Page 37 of Keeping it Casual
His eyes soften. “You want to come in?” He opens the door wider.
I hover uncertainly on the doorstep. “I don’t want to disturb you.”
“I’m happy to be disturbed by you,” he says.
I venture inside. It’s my first time in Dustin’s house. The house has obviously been recently renovated. The kitchen, dining, and living rooms are all open-plan. The interior is painted white and is light and airy, with high ceilings and a large window overlooking the backyard. Photos of Lachie at various ages are displayed on the walls, along with two GraemeSydney landscapes, showcasing the sparse beauty of the center of the South Island where Dustin grew up.
“This place is nice,” I say, putting the bakery bags on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, it is. I didn’t want to buy at first because I wasn’t sure how we’d go here, so I was lucky such a nice rental place was available.”
“You thinking about buying now?” I try to make the words casual, but I’m pretty sure they’re dripping with the underlying subtext:how long are you planning to stay in Mineral Creek?
Dustin meets my eyes for a second. “Maybe.”
He grabs some plates from the cupboard and dishes our sandwiches onto them.
I stand by the table and watch him. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, but he’s undone the top button at his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His dark hair is sticking up at all angles like he’s just run his hands through it repeatedly, and he has a day’s worth of stubble grazing his cheeks.
He’s so sexy it hurts.
He looks up and catches my gaze, his eyes darkening.
“Stop it,” he growls.
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like that, or else we won’t be eating anytime soon.”
“I’m actually not that hungry right now,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Well, not for food, anyway.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t come here with the expectation of sex.”
“I didn’t. Somehow being around you has put it at the forefront of my mind. But you know, only if you want me. I don’t want to force you into anything.” I manage a laugh, but its humor component is relatively low.
Dustin meets my gaze with utter seriousness. “I always want you, Jeremy,” he says.
He closes the distance between us and captures my lips with his.
It quickly turns into a fast and frantic kiss because, you know, we haven’t kissed for three days, and that’s far, far too long for our lips not to be doing this happy dance together.
His lips are urgent as they trail over my jaw and down my neck, and I’m clinging to him desperately, needing to be close to him.
My hands are in his hair, pulling him down to me while his hands are on my waist, moving the back of my shirt up.
He pulls back to look at me for a second. “I can’t imagine not wanting you,” he whispers.
And then he’s back to kissing me, and we’re stumbling through the house, our tongues tangling, tasting each other, hands grappling everywhere.
We finally make it to his bedroom. I kick off my shoes, stripping off my shirt and pants in record time.
Dustin’s still fully dressed but looking at me with such heat in his eyes that I’m not complaining.
“Get naked,” I say.
“As my man commands.” He whips off his shirt, pants, and boxers, then prowls toward me. I lie back on the bed, and he leans over me, his arms on either side of my head, caging me in.
He kisses me again, his tongue tangling with mine, while his hard erection presses against my thigh.
