“Because I don’t wanna be your fuck buddy. You’re not ready for what I want to give you. You’re not ready for what I want. And I’m not willing to give you anything else.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. How do you know what I am or am not ready for?”
He looks exasperated and shoves a hand through his hair. “You’re too young for me Clara.”
“Too young? What is that supposed to mean? I’m twenty-four.”
“Yeah, and I’m thirty-six. I had an entire career before you even graduated from grade school.”
“That’s bullshit.” I step even closer to him because I need to look him in the eye as I say this. And I need him to look at me. Really look at me. “If you want me, then I’m here. If you want to try to make this a real relationship, a real marriage, then let’s do that. But don’t give me bullshit about how you’re too old for me. Because I’m not a child and I know what I want.”
“No, you don’t. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then explain it. What is it exactly that you think I can’t handle?”
His jaw is set firm, as immoveable as his attitude. I can feel his resistance to me, as heavy and thick as the shifting air pressure from the coming storm. He’s not going to give in. I can feel it in my bones.
This tough, solitary, amazing man I ended up married to through sheer luck does want me. Me!
But for whatever reason, he’s still trying to push me away.
Which, I suddenly realize, is exactly what he’s always been doing, from the moment we met. Every time he told me not to call him my husband. Every time he blocked my texts. Every time he glared and simmered with anger or frustration.
Even the times he told me he wanted me, he was pushing me away. Every admission of desire and lust was ground out like a brutal shove. Meant to scare me.
“Why?” I ask simply. “What is it you’re so afraid of? Why are you so determined to push me away? And don’t give me some bullshit answer about how you’re too old for me, because that’s not anything either of us can control. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a bullshit answer, anyway. Stop trying to scare me with some vivid description of how you want to tug my braids while you fuck my mouth or come on my tits.”
Just saying that aloud sends another rush of heat through my core, dampening my panties all over again, because I’ve never said anything like that out loud before, never imagined I wanted things like that, let alone admitted it out loud. And the way his gaze darkens at my words…oh, God. It only makes me even hotter.
When he doesn’t say anything, I grab his hand and press it to my breast, hoping he can feel how hard my heart is pounding and how hard my nipples are. For him. Because I need him to know. “Don’t think that any of those things will scare me off. Because I’m down for that. Any of it. All of it. But only if it’s with you.”
“Jesus, Peanut.” He shoves a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this? How am I supposed to walk away from you when you say shit like that?”
I huff out a breath of exasperation. “That’s my point. You’re not. So don’t. Don’t walk away. Instead, stay and give us a chance.”
I arch up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine. He resists, but only for a moment.
He never kissed me on our wedding day. The only time he touched me before today was when he shook my hand when we met. So this is our first kiss.
His lips are warm and firm. Wet from the rain. He tastes like beer and late summer storms and my desire. It’s a heady, potent mixture that hits me hard, making me frantic. I could kiss this man forever.
As his lips move over mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth, I feel his resistance slipping away. I feel him give in. His hand coming around my body to cup my ass to lift me up so that my core meets his.
I pull away from him, panting. “Now, will you please take me home and fuck me?”
chaptertwenty
Jonah
God knows I tried to resist her.
I tried. With every instinct I have and every hard-earned scrap of determination I have.
But who am I kidding?
Even a mountain can’t resist being worn down by a slow and steady stream. That’s what she’s been to me. The gentle, persistent, life-giving warmth of her, gradually wearing me down.
So when she asks me to take her home and fuck her, how can I resist?
