Page 133 of Dream Chaser
“Now”—I sink back into the leather—“take me home.”
He takes my hand and holds it to his chest. “Love the fact you want my cock as much as I want inside you, Iz, but I don’t want that to be it. I need it to be here, too. I’m falling, and it may seem fast, but it’s not, and you know it. And I’m not a bitch, but those posts, they were like Grand, and your folks—hell, everyone else sees it, too, Iz.”
“So once two people start falling in love, then sex has to be missionary position after poetry is read?” I ask.
“Shit, I’m fucking this up. That wasn’t an insult about the best blow job I have ever received. It was?—”
“Skinner.” I smack his chest. “I don’t need a participation trophy, an atta girl, or anything else to know I just blew your mind.”
He takes my hand and holds it right back against his chest. His eyes met mine, a little desperate, and my heart sinks as he says. “Maybe I do then.” He squeezes my hand, and I feel it right down to my toes.
The thing is, I talk a big game about emotional detachment—no-strings sex, friends with benefits, all that—but Skinner—and only Skinner—has this uncanny ability to grab me by the guts and make me want things I spent years pretending I don’t need. Not just the sex—though, Jesus, the sex—but the weird, messy, scary intimacy that comes with it. The way he looks at me rightnow, like I am everything, makes me want to believe all the things I, Izzy Ross, never dared to believe I could have.
I stare at our hands, tangled together on his chest, and feel the reality of it: the heat, the weight, the pulse. This is all real, and like both my parents have pointed out, I could easily cut and run, but I don’t want to.
I tilt my head and press a kiss to his jaw. “You want me to say it? Fine. I’m crazy about you, Griffon.” I take a deep breath; honesty is a lot harder than oral. “Not just in your vehicle, in my bed?—”
“On a desk.” He squeezes my hand, and I look down, letting my hair curtain my face.
“You’re under my skin, and I don’t want it to stop, okay?”
I glance up, and he gives me a grin so big it’s almost dopey.
“Fuck,” he hisses, pumps the brakes, and jerks the vehicle, just barely making it into the Stables’ driveway.
We both laugh.
“I was gonna let you know that was damn good because I have no breaks when it comes to you and no plans on slowing down, but …” He laughs. “Just fuck.”
He puts his vehicle in park. “Love this place, Iz. When I moved here, it was the nicest place I’d ever lived.”
“I saw bits of your place in Mississippi, so I’m gonna have to call?—”
“Bought that for Gramps and Grand.” He shrugs as he looks at his townhouse. “One day, I’m gonna want more, here, you know. A place to come home to after being on the road, where I walk in and it feels like home.” He shuts off his vehicle, unbuckles, and opens his door. “You feel like home.”
I sit there, trying to figure out if he just said that after just a few weeks. Is he talking about living together, or …?
My door opens. “I’m not buying a place until you’re ready to help me pick it out. So until then …” He takes my hand and basically pulls me out.
Part of me wants to grab the oh shit handle because,oh shit!
He continues, “Until then, you gotta schedule me in for sleepovers every now and then like you do your girls’ nights.”
I exhale a held breath. I can handle that. “Okay.”
He continues, my hand still in his, him punching in his lock code. “And I’m not opposed to Mags living with us until someone worthy falls for her.”
Oh. My. God.
He steps in and pulls me with him as a motion light kicks on.
“Seriously, when I’m on the road, and if you’ve got too much going on to come, I’d rather know you’re not alone, because trust me, I know how alone feels and?—”
“Okay, stop,” I cut him off.
“Too much?” he asks, hands tensing.
I try to explain, but all I can do is nod. “I mean … yes, but also no? Just … it’s a lot.”
