“What is it with you and kitchens?”
“What can I say? I want what I want when I want it,” I murmur before kissing along her jaw, then down her neck.
“Beau isn’t going to like us doing this in the kitchen where we eat.”
“Beau fucked you on my desk. He’ll get over it.”
She giggles, but it’s quickly replaced by a moan as I drag my tongue along her collarbone.
“I’ve been patient,” I say against her soft skin. “Very patient.”
“You gonna keep talking or you gonna do something about it?” she challenges softly.
I grin against her throat. “Oh, I’m gonna do something about it.”
But I pull back before things go too far.
Because I want her aching for me.
I want the anticipation to stretch.
So, I brush my thumb across her pouting bottom lip. “But not until tonight. If you’re good.”
Her brows knit slightly. “Tonight?”
“After dinner. After we pretend we’re civilized.”
“You’re evil,” she says as she narrows her eyes at me. But I can tell there’s no real heat behind it.
“Maybe.” I kiss her once more. Slow. Deliberate. Letting my index finger trail up the inside of her thigh, stopping once I get right where she wants me, regardless of how much my cock is weeping behind my jeans. “But, Abigail?”
“Yes?”
“You still love me anyway.”
Her wide smile lets me know that what I have planned for the rest of the afternoon will be well worth it. “Yeah. I love you anyway.”
Chapter twenty-one
Abigail
Lincolnhasn’ttouchedmesince the kitchen this morning.
Not in any way I want him to at least.
Not beyond the brush of his fingers when he passed me his plate. Not beyond the slow, deliberate drag of his knuckles along my lower back when he walked behind my stool at dinner. They were just enough to remind me he could have me whenever he decided he was ready. Just whispers of a touch.
And nowhere near enough.
It’s nearly eight now. The dishes are done. The house is quiet. And Jas, Lawson, and Beau won’t be back from their run to Billings for a few hours yet.
And I have been unraveling all damn day.
I wipe down the counter that is already spotless. The rag moves in tight circles over the same patch of granite. I don’t need to clean. But I doneedsomething to do with my hands. Something to keep me from walking across the room and—
I glance up.
Because I feel him.
