Hate You Not

I step into the den, and Leah turns off Netflix and waves me toward the hall. “Come talk to me while I shower.”

Leah is the danger zone. If I shut myself up in the bathroom with her, I’ll spill all, and telling her will make things more real. But if I put up a fuss, she’ll really know something’s up—so I go with her.

Luckily for me, I hear—really, I feel—the screen door slam a minute after she turns on the shower.

“I’m going to check on that,” I tell her as she steps in. “Just to be sure it isn’t Shawn and Co.”

“I know you’ll be sooo disappointed if it’s Shawn and Burke,” she calls as I go.

Brat.

I find him standing in my kitchen. He’s facing the refrigerator, which means my first glance of him is his broad back, covered by a white T-shirt. His neck is tanned—maybe sunburned—and his longish hair is curling just slightly above his collar.

I make an effort to sneak up behind him, but he feels me at the last second and turns partway around. When our eyes catch, a grin lights up his whole face.

I come in close enough to wrap my arms around his shoulders. Then I rub my palm over his scruff and run my fingers into his hair. I pull him down like I might kiss his mouth, but I don’t. I rub my forehead against his rough jaw and kiss him on the throat.

Then I draw away and smile up at him. “Hey there, Burkie baby.”

He laughs like he thinks I’m crazy, but when he smiles at me, it’s real and warm and happy.

“You’re sunburned.” I stroke my thumb over his cheekbone, touch a little curl just over his ear. “And you look exhausted.”

He seems almost shy as he looks down between us. “Sort of,” he says gruffly.

I can’t help wrapping my arms around his waist. I’m relieved when he folds me up against him and rests his cheek against the top of my head.

“You smell really good,” he whispers.

I squeeze him. “You feel really good.”

He sweeps me off my feet and spirits me into the laundry room, whose door is right beside the fridge and has never seen so much action before. I pull the door shut behind us, and he leans me against it. He cages me with his arms and nuzzles my shoulder, kissing my collarbone with his hot mouth, and then my throat.

“Damn,” he murmurs.

I run my fingers into his hair, hugging him to me. He kisses further up, just under my ear, where at first his mouth gives me chills; then it leaves me panting.

I grab onto his shoulder as I try to catch my breath.

“Damn you, June. All morning…couldn’t get a damn thing done for work.”

I stroke my hand down his abs, covered by his cotton T-shirt. When my fingers brush his pants, my hand bumps into his bulge. “I know what needs to get done.”

I think he tries to snicker, but he ends up grunting as I grab him. “Fuck.” He breathes hard as I trace the rim of him, and his whole body shudders.

“That’s right,” I murmur. I rub his erection through his dark green shorts, and he kisses my throat again. Then his lips find mine. His tongue glides into my mouth, and the whole world seems to speed up as we go at each other, my hand rubbing him, his fingers crawling up into my shorts from the pants leg, lifting my underwear and stroking where I need to be touched.

“Wait,” I gasp. I pull away from him and double-check the lock on the door that leads onto the back porch. Then Burke lifts me up and sets me up on top of the dryer. I wrap my legs around him, and we make out till I’m desperate with the need to get off.

He slips a finger into me and teases my hot spot with another gentle fingertip. Then he kisses me dizzy. My senses short out, and I’m groaning into his mouth. I come in a rush that nearly levels me and want to lie down and curl up and sleep, but he’s still straining at his pants.

I’ll have to fix that.

“Sit on the floor with your back against that door,” I order, pointing to the door that leads into the kitchen.

He gives me an amused grin but does it. I get on my knees in front of him, unbutton his shorts, and wrap my fingers around his long erection.

“God, you’ve got the perfect dick.” I bend down and wrap my tongue around the tip of it, and give his shaft a few slow strokes, taking him a little deeper as my hand moves down and drawing him out as my fist moves up. I don’t even have time to find a good rhythm before he groans as he comes, with a thrust and a tremble of his hips.