“My truth is that I like the woman you are with me and I like the woman you are in court. I like the woman you are with your brother and the way you fought to be his family. I like the woman I first met at the Bar that didn’t judge me when I told her I had been to prison. I like the woman that lets a scared young woman use her house as a sanctuary and leaves a bright red wall in her kitchen to make that same young woman happy. I like the woman who looks at my son and sees that he is everything and is willing to fight for him just because I asked her to. My truth is that you could never be anything other than fascinating and amazing, Sayer, and I fucking hate that you think you are anything else than all of that. So again you have two options, dinner or bed, which one do you want to pick?”
Was there really any choice, after all those heart-wrenching and soul-stretching words he had just thrown at me? I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My vision narrowed and all I could see was the glimmer of jade and the pulse at the base of his throat making the ink that lived there jump. My fingers curled into a fist on my chest and I blinked once.
“Bed . . . but dinner smells really good, so I want that, too . . . but later.” My voice was whisper thin, but there wasn’t a hint of hesitation in it. I wanted him. I wanted to be the person he had just described. I wanted to be more than I typically felt like I was. There was only warmth and anticipation that sizzled and popped bright and hot under my skin as he prowled around the big island and stalked toward me. He kept coming until the tips of his boots were touching my naked toes and I sighed when his rough fingers reached up and tangled in my hair on either side of my head.
“I would tell you where the bedroom is, but you already know.” I sounded breathless and not at all like me . . . well, the me I usually was. I totally sounded like the me I was when I got within touching distance of this persistent and hard man. The me that was taking over more and more of my life.
“Doubt we’re gonna make it to the bed, Say.” He growled the words low in his throat and his hands tightened on the sides of my head. My nipples pulled tight and ached as they hit the lacy fabric of my bra. I put my hands on his lean hips and let my half-naked body absorb the heat that seemed to effortlessly emanate from his enormous frame.
“Oh.” The word feathered across my lips and they made his eyes twinkle and that smile that transformed him from burly to sexy flash across his face.
“I like it when you say that. I like it better when you moan it when I’m buried deep inside of you and you’re squeezing me tight.”
My insides fluttered and I felt my eyes widen. “Zeb . . . the things you say.” I bit my lip and looked up at him from under my lashes. “I don’t know what to do with that.” Because his words made me feel . . . feel so many things, and I couldn’t stop the rush of emotion. I was turned on but it was more than that. I felt desired. I felt wanted. I felt needed. I felt valued. I felt worthy . . . I felt loved.
He chuckled a little and lowered his head so that his lips could brush against mine. I never wanted to kiss anyone who wasn’t him again. Even that light touch had my knees weak and my center going liquid and soft.
His lips ghosted across the curve of my jaw and trailed up my cheek until they brushed against my ear. His deep voice was heavy with seduction and promise as he told me, “You don’t have to do anything with the words because they’re the simple truth. You inspire them just by being you, Sayer.”
His mouth was on mine, his tongue was tangled with mine, my bra was gone, and his callused fingers and rough palms were working the hem of my skirt up my thighs. It was a whirlwind of sensation and all of my senses exploded and filled up with Zeb. I could taste the spicy tomato sauce on his tongue. I could feel his heart where it tip-tapped against my own and my hands delighted in digging into all the hard muscle that stretched taut across him. He was a tactile fest and I wanted to stroke him, hold on to him, dig into him so deep that he couldn’t ever get rid of me. I could hear our labored breathing as he backed me out of the kitchen and the light groans and moans that escaped both of us when his hands curved over my backside as he shoved my skirt up around my waist so that he could pull on the lacy panties that matched my abandoned bra. I could smell that scent of wood and work that clung to him no matter what and all I could see was green bleeding into the endless black of desire in his gaze as we hit the stairway in the living room that led up to my bedroom.
Maybe if I was more graceful, more familiar with these kinds of situations, I wouldn’t have stumbled. Maybe if I was used to mind-blowing sex and wanton desire, I could have pulled away and taken his hand while leading him seductively up to my lair. Maybe if I was confident and poised in my sexuality, I wouldn’t have teetered and faltered, I wouldn’t have tripped and fallen just like my heart was bound and determined to do every time I was around this man.
But I was just me, the girl who was so overwhelmed by him, by the things he made me feel, so my knees were weak and I lost my balance when he pressed into me and I landed with a grunt on my exposed backside. Suddenly having my skirt shoved up around my waist and being mostly naked in the middle of my house seemed less sexy and way more silly. I groaned and went to drop my head in my hands in embarrassment because only I could ruin such a sexy and heated moment in such a gloriously inept way, but I didn’t get a chance because Zeb’s hands were on my waist and he was urging me up another step as he fell to his knees before me. I never in my life thought that being manhandled would be a turn-on, but the way he effortlessly moved me where he wanted me made my skin prickle in arousal and had me clutching his wide shoulders as his hands skimmed the last scrap of lacey undergarment I was wearing down my legs.