Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
4
Brewer
I ring the doorbell and stand back, looking at the freshly cut yard and the white picket fence. I’m not surprised. Hell, I’ve been imagining a house with two kids and a white picket fence all afternoon.
When she opens the door, I steady myself against the door jamb. Damn, how does she get better looking every time I see her? She has on a T-shirt and knee-length skirt with her pretty pink toenails.
When my eyes drag back up her body, I notice the astonished look on her face. She’s staring at my arms, and it’s then I realize that she’s seeing me for the first time.
I look down at my jeans and white T-shirt and back up at her again. “What?”
She shakes her head as if literally trying to shake the thoughts away. “Nothing. I’m just used to seeing you in coveralls, that’s all.”
I stick my thumb toward the truck. “I’ve got a fresh pair if you’d rather I wear that.”
“No! I mean no, you look great. I mean I didn’t know you had tattoos, that’s all.” She stutters her way through it.
“Do you not like tattoos?” I ask her quietly.
“Yes. I mean, they look good on you.” She blushes prettily and I lean in to kiss her nose before passing her into the house.
I look around. The place is cozy. She has decorated it prettily, but I’ve never been one to enjoy how a house looks when I’m next to a beautiful woman. I turn to her and she’s eyeing the bag in my hand.
“What’s that?”
I hold it up. “Dinner. I know you didn’t want to go out, but I thought we could still eat together.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Brewer, this isn’t a date. This is… well, you know what this is.”
I spot the kitchen in the open design and start walking to it. She follows behind me and I start pulling everything out of the bag and setting it on the table. “I know exactly what this is… I think you do too, but I think you’re trying to make it less than what it is.”
She starts to argue, but I stop her with a finger to her lips. “I was rushed to get over here. I didn’t get to eat. I figure for the night we’re about to have, I need sustenance.”
Finally, she agrees with me and goes to pull plates out of the cupboard. “So what’d you bring?”
She blushes when she realizes what she just confessed to me. “Nervous about tonight?”
She denies it with a shake of her head, but I don’t believe her.
“Steak, potatoes and a salad. I hope that’s okay.” I wad up the bag and take it to the trash.
“Oh my God! That’s perfect. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had steak?” She walks over to the table and sets the plates and silverware down.
I grab her by the waist then and she leans back in my arms. I brush her hair to the side and kiss her neck. Her sweet scent overcomes me and I want to pick her up and take her to the bedroom. But I don’t. Although I want her and can’t wait to have her, I also know that I need to push her for more, because I damn well know that I don’t plan on fucking her and walking away. Oh no, it’s going to be more than that.
She must have the same idea, because she turns in my arms and looks up at me. “We can eat afterwards.”
I do then what I’ve wanted to do since I first walked in the door. I kiss her. I grip the hair at her nape and hold her to me, exploring her mouth until she’s rubbing her body up and down mine. There comes a point where I either have to pull away or lose consciousness, but when I do, she’s still stroking her body against me, my leg between her thighs and she’s pushing into me like she’s begging for relief.
She grabs my hand, trying to pull me from the room, but I don’t let her. This may not be an old-school date, but I’m determined to get it as close to one as possible.
“Uh-uh, honey. Dinner first.”
Her lower lip goes out and I swear she’s pouting, but she walks over to the table and sits down.
We’re both quiet while we cut our steaks and she goes to grab us drinks. When we finally start eating, the tension could be cut with a knife. Not uncomfortable tension, but “I want to fuck” tension. I try to bring some normalcy back to the table when I ask her about her day.
She laughs, a bubbly sound that makes me smile. “It was good. Long, but good.”
“Well, you know what I do. What is it you do?” I ask, wanting to know everything about her.