She took the washcloth from him and found a towel to dry him off, treating him gently. Caring for him. “Right. Handsome. And not just your cock. I mean all of you.” She reluctantly let him go.
Reggie never got tired of hearing Maggie say the word “cock.” He set his clothes to rights then washed his hands next to her.
They left the bathroom and headed back to the living room, where the television remained on.
Reggie wanted to strip them both down and touch and suck and lick until they came a few more times. Reality, unfortunately, dictated other plans.
“Guess I should head out.”
“Yeah.” She entwined her hand with his and walked him to the door.
“Do you want me to leave Frank?”
“Would you?”
He nodded. “Frank’s harness and leash are in Emily’s room. And I brought some extra food for him in case he needed it. He’s a puppy, so you’ll have to take him out at three and again at six. I’ve got him on a routine.”
“Three? In the morning?” She cringed. “Okay. I can do that.” She paused at the door and looked at him.
He looked back, his heart racing, his mind not sure what to do about all these feelings.
Maggie let go of his hand and put hers over his heart. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Thanks for blowing me.” He blinked, nonplussed that had come out, but then, his brain was still rebooting. “Oh, Christ. I meant to say ‘thanks for having me.’”
She laughed, and the tension that had been building faded. “Anytime. I mean that.” She wiggled her brows, her joy infectious.
“Witch.” He leaned down to kiss her, then set his forehead against hers. So in lust and in—like,so muchlike—for this woman, he didn’t know what to do. “When can I see you again?”
She pulled back, and the look in her eyes captivated him. There was affection there, desire, and something deeper. She kind of looked the way he feared he felt. Then she smiled at him.
Oh fuck, I am so gone for her.
“Text me your schedule, okay? We’ll plan on a date, and I’ll get a babysitter for Emily.”
He nodded. “I had a lot of fun tonight. And I don’t just mean between you and me. Emily’s a wonderful little girl.”
“Yes, she is. I’m so glad you see that too. She likes you a lot, Reggie.”
A vague remnant of past mistakes warned him to be cautious, but right now, he couldn’t seem to care. “Yeah. Well, I like the Swanson girls just as much. Or, I’m sorry, the Swansonwomen.”
She grinned. “There you go.” She kissed him. “Now get out of here before I strip down and demand you lick me all over.”
He wiped a hand over his face. “Great. Now I’ll be hard all the way home. Thanks a lot.”
He left hearing her laughter, and that made his night even better.
Reggie paused outside her door, the moon waning, the stars bright. He hadn’t realized how much time they’d spent together because it seemed to go by so fast.
He hated to go home and sleep alone. Having held her in his arms, he was loath to go back to that lonely sphere of bachelorhood. Reggie liked his own space, and he appreciated time alone. He liked himself. But with Maggie, he started to feel like he belonged at her side.
That trickle of worry he’d been trying to ignore swelled, shattering his peace. Of course, having sex with Maggie felt good. Of course, it made sense he’d enjoy himself with a beautiful woman and her sweet kid. But none of that equated to happily ever after.
He had to avoid the same old patterns he constantly fell into. Hell, he knew that. But then, was this really a pattern?
Playing devil’s advocate with himself outside his girlfriend’s—no, hisfriend’s—door after rip-roaring sex was nothing short of pathetic. But who else did he want to talk to about this? Brad, maybe. Tex? Not Mack, because the guy was a confirmed bachelor and didn’t seem to have any problems with women. Despite their teasing, when Mack wanted a date, he got one. And he seemed to have no hang-ups when it came to relationships.
Both Brad and Tex had made some major mistakes with their girlfriends, so they could relate to Reggie’s messed-up love life. But he didn’t need them worrying about him, and he didn’t need unasked-for advice. He just needed to unload some anxiety.
