But all of that age, experience, and constitution of will faded away when I dragged Stella into my lap and nestled her sweet curves over my crotch. For the first time since my gangly teen years, I was suffering from a very prominent, very public erection, and the tender sweep of her lips against mine was making matters worse.
And when I said worse, I meant better than anything else in the known world.
"Stella." It was spoken as a broken plea. I was aching for her, for anything she'd give me, and desperate enough to beg.
Her fingers moved up my chest, my shoulders, my neck, and her touch was like coming home. It was a comfort and a craving like I'd never known before.
She was tiny in my arms and as soft and sweet as springtime. The faint scent of citrus echoed from her skin. Her ponytail tickled my wrist and though I wanted nothing more than to wind those silky strands around my fist and tug until I was drowning in her big, brown eyes, my hands weren't leaving the safe harbor of her hips.
No, ma'am. I'd met my daily quota for shameful and indecent acts. I was not mauling this angel in a coffee shop. I'd knocked her to the ground, confessed my obsession, and asked for her hand in marriage, all within an hour.An hour.She deserved better than the live-action version of the fantasies currently on heavy rotation in my head.
I was going to find some decency even if it took sheer force of will now and an ice-cold shower later.
"Stella." Her name was delicious on my lips. It was meant to be moaned, gasped, fucking howled. "Stella."
She giggled against me, driving her fingers into my hair. It was cut close—Army habits weren't meant to break. Her nails on my scalp were whittling away the very last of my civility, my hands gripping her hips as if I had a mind to mark them, and her little sounds—the laughter, the sighs, the hums—were the only thing in my universe.
The barista called out several orders like the bang of a drum—tall Americano for Barry, tall coconut milk capp for Serrai, short half-caff macchiato, extra foam for Linus, tall extra shot non-fat latte for Tayla—and those shouts brought Stella's attention away from the thorough inspection she was giving my mouth.
"Oh," she breathed, pressing her fingertips to her lips.
She knew. She knew, she felt it—and not just the erection throbbing against her rear end, begging for her attention. This was it, she was it.
I needed my mother to meet her yesterday. I could have Mom on a flight from Oregon this morning and gushing over Stella before nightfall.
By all accounts, I could get a ring on Stella's finger as early as this weekend.
"Tonight," I murmured as I leaned into her, desperate to feel her skin beneath my lips again. "Stella, tell me I can see you tonight."
"Not tonight," she said.
"Tomorrow," I said. It was not a question.
"It's the craziest time of my year. You know, aside from all the other super-crazy times."
I tilted my head to the side, studied her. "What makes this so crazy?"
She reached up, brushed a few loose strands behind her ears. Sucked in a shallow breath and blew it out. "It's signing season and the NFL draft day is next week. I can't even tell you how much I'd love to see anything other than the inside of my office tonight, but I'm barely able to take this hour in the morning without drowning in drama when I get to work. I'll let you in on a little secret."
"You can give me your big secrets too," I said. "I'll keep them safe."
She gifted me with a quick smile. No dimples this time. "Athletes tend to be nervous nellies who need their hands held and egos stroked when it comes to their place in the draft." She blinked twice, drew another short breath. "Give me some time to think about everything, okay?"
"If not tonight, tomorrow morning, then," I said. "On the pond."
"Will you return to your regularly scheduled stalking," she started, a sly smile tipping up her lips, "or will you be walking with me?"
"Stella. If you're walking at the pond, you're walking with me now."
She gazed at me, her eyes as wide as they'd been when I confessed to watching her for months. If not for those fast, shallow breaths, I might've mistaken her for a statue. "Oh, really? That's how it's going to be?"
I gave her a quick nod. "Someone has to keep an eye out for that beaver of yours."
6
Stella
There wasa logic to it all. This man, this morning, this overwhelmed thrill coursing through me. Oh yes, most definitely. It made all the sense in the world when I squinted from the right angle.
