A grin spreads across my face as I step away from the curtains and decide to head for the living room now, just like old times.
The penthouse is dark as I move through it, only a faint glow coming from the recessed lightning in the hallway. Another dim light shines in the kitchen, just enough to see my way. I can hear the rain drops hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows, calling me towards the living room. Lightning flashes again, casting the space in sharp, white light for half a second.
Thunder booms all around me, making my bones rattle, and my grin from earlier returns. I grab the plush throw tossed over the back of the couch and settle it around my bare legs, snuggling into the cushions. The storm outside picks up even more, rain hitting the glass in loud splatters, thunder rumbling in the distance as lightning strobes.
I love the feeling of being safe. Of being tucked up here in this penthouse, on this couch, as a wild thunderstorm drenches the city. There’s a coziness to it. A hominess.
I realize that I’ve had elements of that feeling ever since I showed up here almost a week ago. Being here with him makes me feel safe. Cozy. Like it doesn’t matter how wild the rest of the world gets, as long as I’m here, with him, I’ll be fine.
But am I fine? I trace my fingers along the edge of the ridiculously soft blanket as I watch the storm and let my thoughts filter through my mind. I’m technically homeless, and staying with my former stepfather. My former stepfather who I want to do filthy, unspeakable things with.
What I feel for Jacob—it feels wrong to call it a crush, because it’s more than that—is consuming and intense and most likely impossible.
But…I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me when I was trying on clothes for him. When I stepped out in that emerald dress, I saw the way his eyes went all dark and melty. I saw the way he clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists. Like he was barely holding himself back. I might be inexperienced, but I didn’t imagine that. I know I didn’t.
But what the hell do I do with that?
Because there’s a vast difference between looking and…more. Just because he looked doesn’t mean anything. He’s far too controlled to let anything inappropriate happen between us.
So I should just stop thinking about this, because regardless of the eye-fucking he gave me the other day, it’s never going to go anywhere.
I chew on my bottom lip, uncertainty and frustration coiling low in my stomach.
What if I’m just some silly, inexperienced, naive girl to him? What if I’m reading everything wrong? Given my lack of experience, it’s entirely possible. I hate that I can’t trust what feels right and natural in this situation. Because what feels right and natural is also…well, pretty taboo.
You’re killing me, Cam.
Those delicious words replay through my mind, because they don’t feel like I’m reading things wrong. Especially not the way he said them, all anguished and sexy. Like he knows it’s wrong to want me, and he just can’t help it.
My stomach does a fun little flip at that thought.
Lightning flashes and thunder cracks, so loud it rattles the windows slightly. It makes me jump a little, pulling me out of my Jacob fantasies. I take a breath and snuggle back into the couch, and that’s when I hear the sound of a door opening somewhere in the penthouse, followed by slow, measured footsteps. I feel it more than hear it when he steps into the living room, and I can’t stop myself from turning and glancing at him over my shoulder.
He’s already looking at me.
“Storm woke you up too, eh?” he asks, his voice rusty with sleep.
But I can’t answer. My tongue feels like it’s fused to the roof of my mouth, and my heart has transformed into a hummingbird that’s dive bombing my stomach.
Why? Because Jacob is shirtless.
His chest is broad and roped with muscle, his shoulders hard and round as boulders. A faint dusting of dark hair covers his thick pecs and trails down the ridges of his abs—actual defined, countable abs, like he’s carved out of stone. Like he’s some kind of fitness model. My gaze drops lower, following those delicious V lines at his hips that disappear into the waistband of his very, very low slung gray sweatpants.
I can see the spot where the happy trail joins the forest. I can see the very faint outline of his dick print.
Maybe it’s the shadows playing tricks, but it looks like there’s a lot of dick in there.
I force myself to swallow.
He’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. In fact, he’s so ridiculous that I have to consciously stop myself from telling him so out loud. How is he forty-eight years old and built like this? He looks like he could bench press me if he wanted to.
Does he want to? Because I would let him.
My fingers hurt from how hard I’m gripping the blanket as I openly ogle my former stepfather. I force my eyes up, but it’s too late. He’s caught me practically drooling over him. My face flames as his lips tip up into a crooked smirk.
“Um, yes,” I finally say after what feels like an eternity. “I thought I’d come watch it out here.”
“It’s a good storm watching spot,” he says, raking a hand through his messy hair. The movement makes his skin pull taught over his stomach, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from whimpering. “When it’s not pitch black, you can see the clouds moving over the lake from up here.”
