Her eyes search mine, though, and I feel compelled to answer.
“Never been married,” I tell her. “And I never intend to.”
“I thought as much,” she says, sighing, and I can’t tell if it’s because of what I said or if it’s because her body is reacting to the orgasm rushing over her.
Her pussy is so slick, so fucking wet and ready, and I move in and out of her nice and hard.
She whimpers, and I keep her arms pinned as I fill her up, as I come. She comes too, liking it when I am in control. With me guiding her, we come together.
Fuck, this woman has worked my body over like no woman ever has before.
I kiss her — I can’t help it. I know this hook-up means nothing, but there is a part of me — a tender part that I never think about or talk about — that has come alive. That is awakened as I hold Ava Grace in my arms, as I kiss her sweet, luscious lips.
I kiss her, my cock still in her, her hands still held. I kiss her, and for a split second, I think I could stay like this. In this cotton candy house with the woman who is the opposite of me.
Because it feels so good and so right.
“I don’t want to kill the mood but I’ve gotta pee,” Ava says, before rolling out from under me, scooting out of bed, her bare ass so fucking cute as she walks away.
When she leaves, I sit up, look at her room. I see her stack of books—all romance novels—with a Kindle on top, and a handwritten list, titled, TBR: WILDER, Mother Trucker, HUCK, Love Is Crazy.
Not having any idea what any of that means, I prop myself back up on the pillows on her bed and notice a DVD collection on a shelf next to her wall-mounted TV. Every fucking romantic comedy I swore I’d never watch.
She has a framed photo on her wall that reads She Loved with All Her Heart. And the piece de resistance is the dried flowers hanging from a corkboard.
This woman is gorgeous, funny, sexy, and knows how to give one hell of a blowjob... but she also clearly wants to fall. Hard and fast and forever.
I can’t be that for her.
All I can offer is one night.
After all, I left town three years ago, and never came back. I’m a loner, a recluse, a man who has never been in love.
I’m not perfect; hell, of course, I know that.
But Ava Grace is looking for perfect.
She’s looking for someone that is not me.
6
The truth is we slept together four more times. But who’s counting? Okay, clearly, I am counting. And those four times don’t even include the blow job. Or the hand job. Or the time I sat on his face.
Okay, I already said I wasn’t a lush, but I also want the record to show that I am not a hussy.
But I do like to have fun. And I did. All night long, I had so much fun. All the fun.
The next morning, Samson is still asleep, which I think is kind of cute, considering he claims to be some rough-and-tumble mountain man. I picture a man like him getting up at the crack of dawn, but here it is, 8:30 in the morning, and he’s snoring.
I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of panties and a tank top. Then I tie on a robe that barely covers my ass. I pull my hair up in a messy bun and look in my bathroom mirror.
Blinking, I try to remember how much champagne I had at the engagement dinner. Maybe not so much after all. There’s no headache. My eyes aren’t red. And my skin is actually glowing.
Apparently, my body responds well to mountain man sex.
In my fluffy pink slippers, I pad to the kitchen, where I heat a kettle of water and measure out grounds for my French press.
It’s Friday morning and I have a day of work ahead, but I also don’t want to kick my houseguest out earlier than necessary. In fact, I’m thinking that a post-breakfast shower sounds like the perfect way to add a few hours to this rendezvous.
I pop two English muffins in the toaster and pull out a jar of strawberry jam. The whole time, I’m thinking about ways my sister could come to terms with me and her fiancé’s brother becoming a couple.
I’m not trying to get ahead of myself, but as I pull a butter knife from the drawer, my mind is imagining picking out new silverware for a wedding registry.
Just as I’m grabbing the half-and-half from the fridge, I hear Samson getting out of bed.
He comes in the kitchen just as I’m pouring the coffee. “Coffee?” I ask.