My next words come out hesitantly and cautiously, because honestly, I’m not trying to hear no shit that’ll ruin what I think we are developing. I place my drink on the small table next to the bed, then shift my body a little to see his face. When I do, I notice a smug look on his handsome face.
“What is it?” I ask and he chuckles.
“Damn. You look like you want to kill me and it’s just a little confession. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, push that shit out of your pretty little head.”
In a quick but smooth move, his hand is no longer around me and he’s hovering over me with fists planted on the bed. He leans all the way in and touches his forehead to mine. My body relaxes a little but I’m still bracing myself for his confession.
“Just tell me,” I say.
“You can’t tell?”
“Tell what?” I question, feigning annoyance. The smile on his face now eases all of my apprehension.
“I grabbed one of your soaps when y’all were making the gift bags,” he begins and I smile. “I used it when I showered.”
“And?” I ask, super curious about his thoughts. I definitely know my soaps are fye but his opinion, oddly enough, means a lot to me.
“And I liked it. I really did but it’s got me all soft like a woman and smelling like one,” he says and I burst out laughing.
“Nothing, and I do mean nothing, about you is womanly.”
“You don’t smell me?” he asks.
I sit up and deeply inhale him. Mixed with his normal scent that I’m obsessed with are subtle notes of brown sugar.
“My brown sugar butter soap. I smell it now,” I say, smiling.
“I’m glad that’s back.”
“What?”
As he traces his thumb across my lips, he says, “This smile. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Wow!
“If I could make you smile every day, I would.”
Every day? Is he saying what I think he is? Nah, can’t be.
Discounting my thoughts, I simply say, “You using and liking my soap definitely makes me smile.”
“Is that the only thing?” he asks after dropping his head to the side of my face. The air from his words tickles my neck. Then he pulls my earlobe into his mouth and sucks lightly.
“Well,” I moan. “That too.”
He sucks on my lobe again then plants tender kisses behind my ear down my neck. For a man with strong rancher hands and a body with zero percent body fat, Meleck’s lips are pleasantly soft and the feel of them on any part of my body is heaven. My eyes close and my body sinks into the mattress as his lips graze my skin.
From my neck to my collarbone then down my cleavage, his lips take a much-appreciated tour of my body. When he lifts his head, there’s a salacious smile plastered on his handsome face and the sight of it has my heart beating and my clit throbbing.
Both intensify when his hands join the party. One snakes into my panties and I’m already wet. No other man has solicited such an immediate reaction from my body like this. I don’t question it; I just enjoy it, enjoy him.
First, his hands grant me an earth-shattering orgasm then his lips and tongue deliver another. Before I drift off to sleep, he enters me and ushers me to another orgasm. I don’t open my eyes again until too many hours later.
The sun shining through the skylight pulls me out of my slumber. Its brightness causes me to immediately reach for my phone on the table. “Fuck!” I utter. It’s after nine and I’m still in bed, alone. “Shit! Amara.”
In a panic, I bolt out of the bed, grab my pjs off the floor, and dress. I rush to my snow boots, clumsily put them on while standing, then throw on my coat. When I open the outside door, the cold wind knocks the hell out of me and causes me to wake all the way up.
I take the snow-covered stairs two at a time and stomp through the snow to the back door. When I burst into the kitchen, he’s there, standing at the stove and pouring hot chocolate from a pot. The smell of bacon and eggs startles and surprises me. All I manage to ask is, “Amara?”
