Page 65 of Single-Minded
This. This heaven was what I’d been craving since I walked out of her house Sunday night. A few hours with her weren’t enough. That was like savoring a single bite of the best, most decadent seven-layer chocolate cake and having to leave the rest. It went against the laws of nature.
As our intensity climbed, the patio table rattled and felt like it might collapse at any minute.
“This table is shit,” I gritted out.
Presley laughed again. “Not sure this…is the intended use.”
I worked my hands down to her cheeks and picked her up. With my pants stuck around my thighs, I managed to move us the short distance to one of our newly sanded, thankfully unpainted walls, pressing her back against it.
The paint thought was my last coherent one for the next indefinable block of time as I lost all track of everything except how this woman felt. How she made me feel. How I never wanted this to end and yet how fucking badly I needed to explode.
Presley’s grasp on me tightened, her arms around my neck as she held on with everything in her and keened her way through her climax. Her body contracted around me, squeezing me in the hottest fucking way, and I followed her over, pressing her hard against the wall, trying to keep us both upright as I came so hard I hoped the walls could hold us.
We stood there, locked together, frozen, possibly in another dimension for a few stupendous seconds of absolute bliss. I kept my body pressed into hers, our heartbeats thundering together as we tried to catch our breath.
As I came back to reality, I slid Presley down so her feet reached the floor, our bodies still flush, the wall still supporting us. I tipped her chin up and kissed her.
“That?” she said, her lids half lowered, her cheeks pink, hair falling out of whatever had been keeping it on top of her head. “Was hot.”
All I could get out was a growl of agreement.
When I thought my arms could function, I pulled my pants up to my waist so they wouldn’t drop all the way to my work boots.
“You covered those windows just in time,” I said, drawing a quiet laugh from her.
“I didn’t do it so you could bang me against the wall, but it worked out.” She ran her finger along my lower lip.
“Sure did work out,” I said with a lazy, satiated grin.
I tore off a paper towel from the roll and took care of the condom, then zipped and buttoned my pants. Presley put on her sky-blue thong, then pulled those little shorts up as I considered how not to fixate on the fact that all I had to do to touch those luscious cheeks was run my hand up her leg and under the cotton of her shorts. We’d get a lot more done if we worked in separate rooms this evening.
As she put her bra on, I picked up her tank and held it out for her, then kissed her again.
“Now maybe I’ll be able to focus on work tonight,” I said.
“Because I’m out of your system?”
“Until the next time.”
Her brows shot up, and she sent me a spicy look of promise.
I imagined taking my time with her, spending a full night with her, waking up and making pancakes with her, maybe taking the kayaks out at dawn.
And there it was, exactly what I’d been afraid of. The predisposition to rush in. To want too much. To imagine a relationship in something that was intended to be just a good time.
Either I needed to rein myself in and remember this was a no-strings-attached, physical-only arrangement, or I needed to retreat and save myself a whole lotta trouble.
Chapter Eighteen
West
Our dads’ group used to be a bunch of lonely, confused single dads. Now two-thirds of them had defected by falling prey to some admittedly pretty ladies and going the ball-and-chain route.
In the past, we met just about every Saturday evening. The more suckers we had fall victim to love, the less we were able to coordinate schedules and carve out a few hours of guy time.
The last Saturday of June was our only get-together of the month, and we were down a guy even then. Max was still on his honeymoon, so that left Ben, Knox, Chance, Luke, and me.
Ben had offered to host, as Emerson had taken the kids swimming and then to a concert on the square. The five of us had broken in the new basketball goal Ben had bought with a high-stakes game of H-O-R-S-E. Now we sat on camp chairs in the shade of Ben’s house, devouring classic burgers from the grill, corn on the cob, skillet potatoes with bacon and onions, beer from Rusty Anchor, and fresh lemonade. Luke had brought strawberries from his farm, the last of the year’s crop, and had picked up shortcakes and whipped cream at Country Market for dessert.
