Page 25 of Blocked Shot
She leans over, grabbing another freshly washed pot from the drying rack. A glimmer of gold beneath Natalie’s soft cream sweater catches Jake’s eye, and he reaches forward without thinking, gently pulling out a golden chain. It’s delicate, with a small, heart-shaped charm hanging in the center. Her breath catches as his soapy fingers brush against her throat, where he feels her pulse thrumming beneath his touch.
“This is pretty,” he says. “You wore it the other night too.”
The necklace glints in the warm kitchen light. It’s delicate and refined, like Natalie.
“I always wear it,” Natalie murmurs, her eyes meeting his for a moment before flicking away. “It was my mom’s.”
Jake tucks the chain back into her sweater gently, his fingers lingering perhaps a second longer than necessary. The vulnerability inher voice makes him want to ask more, but something in her expression tells him she’s already said more than she meant to.
They return to washing dishes, but the silence between them has changed. It’s charged now, like the air before a storm.
Jake passes her a dripping plate. “My, uh, my grandmother had a necklace like that. Not exactly the same, but similar. She wore it every day for forty years.”
Natalie accepts the plate, their fingers touching briefly beneath the suds. “What happened to it?”
“She gave it to my sister when she got married.” He smiles, remembering. “Said some things should stay close to the heart.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, well,” Jake shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “Family stuff, you know?”
“I do know,” she breathes, and when she looks up at him, something passes between them—recognition, understanding.
Natalie shifts beside him, brushing against his arm as she reaches for another plate. It’s an innocent touch, barely there, but it sets him on edge. His grip tightens on the dish in his hand, knuckles white.
The words slip out before he can stop them. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Natalie freezes. The towel in her hands stills, fingers gripping the fabric as if it’s the only thing tethering her to the moment. She doesn’t look at him, but he sees the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“You shouldn’t,” she murmurs. “It’s not?—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, turning to face her fully. His hands are still wet, soap suds clinging to his fingers, but he doesn’t care. He reaches for her, fingers curling around her wrist, gentle but firm. “Don’t tell me it’s not a good idea. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
His thumb strokes the inside of her wrist, over the frantic pulse beneath her skin. Her breath is unsteady as she meets his gaze, her brown eyes searching his through long, thick lashes. “Jake?—”
He doesn’t give her a chance to finish. He steps closer, backing her against the counter. His body cages hers in with his hands braced on either side of her hips.
He leans down and buries his nose in her hair, breathing in like anaddict. She smells like vanilla, warm and sweet. Her scent wraps around him, tugging at something deep and primal. It’s comforting and maddening all at once, like a drug he’ll never get enough of. Every breath of hers makes his pulse thrum, a slow ache spreading through his chest.
“We’re good together, Natalie,” he says, his voice low, pleading in her ear. “You feel it too.”
Natalie chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. Her free hand presses against his pounding heart, a barrier that’s as weak as it is unconvincing.
“Jesse is in the other room,” she whispers, as if saying his name will summon some clarity. Some restraint.
Jake shakes his head slightly, voice low and rough. “I don’t care.”
He leans in, slow and deliberate, giving her the chance to object. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she exhales shakily, tilting her head slightly, as if she’s fighting an internal battle she’s losing. Her fingers twitch against his chest, tentative and uncertain, but they don’t push him away. They linger. Curl slightly. Like maybe part of her wants to drag him closer.
God, he wants those fingers on him. In his hair, at the back of his neck, raking down his spine until he forgets how to breathe.
He wants to bend her over the kitchen counter. Wants to slide her panties down and press his fingers between her thighs until she’s dripping, until she’s grinding back against him and whispering his name like a fucking prayer.
Her gaze flicks to his mouth.
