He reached out a hand and brushed the hair from her face. God, she was beautiful. Smooth, creamy skin, plump red lips, clear hazel eyes…that had popped open at some point during his perusal and were regarding him curiously.
“Are we home?” she asked and gave a sleepy stretch. The thin cotton blouse pulled tight across her chest, and it was only through sheer force of will that he managed to look away.
“Yeah. Let’s get you inside. I’ll make us some coffee and you some food.”
She didn’t respond. She just opened the car door, slipped off her shoes and weaved her way into the house without a backward glance.
By the time he got inside, her shirt was off and she was hopping around the living room on one foot. One leg was bare, the other was still tangled in her jeans. Every time she jumped, her lace-encased breasts gave a jiggle and so did his heart.
He wet his lips. “Uh, what are you doing, babe?”
“I see that.”
“I’m gonna take a shower. But I’m stuck. Can you unstuck me?”
He paused for a long moment and sucked in a breath. Could he? It was a simple request, but over the past few months even the simplest request seemed difficult. He was only a man, made of flesh and blood—every drop of which had drained to his cock. Taking off her jeans rode the line between out of the question and abso-fucking-lutely not.
Micah was on the floor now, wrestling with her jeans as if she was an alligator in the midst of a death roll. Her face was crinkled in concentration, her tongue perched on her top lip à la Charlie Brown, and his heart gave a lurch.
“Stop rolling around, you’re making it worse.” He walked over to help her up by the elbow. “Put your arms around me, babe.” His voice sounded like he’d been sucking on broken glass, and for that second he was glad she was shit-faced enough to not notice.
She leaned forward, nestling her head into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He pinched his eyes shut and counted silently until the initial shock of her scent and the lush press of her curves wore off. He got to eighty before he regained control.
She seemed perfectly content to stay where she was, but instead of getting better, his situation was getting more and more dire by the second. “Okay,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Lift your leg up.”
She nodded into his chest and slung her leg—the bare one—high over his hip. Blood pounded in his ears as the soft heat of her pussy pressed against his thigh.
“The other leg, Mike,” he ground out.
She nodded again and slipped her hands to his shoulders, launching herself in the air and hooking her jeans-clad leg around his other hip to straddle him.
Poor word choice. “I meant switch legs, not both.”
She started to slip, and he instinctively grabbed her to keep her from falling. Unfortunately, the most natural handhold left him with two palms full of luscious ass.
Staring at him through wide eyes, she mumbled, “Well this is nice,” and wiggled against him, her almost-bare sex rubbing against his throbbing cock.
“Jesus, Mike, stop it.”
“Why? What do I have to stop? It feels really good. Doesn’t it feel good to you?” She did it again to make her point. He tried to stay still, but his fingertips flexed deeper into the soft flesh of her bottom.
He groaned. And she heard him. Even the room seemed to hold its breath until she broke the deafening silence.
“You want me?” She sounded afraid.
She should be.
He started to shake.
“No.” The word felt like it was ripped out of him. There was nothing in the world he’d ever wanted more than he wanted her right now, but she was drunk. Worse, even if she were sober, she wasn’t for the likes of him. They’d both always known that.
Her face crumpled, and she pushed her hands against his chest to escape. “Let me go. Just let me go. I’m tired of making a fool of myself over you, so let me go, dammit.”
Defeated, he stared into her tear-filled eyes. “You don’t get it, do you, babe? It’s not that I don’t want you. I want you too much.”
Tomas’s intense, chocolate gaze held hers captive. “The things I want to do to you… Jesus, Mike, none of it’s nice. Do you get what I’m telling you?” His husky voice was tinged with desperation.
Heat pooled between her thighs as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. Was the tequila addling her to the point that she’d heard him wrong? And if she’d heard him right, did she get it?
Her heart thudded, and she weighed her response. In truth, she had no idea what he meant, and the fear of the unknown assailed her. But if she said no? The answer made her blood run cold and chased her pleasant buzz into oblivion. He wouldn’t sleep with her unless she was going into it with eyes wide open. If she wasn’t, he would walk away from her again. She could bear anything but that.
“I get it,” she said in as firm a voice as she could manage. Then she wet her lips and rocked onto her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his in a soft kiss.
He groaned as her tongue swept along his. His hands slipped down, closing over her hips, urging her closer. Giddy with elation, she moved to wrap her arms around him when suddenly he pulled away, thrusting her from him as if she were on fire.
“I don’t think you do.” His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flaring.
She flicked a glance downward and could make out the thick shape of his erection straining against his zipper. He was a man on the edge. Now she needed to push him over. “Make love to me, Tomas.” Desperate, she decided she would take whatever she could get. “Give me one night,” she whispered. Then maybe she could convince him that one night wasn’t enough.
His jaw tightened, and he ran an impatient hand through his hair. “And now I know you don’t.”
His wistful tone scared her almost as much as his words. He took a step back and turned away. Panic clawed at her, and she grabbed his wrist. “No. Don’t do this to me again. Please.”
He shook his head but said nothing, refusing to meet her gaze. “You’re drun—”
“I’m better now. I’m buzzed, but I know exactly what I’m doing. I know exactly what I want.”
His face was stony, and she knew that look. His mind was made up. She swallowed the lump wedged in her throat along with the last of her pride. “At least tell me why this time. I deserve that much.”
“No. You deserve more. Much more than me. Your parents always knew it. Hell, I always knew it too. You’re good and sweet and beauti—”
“So are you!”
“See, that’s where you got it wrong, babe. I was never good. Not then, not now. I stole money from my foster parents, I smoked weed, I went through girls like potato chips.”
“You had it tough,” she argued. “And look how you turned out.”
He slammed a hand against the wall behind her. “You look, Mike. You look at how I turned out, because sometimes I think you don’t even see me. You just see this shiny fucking knight, your buddy Tomas, who will beat up a kid for taking your lunch or pick you up when a date goes bad and let you crash at his place.”
He laid a hand on her neck, closing it gently over her throat. His voice was low and urgent. “But what you don’t see is the Tomas who jerks off to the memory of you bent over in your boxer shorts. The one who closes his eyes and imagines fucking you from behind then pulling out at the last second so he can come on your juicy, round ass that’s still pink from the palm of his hand. The one who wants to tie your wrists and ankles to the bedpost so he can make you scream and cry out his name.”
He rubbed his thumb over her pounding pulse, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were wild, his expression pained. He stepped back, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
“And that? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Do you get it now, babe? The big bad wolf is sleeping one door away. Don’t come knocking again, or you’ll wake him up for real next time.”