Lindsay

 

I gulp. Where is he going with this? Will this be the night I’ve dreamed about for so long? When Gavin takes me to bed?

When he gathered me in his arms earlier, it felt like the old garage all over again. That was weeks ago, but I never forgot how that felt. Hot. Intense. Full of need.

“I was just going to make pasta. Is that okay?”

“Great, thanks.”

I follow him into the kitchen and watch as he gets busy chopping onions for the sauce.

“It’s just a simple spicy tomato, bacon and chorizo sauce, but I think you’ll like it. Why don’t you sit there, and I’ll pour you a glass of wine?”

He pulls out a bar stool at the kitchen counter and puts a glass in front of me. “This is one of my favorite reds just now.” He pours me a glass and I take a sip.

“You like it?”

“Yes.” The rich deep flavor of the Valpolicella hits my taste buds, and I continue to take the occasional sip as he cooks. A wine to savor, not to throw down your throat. But before I’ve drunk much at all, he takes the glass from my hand and kisses me, sucking gently at my bottom lip. “My favorite wine and your sexy mouth. That combination could go to my head.”

The lingering effects of his kiss and his words are going to mine. After weeks of waiting, disappointment and despair, I’m basking in the glow of being in his kitchen watching him make dinner, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat a thing.

Once the sauce is bubbling away and the pasta is in the pot to cook, he gives me more attention, and swivels my bar stool around so I’m facing him. He kisses me again, slowly, tenderly. I could get lost in that kiss, in the feel of his mouth on mine.

“So beautiful. So sweet,” he says. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

I pull him closer and wrap my legs around him, my dress getting pushed up so I feel the heat of his body and the rough cotton of his casual white shirt against my bare thighs.

“You do that and you might never get any dinner,” he warns, his voice rough.

I don’t care. I feel wanton, needy, his hard body between my legs. I’ve waited too long for this.

He unbuttons the top of my dress, not taking his eyes off mine, and my nipples plump up and throb in anticipation as if they remember his mouth on them from weeks ago. I certainly do. I’ve replayed that so many times in bed alone at night.

He pulls open the top of my dress, the one I chose to wear for him. I’m not wearing a bra. I did that for him too, hoping for a moment like this. Not expecting, just hoping. Imagining.

He groans and takes my breasts in both hands, circling the tip of one with his tongue then the other, mercilessly tormenting me until I am pushing my chest toward his mouth. Then he pushes my breasts closer together and sucks on both nipples simultaneously. I cry out and grab onto the stool. He lets one nipple go and I feel it throb wetly while he flicks the stiffened tip of my other breast with his tongue, pulling it with his lips, and gently scrapes his teeth across the sensitized nub.

“Oh my god.” I almost come when he does that.

He looks up, grinning. “You like that too, not just the wine?”

“I like.”

“Then hold that thought for after dinner.”

What? I want to say stuff the dinner. Who needs dinner? But I don’t. I just let him button up my dress over my throbbing nipples. And I sit there squirming with need, wet with desire for him, while he stirs the sauce.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you before,” he says, when he drains the pasta. “When Kate was so against us, I tried to get you out of my head. I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn’t. I think you’re in there for good.” He turns and looks at me, I guess to see my reaction to that confession.

“The way you’ve been avoiding me, I thought you might pretend to be out when I rang the bell.”

“I’m sorry I made you think that, even for a moment.”

He puts the pasta pot down, and comes over to kiss me, his lips making me forget all the pain of waiting and not knowing.

“I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you.” He grins at me.

“How will you do that?” I tease back.

“I have a few ideas up my sleeve. Starting with this.” He kisses me and runs his fingers over my still-hard nipples that poking through the soft cotton of my dress.

“And what else do you have up your sleeve?” I ask.

“Dinner,” he says, and laughs.

We eat at the table in the kitchen. The most normal things in the world seem special because I am doing them with him.

“You can cook. Kate said you did.” The pasta sauce is delicious, but I don’t let him serve me too much. The butterflies in my stomach are not interested in food.

“I don’t cook often enough. I like it when I have time.” His hand touches mine. “I’d like to cook for you again.”

“Just cook?”

“No, not just cook. I’d like to watch a movie with you and take you to a restaurant. I’d like to do everything with you like we were dating and our families didn’t exist. Because it’s not just Kate who will object, is it? It’s your mom and dad, too.”

He’s right there. I’ve tried to put them out of mind because Kate seems like a bigger obstacle, but they won’t be happy with this either.

“I can’t do anything about the families part, but we could watch a movie.” I like the idea of doing normal things with him, hanging out on the couch, getting close to him.

But I’m jittery too, despite my need for him. I can’t help wanting to put off the moment when he finds out just how inexperienced I am. I’m ready. I want him. But what will he make of me? Maybe I’ll disappoint him after the sophisticated women he’s known.

That thought makes me leap up and start to clear away the plates. He comes up behind me at the kitchen sink, his body hard against mine. And I suck in a breath.

“Just leave them. I’ll do them later. Let’s watch that movie.”

He flicks through Netflix and asks me what I feel like watching. “Horror? Thriller?”

“Something funny.”

We decide on “There’s Something About Mary.” I don’t think either of us really cares what we watch. Gavin doesn’t chat all the time over the movie, but his occasional comments make me laugh. He puts his arm around me and holds me tight, which makes me feel all warm inside. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here with him. He kisses my hair, my cheek, the side of my neck. Shivers of desire run down my spine.

I’m hyper aware of every part of me and of him, like nothing else existed. I’ve seen the movie a couple of times before, but even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have a hope of getting my full attention. Not even half an hour in, our kisses get more heated, our hands have their own agenda and we abandon any pretense of watching Mary. At some point, Gavin switches it off. I don’t even know when. I only care about his hands on me, his mouth on mine.

“I love this dress,” he says. “I love the color. It’s perfect on you, but I love all the little buttons down the front more.”

“You love buttons? You have a button fetish?”

He laughs. “No, I just like undoing those buttons on you, like unwrapping the best kind of gift at Christmas.” He undoes three buttons at the top and kisses the mound of my breasts, and I resist the urge to push my chest at him, to beg him for more of his mouth.

“And I love it has a skirt that rides up when I get between your legs.” His finger traces a line under the hem from my knee up my inner thigh and I gasp as he touches the lace of my panties. It’s the first time he’s touched me there and I know how wet the fabric must be.

He smiles. Because he felt that? Oh, god. “Promise me you’ll never get rid of that dress.”

“What if it wears out?” What am I babbling on about?

“You can wear it for me when we don’t go out. Every time you wear it I’ll know you want me to undo it.”

He kisses me, his fingers still under my dress, tracing the lace edges of my panties. “The perfect dress for fucking,” he murmurs and as I gasp, his fingers slip beneath the elastic to my wet folds, caressing then parting them to find my throbbing clit. He circles it with one finger, over and around.

“So wet,” he says, kissing me again, his fingers teasing me relentlessly, making it difficult for me to focus on anything but the sensation between my legs. “Just like your dress, you’re perfect for fucking.”

He eases down my panties and his fingers slide deep into me, and curl inside, massaging me while the soft pad of his thumb continues to move over my clit, pleasure growing until it becomes overwhelming and takes me toward the point of no return.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, and that smooth sexy voice is all I need to take me right over the edge. I call out as I come hard against his hand, my body shuddering against him. And I can’t do anything for a moment but cling to him.

I look up at him, a bit stunned. “Magic to see you come, to hear you cry out,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “I want to see that again. And hear it. All night long. Stay with me tonight.”