“Wouldn’t be a clubhouse if I didn’t keep it stocked. There’s also all kinds of junk food in the pantry.”
“Clubhouse?” she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
He wanted to reach over, touch it, run his fingers through it. He didn’t, because once he started touching her tonight, he worried he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I don’t really live here. So it fits.”
“Don’t you have to have a club for it to be a clubhouse?” she asked.
“I guess you’re my club now,” he said it, and he meant every word.
“That’s oddly sweet.” She moved forward, running her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then lifting on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.
“That’s me. Oddly sweet.” He moved his mouth against hers, appreciating the way she melted into his body, allowed him to take control. Things heated quickly, per the norm. His breaths came quick, his blood thrummed fast, and he was so hard for her he could’ve burst right through the denim.
He pressed her against the refrigerator, and she moved her leg to make room for the thick length of him to press her core. His erection strained against his fly, practically reaching for her.
He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. That worked.
Her skin flushed red, she moaned deep in her throat, and he wanted her. Wanted this. But not here. Not at the fridge.
A guy could have refrigerator foreplay, but the main event should be more special than that. At least, that’s what he figured.
Holding her gaze with his, he set her down, slowed things between them. Took care to inhale, count to five. Exhale, count to five.
He nearly did it, too. Nearly got control. But the defenseless gleam in her eyes practically brought him to his knees as it steamrolled any willpower he had left.
“Tanner,” she said his name like a plea.
“I’ve got you,” he assured, as his hand moved to her neckline, then down, pushing the cups of her bra aside so his thumbs could trace over the pert buds of her nipples.
He kissed her again, while he toyed with her breasts. He did a nip and twist at the same time that practically made her purr. Her arms gripped him tighter, and they should probably go slower, but he didn’t want to.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing himself against her thigh for a touch of relief, even if it was only an insignificant blip of what his body craved.
“Uh-huh.” She reached for his hand, sliding it from her breast. “Why’d you stop?” Then she stilled. Dropped his hand. “Is this because it’s not the fifth date? Ugh.”
So he was lost here. Totally lost.
Resting his hand against her hip, he pressed light kisses to her mouth. “The fifth date?”
She reached for his shirt and pulled it up to trace his abs with her fingertips. Then she went down to his waistband and, shit, he wouldn’t make it to the bedroom if they kept this up. Refrigerator sex, it’d have to be.
“I got informed that I’m not supposed to put out until the fifth date,” she said.
That was stupid. Who put numbers on shit like this?
“Do you want to ‘put out’?” he asked, stumbling a little over the last two words. Partly because it just felt wrong, and partly because she rubbed the length of him beneath the denim.
“Is that not clear?” She gave him a thick squeeze and enough was enough.
He kissed her again to take back the control, then as their tongues tangled he lifted the hem of her dress and pushed her underwear aside.
“Three dates, four hundred and twenty-five text messages, five video calls, and a dozen or more phone calls,” he said against her mouth. “I think we’ve earned this.”
She made a low moan of relief in the back of her throat.
“Yeah?” he asked, mouth still against hers.
“Yes,” she agreed, moving to position herself better over his fingers.
