huge smile stretches across his face.
“It’s November,” I point out. “And you know… I’m single now.”
He laughs as he keeps stroking my leg. “I kind of like it,” he says. “Very French bohemian. I bet you’re a firecracker in bed.”
I laugh. “I am, of course.”
He leans over me and presses his mouth to mine. “I know you are.”
I tear myself away from him. “We can’t have sex. Not when my legs are this hairy.”
He laughs again. Apparently, he finds my discomfort completely hilarious. He pulls me to him again. “I couldn’t care less, Maeve.”
“I need to go shave.”
He presses his mouth against my neck. “How ‘bout this… how ‘bout I draw you a bath, and I shave your legs? Could be fun.”
I bite my lip. “I do like the sound of that.”
The water is perfect.I have the tub all to myself, Blake is sitting on the edge, smiling down at me.
“I’m going to miss this bathtub so much,” I tell him. “With my budget, I’ll be lucky if I can afford a bathtub at all.”
He shoots me an exaggerated pout. “Well, you could always come over to my place. My tub is just as nice as this.”
