Desperate. Needy. Sexy as fuck.
The more she moves against me, the harder my dick gets, straining against the zipper of my jeans. I’m lost in her, caught up in the feel of her writhing against me. Desperate to get even closer to her, I hook my arm around her and pull her body tight against me.
Chloe’s yelp of pain is like a bucket of cold water dousing the flames burning hot inside me. I still and ease myself back, gently setting her injured leg back to the counter.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Guilt at, once again, overstepping pushes at the lust pulsing through me.
A breathy laugh huffs between the fingers Chloe presses to her kiss-swollen lips. “Just another weird day. I feel like we’re going for some kind of record with those.” She plants her hands and pushes herself back from the edge. Away from me.
I don’t like the separation. Every cell in my body is screaming for her, reaching for her. Urging me to dive back in and drink her up. But she took space at the first opportunity, and no matter how beautiful, sexy—how fucking alluring—she is, I won’t just take from her. Chloe is so much more than a random piece of ass at Chick’s or any of the other meat-market bars around.
I wrap my hands around the front of my tool belt. With a little stealth, I make the necessary adjustments to my dick.Sadly, when I glance back up, it’s apparent that I’m not nearly as sly as I thought I was.
Chloe’s brow is high, and her bottom lip is firmly tucked between her teeth. There’s not a damn thing I can say or do to cover up what I was trying to, in fact, cover up. So, I wait. Seconds tick by. My head drops forward until my chin hits my chest. I can be embarrassed, or I can own the fact that I find her attractive. Honestly, it’s a compliment. Sort of.Own it, it is.
I throw my hands out to the sides, palms up and shrug. “Don’t let it scare you. I’ve got it all under control.”
Storage containers and lids litter the counter. A few are scattered on the floor near the trash can.
“Do you need help with this?” I close up her severely lacking first aid kit and pick up the stack of crap I pushed aside.
“Nah, I can put them back. Or just throw them all out and start over. I don’t even care at this point.”
She pivots and slides to the floor, wincing only slightly as she tests her weight on the injured leg. It hurts to watch her limp gingerly to the pantry, where she bends at the waist, grabbing a folded step stool.
I roll my eyes and quickly stack the containers and lids in the open cabinet, closing the door with a thump. “Put that away. You don’t need to be climbing up and down that. You’ll pull at the closures and rip it open. In fact, you need to just sit your ass down and elevate that leg.” My eyes dart to the living room and then back to Chloe. “You want to settle on the couch, or should I take you up to bed?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, a smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. I meant it innocently enough, but the way Chloe’s eyes light up almost makes me chub up again. I could apologize, yet again, but fuck that. If I’m owning shit, I’m going to fucking own it. Besides, there’s no denying that her filthy mind is to blame for this mishap.
“I think maybe I’ll just sit and grade some papers for a bit?” She says it like a question, like she’s asking permission.
“Where do you want to be?” I ask, enunciating each word.
It doesn’t matter what she does; she just needs to pick a place and sit. If I’m completely honest with myself, I’d rather have her in the garage with me. Close to me.
Chloe sighs, a lungful of air whooshing from her lungs as she tucks the step stool away. “My bag is by the couch, so I’ll just go there,” she says, turning and hobbling away, her shredded leggings swinging behind her with each shuffled step.
When she’s good and settled, I push back out to the garage and climb up onto the work platform, going back to screwing in the drywall. Thankfully, there’s only the one big sheet that needs to be hung. The rest of the repairs are smaller, more manageable pieces that I can handle without the T-support. Taping and mudding the seams is quick and easy. I should be able to sand them late tonight, maybe in the morning.
With the ceiling patched, I clean up my mess and decide to start on organizing Chloe’s chaos. I move boxes out to the driveway, laying several on their sides so the waterlogged bottoms can dry.
“What are you up to now?” Chloe asks, stepping down into the cleared-out garage.
The bottom of the box I’m awkwardly carrying gives way, spilling its contents to the ground. Baby clothes, damp and stained, litter the ground around my feet. Cursing, I drop to a crouch and gather what were obviously cherished mementos into my arms.
“I would love to say I’m helping, but my good intent doesn’t count for shit when your stuff is blowing in the breeze.”
Chloe’s face falls at the mess all around my feet. “They’re ruined.” She hobbles over to me, fingers trembling as she plucks a tiny t-shirt from my hands. The Special Forces shield isemblazoned on the front. Her eyes close as she grasps at the garment and the memories that are attached to it. “Can this weekend get any worse? Seriously. The water, the ceiling falling in. Jake’s baby things and God knows what else are ruined in these boxes. My knee is split open, and my fucking showerhead is gone.”
She drops the baby shirt and limps back into the kitchen. I can let her sit in there and stew, pissed off and sad. I can, but I won’t. I scoop up the shirt she cast aside and add it to the pile in my arms.
Inside, Chloe stands in the middle of the kitchen, bottle of wine tilted upright and her throat working overtime as she drinks straight from it. I toss the clothes into the washer because, with as important as these things seem to her, it’s worth a shot to see if we can get the filth and stains out of them.
“Slow down there,” I say, taking the now half-empty bottle of wine from her hand.
“Those were Jake’s baby things. They were supposed to be passed on—to a sibling, to him when he has kids. And now, they’re all ruined.” She reaches an arm out, fingers wiggling at the wine bottle. “Give that back.”
“Nope,” I say, placing it on the counter behind me.
