Oh, that sneaky little—
She’ll be hearing about this.
“Shit,” he whispers to himself. “Didn’t mean to throw her under the bus.” He swallows thickly. “You can’t be mad at her either, Steph, please. I kinda … asked her for your schedule. And she was resistant at first, but once she understood it was all about your safety and that I’m not a stalker—I swear I’m not—well, she … gave in.” He offers me a contrite smile.
And, I giggle. Fuck me, but I giggle.
It’s all I can do.
I’ve never seen this man so unsure of himself. Since he’s returned, I’ve seen Riley annoyingly determined, confidently arrogant, desperately heartbroken, and just plain furious with me. I’ve seen his heated gaze and his soft one, but this? This is totally new.
His eyes are wide and confused as he watches me double over with my laughter. I’ll admit it’s a little bit of an overreaction, but I’m overwhelmed with my feelings at the moment.
He’s been leaving work for months just to watch me walk to my car.
Because he worries.
Because hecares.
And I love that. I lovehim. Again. Or, I never stopped, and I’m just no longer denying it.
Probably that second one.
The thought sobers me, and I straighten up as the laughter fades, but still, I meet his eyes with a smile.
Riley still looks a little confused, but his lips tip up hopefully at my expression.
“I like this groveling thing you’ve got going on,” I tease.
“Oh yeah?”
I lick my lips and step back into his space, my body at once heating with his nearness. “Uh-huh. Maybe …”
“Maybe what?” he asks, a little breathless now.
“Maybe I should make you do it a little more.”
His eyes darken, dropping to my chest where I’ve left a few buttons undone, and where a flush is no doubt rising to my heated skin. His voice is gravelly when he asks, “What did you have in mind?”
I run a finger down the center of his chest. “Well, isn’t it usually done on your knees?”
He groans, then drops to the floor, his hands coming up to grip my hips as he looks up at me. “How’s this?”
I smirk. “I think you’ve got the right idea now.”
Turns out I’m a big fan of him going down.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he untucks my blouse, pushing it up to reveal my stomach.
“And this?” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the newly exposed skin beneath my belly button.
“Mm-hm,” I hum, dropping my head back as heat floods my core. He moves to unbutton my dress pants, then slowly, achingly slowly, he pulls my zipper down. I shudder as the delicious anticipation builds.
Another kiss, and then his hands are on my waistband, sliding my pants off over my trembling thighs. He assists me in removing them, along with my embarrassingly sensible shoes, before leaning in and pressing another soft kiss to my abdomen, then another, lower, until finally he presses his lips against the already damp fabric of my plain cotton panties, at the apex of my thighs where I’m aching for it. For him.
I watch his shoulders rise as he pauses there to inhale the scent of my arousal. He groans and does it once more, sucking it deep into his lungs. I moan at the sight. He pulls back, looking up once more to meet my eyes, causing my breath to hitch at the need shining there.
I went so long without seeing that look in a man’s eyes, without feeling desirable. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact he wants me. Just the way I am. He’s not turned off by my lack of sexy pumps or lacy underthings, nor anything else about the tired mom persona I’m so often rocking. No, in fact, he seems desperate to have me in all myiterations—the tear-stained version rocking a hoodie and old leggings on the ridge, the messy-haired one in silly Christmas jammies, and the tired librarian’s assistant in discount slacks and a worn blouse I’ve had for over a decade.
