Page 62 of The Burbs and the Bees
How’s that for fucked up?
I roll over and smile as she snuggles into her pillow. Her hair is a mess around her face, and her breathing is soft and even. Not wanting to wake her—Cluck will be doing that shortly—I carefully move her hair back and let my gaze rake over her pretty face. Honestly, I shouldn’t be smiling. I should be sitting here sweating my ass off. I bet against a girl I just had sex with, twice, and even though she pretty much said farming wasn’t
for her, and I expect her to give up and leave soon enough, I’m not happy about that.
Oh, boy.
She makes a small noise, and I’m instantly reminded of the way she called my name when she climaxed. Jesus, the way this woman opened up and gave herself to me was downright incredible and definitely something new for me. I fight down a wave of lust as I remember how I used my mouth and hands on her, how she used hers on me. I want her again, right now, but last night, she made it clear that it was a one-night thing, and I respect that. In fact, I should be crowing with joy at that, but what if just once more we…
You need to leave, dude.
It’s been a long time since I’ve sneaked out of a woman’s bed, but yeah, I should go. She’d probably prefer it if I weren’t here when she awoke. No need to engage in any awkward morning-after sex.
I reluctantly push the blanket away and try not to think too hard on why I don’t want to leave as I slide from the bed in search of my clothes. I find my pants, tug them on, and toss my shirt over my shoulder as I cross the room until I’m looking down at her. My gaze moves the length of her body, twisted in the bedding, and I grin at the sight of her feet sticking out the end, her nails no longer painted pink. I’m sure her pedicure was ruined from those big work boots.
“Creeper much?”
My gaze flies to hers to catch her eyeing me, one brow raised.
My stupid heart misses a beat when I see the grin flirting with the corners of her mouth, and I’m thrilled that there is zero strain between us under the stark light of the day.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” I jerk my thumb toward the door. “I just thought…”
She nods slowly, understanding dancing in her big eyes as she sits up. She tugs the blankets around her, hiding her beautiful body from my hungry eyes.
“Jay,” she begins and taps the mattress. I sit down, and she smiles at me. “Last night was…” She pauses and glances at the ceiling. “You know I have an English Literature degree. Someday I’d like to write a book, but here I am, unable to find the right words to describe last night.”
Maybe writing a book is something she could stick to. Maybe instead of running this farm, that’s something she could do to prove herself to the people who have no faith in her. I need her to fail, but I want her to succeed at something.
She taps her chin. “Now how can I put this?”
“Mind-blowing,” I offer. “Jay is a sexual god, a Titan among men. Sir Come Again.” I chuckle at my own stupidity, still high from my post-orgasm bliss all these hours later. “Wait, I got it. Captain Orgasmo.”
“Captain Orgasmo?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She laughs. “Nothing, I love it. Apparently, you are as creative as Jack, and yes, you are all those things.”
I angle my head and touch a strand of her hair, running the silky softness between my fingers and wishing I was between her legs again. “Are you complimenting me?”
She touches my hand, runs her finger up and down my arm. “I actually believe you just complimented yourself. But what I want to say is last night was amazing. Neither of us are looking for anything. We made that clear, so if you want to go, go right ahead.” She waves her hand toward the door. “No hard feelings. I don’t want this to be awkward. But if you want to stay, have breakfast, that’s okay, too.”
I nod, surprised at the easy, casual way she’s dealing with this and how comfortable we both feel after a night of hot, open, honest sex.
“I can make eggs and bacon,” I suggest.
She cringes. “Oh, God, no. I’m off bacon.”
I laugh and tug on her blankets. “Why don’t you jump in the shower? I’ll run back to my place and get us some coffee, and then I’ll collect some fresh eggs and cook them for us.”
“Be careful. Princess Lay-A has been rather bitchy lately. She pecked at me, and I contemplated making chicken strips for dinner.”
I shake my head. “Chicken you’ll eat, but bacon is a no-go. Your priorities are messed up, my friend.”
She smiles, like she adores the idea of us being friends. Hell, I do, too. But then I remember I shouldn’t be getting too close to her.
“One thing,” she says.
