If he doesn’t want this—whatever this is—he should stop looking at me like that. The problem is, I don’t think he knows what he wants, and I’m starting to realize that I don’t, either.
The sunlight cuts through the kitchen window in thick golden bands, catching speckles of dust that drift lazily in the air. I stand in the doorway, my hands loose at my sides, just watching Rosie as she hums something soft and tuneless at the counter. Her back is to me, and her ample hips sway gently with the rhythm of her own making.
She’s wearing a floral dress I’ve always loved; one with the tiny rosebuds scattered across cream fabric. It hugs her generous curves and dips low enough in the back to show a sliver of pale skin. Her brunette hair falls in loose waves down her shoulders, the reddish undertones catching the light, strands of copper and auburn woven through the dark brown.
“Morning,” she says without turning around, her voice warm and unhurried. “I’m making muffins for breakfast.”
I cross the kitchen slowly, snaking my palms over her hips and around her waist when I reach her. When I swipe her hair to the side, the scent of her sweet floral perfume floodsmy nostrils as I bury my face in the crook of her neck. “I’d rather have you,” I whisper the words against her soft skin.
She spins in my hold, revealing a sweet smile on her face. I pull her flush against me; the swell of her breasts against my chest, and the gentle give of her hips under my palms. “Always you, dreamer,” I exhale, my lips brushing along the shell of her ear.
Her lips part on a soft gasp, and I capture her mouth with mine, tasting the sweet hint of sugar on her tongue and the warmth of her breath. My hands move over her body with practiced ease, mapping out the landscape I know better than my own. I find the tie of her apron and work it loose, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a forgotten heap.
I undo the zipper running the length of her spine and ease the thin straps from her shoulders. The dress slides down her body and pools at her feet in a whisper of cotton, revealing that she is bare underneath. I pull back to look at her.She’s fucking gorgeous.Her skin is flush with desire, and her nipples are tightening into pert, rosy peaks.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, dipping slightly and gripping the backs of her thighs. Her legs wrap instinctively around my waist as I lift her. My lips on hers, I cross the kitchen until my thighs meet the kitchen table. I place her gently on the surface, my hands roaming over her skin as soon as I’m not supporting her weight. Her heartbeat quickens beneath my touch, a rapid flutter that matches the sudden pounding of my own.
My fingers trace the swell of one breast. The skin is impossibly soft, and goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. She arches into my palm, a soft moan escaping her lips. “Easton,” she whimpers, and there’s pleading in her tone, a need that mirrors my own.
I smile against her skin as I lean down, taking one hardened nipple into my mouth. She gasps, her hands tangling in my hair, her body trembling as I lavish it, teasing with my lips and tongue. I take my time, savoring the weight of her breast in my hand and the way she squirms under my touch. My tongue traces slow circles around her nipple before sucking gently, then harder, alternating between tender and demanding attention until she’s panting beneath me.
Sweet moans rattle from her as she tightens her grip on my hair. “Don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping.
I worship her body with single-minded focus, alternating between her breasts until she’s writhing against the table for more. My hands dust down her sides, firmly gripping the flare of her hips as I lower to my knees. The kitchen floor is cool beneath me, but all I can focus on is the heat radiating from between her thighs. I press my lips to the curve of her hip and trail soft kisses across the plane of her lower belly, her muscles tensing against my lips. My tongue dips lower, tracing the crease running along her upper thigh, and she gasps as her hands quickly clutch at the edge of the table.An invitation I can’t refuse. Holding her heated gaze, I press a soft kiss to the slick flesh between her thighs. Her arousal coats my lips, reveling in the musky sweetness on my tongue.
“Please,” she begs, her voice already raw and desperate as she spreads her legs wider.
Peppering the words in slow kisses against her pussy, I tease, “So impatient this morning.”
She whines, her head falling back, but she doesn’t actually argue. She knows I’ll give her what she needs.I always do.
I swipe my tongue from her entrance to her clit and circle it with maddening deliberation, never quite giving her the pressure she craves. “I fucking love the taste of you,” I breathe against her between swipes of my tongue, the words vibrating over her sensitive flesh. She moans, her hips grinding against my face, trying to chase the friction she needs. I hold her steady, my grip firm, refusing to let her rush this.
When I’m ready, I finally give her what she’s been silently begging for. My tongue flattens against her clit, stroking with strong, steady pressure until her whole body is arching off the table. Her hands find my hair again, fisting it tight and pulling me closer to thrust against me without shame.
I ease two fingers inside her and curl them at the same pace as my tongue. She comes apart with a shattered moan that echoes around the kitchen. The orgasm ripples through her in waves, her inner walls squeezing my fingers, and her thighs trembling on either side of my head. I work her through it, my mouth unrelenting, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure until she lies boneless and panting on the table.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are glazed and unfocused, her lips swollen from biting back her screams. I rise to my feet and take my time undoing my pants, giving her a brief moment of reprieve. After shoving them down my thighs, I climb onto the table above her. I bury my face in the sweethollow of her neck and push into her with one agonizingly slow thrust.
I take her slowly, easing every inch of my cock in and out of her soaked pussy as my lips and tongue explore the length of her neck. “God, I fucking love you,” I whisper against her skin before picking up my pace.
My lips travel along her jaw, and when I open my eyes, my brow furrows in confusion as the hair threaded through my fingers lightens, the brown bleeding into a golden blonde. I turn my head to find her looking up at me, and my breath catches when I find a set of sparkling emerald pools staring back at me instead of Rosie’s deep chestnut ones.
Teagan.
“It’s okay,” she whispers her insistence tenderly.
My mind screams that this is wrong. She’s so young and off-limits. More importantly,she’s not Rosie. But my body doesn’t seem to care. My cock is still hard and aching, and when she wraps her legs around my waist, I groan despite myself.
“It’s okay to want this,” she assures me, arching her back as her thighs tighten slightly, drawing my cock into her.
“Teagan,” I grit, her name sounding foreign on my tongue. “We shouldn’t?—”
“It’s okay to wantme,” she lightly interjects, giving me the permission I’ve been denying myself.
She pulls me deep, and coherent thoughts becomes impossible. I drive forward, taking her with every ounce of need that I’ve been fighting. The table creaks beneath us,punctuating each thrust. Her nails score down my back as I swallow the screams of her release, fighting my own when she clenches around me.
