3

Wade

I had to get out of that room and away from her. The memory of lying beside her nearly naked body, creamy and lush in all the right places, was too much. I make my way into the kitchen, trying hard to calm the raging hard-on situation happening in my pants as I contemplate cold shower number three.

Not that I think it will help.

Jacking off didn’t help either.

It only made it worse and reminded me that my hand is a sad consolation to the warm woman in my bed.

I didn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t. Not with her sleeping in peace, gorgeous honey-colored hair splayed out against my dark sheets, the sound of her chest rising and falling with each breath. I tried, for the sake of my body, to keep a bit of distance between us. Having her that near was a temptation I refused to give in to.

I don’t fuck women who are too drunk to know what they’re signing up for. Not ever. But I’m not the kind of asshole who would let someone choke on their own drunken vomit either. And so, it was for that reason alone I pulled back the covers and lay down beside her.

Seeing her now, her hair in a sexy mess, sheet pulled up to her chin, it took everything in me not to pounce and claim her body. Fuck, how I wanted to pull back that sheet and pick up where we’d left off last night, and bury myself balls deep into her warmth pussy.

Even though I saw the way she reacted to me, my body, and the memories of what transpired between us last night, she was too skittish. Too unsure of what happened.

I, on the other hand, am completely sure of her. Of my want. Of my need. And of the eventuality of us. I knew the moment I laid eyes on her last night that she was different. It was her laughter that called to me in the crowded room. Seeing her completely at ease with herself, I felt drawn to her.

I never wanted to know a woman so badly in my life, so the moment our eyes connected, I made my move and crossed the room toward the blue-eyed, curvy goddess.

Viv.

Vivi.

Vivienne.

Mine.

She has no idea the power she holds in her hands. The beauty she possesses.

She’s curvy in all the right places, and my hands itch to run along those curves. I can’t get the fantasy of her bent over the hood of my Charger out of my head, skirt pushed up to her waist, while I hook my hands at her hips and drill her from behind. I jerked off imaging the sounds of her coming, milking my cock for all I can give her, all the while wishing for the real thing.

She is everything, but that confidence I saw in her from across the room only goes so deep.

And that kills me.

My Vivienne was polite but standoffish, and she didn’t make it easy for me to talk to her. It wasn’t until she had a few drinks in when the reason slipped.

“Is this some kind of cruel joke?” She leaned in and asked. The loud music made it difficult to hear anything, but her words weren’t lost on me.

“What are you talking about?” I took advantage of her nearness and shifted closer. The heat of her body was only inches from mine, and the scent of strawberries filled my nose.

“Men like you don’t talk to women like me.” She used a beautifully sculpted fingernail to point between us.

“Women like you?”

“Women with a little more on the bone. Let’s face it, I’m not a size two, Wade.”

“No, you’re perfect.”

I could see the doubt in her eyes again this morning, and I wanted to erase it instantly. I wanted to bow down at her feet and worship her with my tongue, pushing out any idea in her beautiful head that tells her she is less than perfect.

I knew the moment our lips touched I was a goner, and made it my life’s mission to make her mine and to cherish her.

The sound of my bedroom door closing and her bare feet treading across my hardwood floors interrupts my thoughts as I crack the first egg on the hot skillet. I don’t know how I managed to pull everything out. My thoughts were filled with her and her tempting body.

When she comes into the kitchen wearing one of my shirts and a pair of my jersey knit pants rolled at the waist, I stifle a groan. She looks good despite the fact that the pants are still too long for her though they pool perfectly at her bare toes. After a thorough mental image, one I file away in my growing spank-bank file with her name engraved into it, I look at the white mug in her hand and smile. “Do you need a refill?”

She nods, and I take the mug, filling it and my own. Handing it back to her, I lean down to press a soft kiss against her forehead before reaching down and running my hand along the shape of her ass. My body craves more, considering I had my tongue down her throat and my hand up her skirt moments before she passed out in my bed. I ignore the craving and go back to the eggs.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she contemplates her next move, clearly thrown by my kiss and sneaky caress, but she doesn’t say anything to keep me from doing it again. Something I take mental note of.

“Toast?” I ask, trying to act like what transpired isn’t a big deal, while my heart hammers in my chest. There is so much more I want to do to this woman, and it’s difficult to hold back.

“Oh, um, sure.” She looks around the room and spots the toaster three feet from me.

“I got it,” I tell her before she gets it in her head to help. She’s probably anxious to leave, but I’m not ready to take her home. There’s something about her, and having her here in my space does something to me no other woman has been able to do. And there have been plenty of women who’ve tried. “Sit down, relax. Bottle of aspirin is on the counter.” I barely recall placing the bottle there when I came back into the kitchen, but there it is.

“Thank you,” she whispers softly and opens the bottle, quickly tossing a couple back. She sips her coffee and licks the liquid from her lips. My cock begins to swell as the thought of her pink tongue darting out to run along the length of my shaft forms. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

“I want to, babe.” I toss a smirk over my shoulder at her, purposely using the word ‘babe’ to get a reaction. She blushes. Fuck, this is going to be more fun than I initially thought. “You just sit your sweet ass down on that barstool and let me take care of this. You stay at my place, I make you breakfast. You can pay me back with dinner.”

“‘Kay,” she murmurs, then her blue eyes survey the room, soaking up every detail. Her eyes rest on the duffle bag I keep next to the door and the emblem stitched into the side pocket. She perks up a moment before her eyes sidle back to me. I busy myself with placing her eggs on a plate, not missing the surprise in her voice. “You’re a firefighter?”

“Yes, I run the station. I’m the fire chief,” I drawl, suddenly feeling like a douchebag for correcting her. There’s a lot about last night she doesn’t remember, and I’m sure our small talk is on that list. I feel more out of my element with each passing moment, unable to do what I really want to her for fear of scaring her away.

“I knew that already, didn’t I?” The room grows quiet, neither of us knowing what to say, but also because of the things I want to say. “I don’t usually drink like that.”

I have the feeling what she is saying is true, not that it took much to get her to the point of drunkenness. It didn’t. I counted each drink that touched her pouty lips from the moment she walked into the bar with her red-headed friend. The more she drank, the more she settled into herself and the more attention she began to pull from the men around her. Attention that wavered once I stood next to her side, my arm wrapped around her back, hand at the curve of her waist.

“You had something important to celebrate,” I nod knowingly. Tori, her red-headed friend, who had remained sober, was the one who told me what they were celebrating. Graduation, but not just your average run of the mill. Vivienne was about to receive her master’s degree in fine art.

“I told you?” Her beautiful blue eyes widen in shock.

“Yes.” I carry two plates of food over to the counter and sit down beside her, picking up my own cup of coffee. A feeling of pride fills my chest when I think about all the hard work and dedication my woman put into the things she feels passionate about. I’ve experienced that passion firsthand. “You should be proud. It’s a great accomplishment.”

She picks up a fork and pushes her eggs around the plate while she’s vibrating with nerves. The confidence found in only a few shots has disappeared, and I watch her shrug into herself. My beautiful goddess doesn’t like to be the center of attention, a discovery I find refreshing. “It’s no big deal.”

“Vivienne, don’t do that. You worked hard, and you should be proud. I know I am.” She watches me with avid eyes, unsure of my sincerity, and I know an experience with someone in her past has given her reason to doubt me. Someone has hurt her, and it kills me that I can’t take that away from her. At least, not yet.

“Do you know where my phone is, by chance?” she asks softly, changing the subject. I mentally kick myself for not thinking she’d want that and her purse. Rising from my spot beside her, I walk into the next room and grab both items, bringing them back into the kitchen with me. She takes them from me with a smile before unlocking her phone and staring down at it. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s my friend. I’ve missed a few calls, and now she’s worried. Um, excuse me, I need to call her back.” She stands suddenly and heads back toward the bedroom without looking back.

I take a breath, listening as she speaks in hushed tones into her phone. Something’s going on. I just hope this isn’t the end of my morning with her. I’m trying my hardest not to come onto her so strong for fear of frightening her away, but it’s making me feel like I’m like someone I’m not.

If I’m going to pursue this woman, then I need to do it on my terms, as the man I am and will always be. I usually don’t tiptoe around what I want. I go after it with everything I am. I’ll be damned if I change it now.

I want her.

Vivienne.

And I’m not going to let her go.