Shit, it twitches just thinking about that night last week, but a motorcycle is a really inconvenient place for a hard-on, so I tuck my soldier into my waistband as I step off the bike and hope he takes it easy on me.
I was worried the bike wouldn’t be sturdy enough to carry my weight, but Weston assured me this thing could even carry two people and I would be fine. So far it’s holding up.
Crossing her yard by way of the flat, gray stones that make a path to the garden surrounding her home, I follow it back to the section she made just for me. The herb garden. Bees float through the entire garden area, bouncing flower to flower, doing their thing to cross pollinate and make the world a better place.
More useful than most of the crew I used to hang out with once upon a time, that’s for sure.
She must have one hell of a green thumb to keep the garden beds looking this good. Each section is bordered by small stones, stacked high to form a little fence around each area of her wonderland.
A pollinator section, a butterfly garden, and then the one in front of her house is mostly fancy-looking flowers that I suspect are extremely tricky to grow, but hers are flourishing, even in the late June heat.
If she isn’t showing off with this collection, I might’ve been onto something by calling her a witch the other night. More than just her mouth and pussy are supernatural.
Speaking of, the woman herself flits through the window nearest me, colorful silk robe trailing in her path behind her as she mists a whole different plant collection that I’ve never seen before.
Sure, I’ve collected herbs here a few times, but one, it’s usually dark by the time I get here after my shift, and two, I’m not a stalker, even if I do have some unusual tendencies after my upbringing and what I’ve been through.
But if she’s just gonna stand there, watering some plants, misting others, and talking to them as she goes, I’m not gonnanotwatch.
In just the undershirt I always have on beneath my chef jacket and my black work pants, were she to look out her window, she’d recognize my stature and all this ink before she saw my short, dark hair, or took in the hardened features that make my face look a lot older than twenty-seven.
But I don’t get the satisfaction of a look, or recognition blooming through her eyes as her cheeks color and her scowl deepens, those nostrils flaring and her skin starting to vibrate from my nearness. She looks forward, determinedly not even glancing in my direction.
The guys were right. She keeps a tight grasp on that shit list of hers, but even she can’t pretend like there isn’t something magnetic between us. Like her cells don’t respond to my presence, the way mine do to hers. Energy lights up when we’re close, and that doesn’t happen on fucking accident.
Her head might not have caught up to the inevitable yet, but her body knows.
If I were a betting man, I’d put money on her giving in by next week. Come this time next month, she’ll have no qualms hopping on for a ride whenever she gets the urge.
It might take a bit longer for her to admit there’s anything more than lust behind it, but I don’t have to be a fortune teller to know what’s coming for us both.
Stooping down to the vibrant selection of herbs, I snip what I need, tipping the rosemary, pruning the tarragon, and harvesting the oregano to encourage new growth the way Lexi showed me.
By the time my backpack is bursting, Lexi is still wandering her plant collection indoors, stroking the leaves of a giant fucker in the corner, and maybe telling it a story, the way her lips are still moving.
I’m not leaving this up to fate.
Wilder Amante carves his own.
Knocking on the mullioned window above the herb bushes, I can’t help but smirk when she jumps about a foot in the air. Her arm with the watering can swings high in an arc and sprays everything in the vicinity in slow-motion.
Hand to her perfect chest, she turns around and seethes when she finds my face there, staring right back at her.
Waving, I point to the door and make my way to it, not giving her the chance to turn me away.
When the thick wooden door swings inward, revealing my favorite part about living in the Heights, she’s got one hell of a murderous look on her face, and fuck do I love it when she gets worked up.
“I’m not teaching you how to pinch back the basil again,” she insists, yanking on the panels of her bright silken robe to keep it secured in my presence, like it might just fall off if I were to cross over the threshold.
She’s not wrong, but I still find it interesting.
“Can you teach me how you like your nipples pinched?” I ask her, grin in place.
“Oh my God!” It’s not quite a huff, not quite a squeal, and it’sfullof exasperation.
Cazzo, she’s a masterpiece when she’s all fiery like this.
Lexi moves to slam the door in my face, but I’m too big and too quick for that to work. Body blocking the path, the door just bounces off of me as I step in.
