Page 22 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

CHAPTER SEVEN

PAYNTER

Did she really just ask that?

“You want a sweatshirt?”

“Or one of your flannels, I guess. I, uh, don’t usually stay in these clothes once I get home. I can just nip home and get one.” She frowns at her wine before setting it back on the counter. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just go home and change.”

“No, no that’s…” That’s fucking hot. She wants to wander around my house in one of my sweatshirts. I want to see that. Besides, if she goes home, there’s no guarantee she won’t think better of coming back. And I don’t think going after her and carrying her back in a fireman’s hold is going to do either of us any favors. “Jesus, Chloe. That’s sexy as fuck.”

“I don’t know about that.” She buries a nervous laugh in her drink.

“You don’t know if making yourself comfortable in my home, in my clothes, is sexy? Or you don’t know if you are?”

“Does it matter?” She takes another quick swig of her wine while the tops of her ears turn pink.

I steal her drink from her and tangle my fingers with hers while I put the glass down. “You are sexy as fuck.”

“As fuck?” Canting her head to the side, she raises an eyebrow. “What does that even mean? You can’t just add ‘as fuck’ to the end of a sentence.”

I draw her to me, bring her right up against me, our hands locked between us. My free hand goes to her hair so I can pull some of those pins free. “I’ve wanted to do this since you got out of your car.”

Her hair tumbles out of its neat ’do, and I run my hands through the shiny strands. They feel like silk on my fingers.

“You’ve wanted to mess up my hair?” She tries to sound indignant but fails. Her tits rise and fall inside her serious little blouse, and there’s a fine shake in her balance, as though I’m making her weak at the knees. Staring up at me with parted lips, she watches me, waiting.

“No. Not just that.” I take a strand of her hair between my fingers, follow the length of it behind her ear and along her jaw to her cheek. Cupping it, I lean in. Lean in so close I can feel her breath on my face, smell the wine mixed with her scent. A little closer still until her breath hitches and she can no longer look at anything but my lips. Her fingers are tight around mine, squeezing the bones together. “I want to mess up all of you. I want to put wrinkles in your solemn little skirt, make your skin flush. And, yeah, I want to make your hair fluff up from my hands in it.”

She wets her lips, uses her tongue and her teeth to try to ease the anticipation. But it’s been there all along.

“Paynt?”

She rises up on her toes as I mash my mouth to hers. Her fingers grip my bicep for a moment as she opens to me, then they move to my chest, bunching up the cotton for leverage. Twisting her head to the side, she pushes her tongue against mine. If I thought about kissing my neighbor when I first met her, I never expected it to be like this, but each time we kiss she turns wanton and eager and I crave it more than I’m willing to admit.

Letting go of her hand, I grip her hips and pick her up, depositing her on the counter surface. Fingers pull at my hair, scrape at my scalp while she thrusts into my mouth. We war for dominance in a kiss that steals my breath and has her panting as I bite at her bottom lip. My hands splayed on either side of her, I lean over, and she clings to my shoulders, my shirt. One hand holds her up from the surface, the other works on pushing up my T-shirt and touching every damn inch of my abs before tickling over the trail of hair at my waist.

I break the kiss long enough to shed my flannel outer shirt and yank the cotton one over my head. I’m so turned on by her, my gut aches with need and my erection stands rigid inside my jeans. Her gaze catches there for a moment, her pupils heavy with lust, and she scrapes her teeth over her bee-stung bottom lip. God, I want to take a bite out of her, want to strip her naked and sink my teeth into her skin while she rides my cock.

She sheds her jacket, her eyes on me the whole time. They’re luminous, a little tempestuous and nervous. Being looked at by her, like this, it stutters my heart and tightens my throat. It’s been so fucking long since I wanted a woman as much as I want her.

I push her knees apart and shift between them, covering her mouth with mine again before I nibble at her jaw and flick my tongue over the sensitive spot near her ear, at the place where her pulse races hard, at the dip between shoulder and throat I expose when I undo the buttons on her blouse and push it down her arms. Slinky satin and lace contrast her creamy skin, the outline of nipples like bullets point the fabric, and I lift her hand and suck her fingers into my mouth, lick them, and bite at her knuckles. They’re sweet from the strawberry juice and sugar.

Pulling them from my mouth, I brush my lips along her wrist and down her forearm. She closes her eyes, her whole body pulling tight and releasing.

“Want to run away, Chloe? Or do you want to spend the night with me?”

“I didn’t run. I walked out because your brother had a point. And you were drunk.”

“I’m not drunk now.” I wrap an arm around her waist and yank her to me.

Her knees tighten at my hips, the heat of her thighs cradling me as she crosses her ankles behind me and the heel of one foot digs into my muscle.

“But he still has a point. What are we doing? Is this wise? Do you think—”

“It’s a simple question, sweetheart.” Every other time I’ve called her that, I’ve been trying to irritate her into dropping her prissy act, but for some reason the word slips out sounding so normal. It rolls around my head as though I meant to call her that and intended it the way it sounded. Like she’s more than just my hot neighbor.

My hot neighbor whose legs are wrapped around my hips, and whose hands are exploring my body.

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