The Score
Page 37
Footsteps thump in the hall, causing anticipation to rise in my chest. My heart does a silly, unwelcome flip when two knocks thud against my door. It’s a manly-sounding thump-thuuuump, and when I swing the door open, Dean is standing in front of me. He’s wearing faded jeans with a rip in one knee, a hunter-green cable knit sweater beneath his Briar jacket, and a black wool hat.
“Hey.” I’m suddenly feeling awkward about this whole situation.
“Hey.” He tugs off his hat as he strides inside. I notice his hair is wet, as if he’s just come out of the shower. His gaze travels to the television. “Oh shit, what did I miss? Did Marie-Thérèse manage to find a copy of Claude’s will?”
“I don’t know. I started the episode about three minutes before you showed up.”
“’Kay, well if you watch any more without me, shoot me a text to let me know what happens.” He tosses his hat and coat on the couch.
I swiftly pick them up. “Nope, these are coming with us. Boots too,” I add, gesturing to the black Timberlands he’s in the process of removing.
“Where are we taking them?”
“My room. I don’t want there to be any evidence of your presence in this room in case you forget something. This is a covert operation.”
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Bond.”
In my bedroom, I drop his stuff on the desk chair. Then shit gets awkward again, because Dean is standing there. Five feet away. Smirking at me.
“What?” I mutter defensively.
He shrugs. “Nothing.” But he still doesn’t make a single move toward me.
“You’re just going to stand there? Come here and do something, damn it.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Do what?”
I’m even more frazzled. “I don’t know. Kiss me. Take my shirt off. Anything.”
Dean crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Nuh-uh. If you want me, come and get me.”
Aggravation climbs up my spine. “So we’re playing games now?”
“Naah, no games.” He lifts one dark-blond eyebrow. “But I’m still not convinced this isn’t some sort of trickery on your part.”
“What, you think I invited you over so I could fuck with you?” I offer a saucy smile. “Sweetie, I invited you over so I could fuck you. Period.”
He chuckles, and the deep, husky sound goes straight to my core. Oh, screw it. If he needs me to make the first move, I’ll make the first move. It’s not like we both don’t want the same thing.
Without a word, I bridge the distance and sweep my palm over his cheek.
Dean gives a slight intake of breath. His face is completely clean-shaven, and I find myself longing for some stubble. I liked the way it felt against my skin last time.
But unlike last time, I’m stone cold sober tonight. There’s no way I can use alcohol as an excuse for what I’m doing right now.
I glide my hand over the back of his scalp and slide my fingers through his damp hair. As our eyes lock, I tug his head down and our lips meet in a featherlight kiss. No tongue. No urgency. It’s an exploratory hey-how-are-ya between our mouths, before I pull back to look at him.
Sweet Lord. His gaze contains so much raw, palpable heat it startles a gasp out of me. The next thing I know, Dean’s mouth crashes over mine again, and there’s nothing exploratory about this kiss.
It’s pure hunger.
His tongue thrusts into my mouth in a deep, punishing stroke. I hear myself moan, but Dean swallows the desperate sound with another greedy kiss, his warm hands clamping on my hips as he kisses me until I’m breathless.
My heart is pounding. Holy hell, I’m insanely turned on. So is he—I feel the proof of it when he grips my ass and yanks me against him, grinding our lower bodies together.
“You get me so fucking hard,” he growls.
He rotates his hips, bending slightly so his shaft lines up in the cradle of my thighs. Then he rocks forward and his erection rubs over my clit, triggering a shockwave of pleasure that sizzles along my spine.
“Naked,” I choke out. “Now.”
With another chuckle, he ignores the frantic request and kisses me again. His lips are as greedy as before, utterly dominating, and just when I think this frenetic, passionate make-out session couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Dean abruptly slows it down. His tongue tickles my bottom lip. His perfect teeth give it a tiny nip. Then he buries his face in my neck and lavishes it with soft, open-mouthed kisses that leave shivers in their wake.
Since he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get naked, I take matters into my own hands. I capture the hem of his sweater and draw the heavy material upward. I get it up to his collarbone, and he lifts his head to help with the rest of the way. The moment his sweater comes off, I eagerly sweep my palms over his warm, bare flesh.
He makes a husky noise and threads his fingers through my hair, watching me with lust-filled eyes as I caress his chest.
This guy is built. I damn near purr with happiness as I explore the hard planes of his chest. I trace each sculpted pec with my index finger, then target one flat nipple and press down on it. He jerks, his breathing going heavier. I trail that same finger down the line of dark blond hair leading to his waistband, then flatten my palm and stroke the defined ridge of his abs.
Dean’s lips find my neck again. With deft fingers, he works the material of my shirt up and eases it over my head.
He sucks in a breath. “No bra?”
“Seemed redundant.”
Pleasure ignites inside of me when he cups my breasts. He sweeps his thumbs over my nipples, and groans softly. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to play with these tits again.”
My head lolls to the side, and he takes advantage and licks a path from my neck to my ear. He sucks lightly on the lobe and I sag against his warm chest, losing myself in sensation. Dean continues to tease my nipples, but uses only the pads of his fingers. He’s barely making contact, and my nipples tighten painfully every time his fingertips ghost over them.
“Perfect handful.” He squeezes both breasts, his thumbs dancing along the underside of each one. “And these nipples. Jesus Christ, baby.”
He dips his head, and I cry out when he flicks his tongue over my right nipple. After all that tortuous non-attention, the firm, purposeful lick he gives me is like an electric shock through my body.
“Hey.” I’m suddenly feeling awkward about this whole situation.
“Hey.” He tugs off his hat as he strides inside. I notice his hair is wet, as if he’s just come out of the shower. His gaze travels to the television. “Oh shit, what did I miss? Did Marie-Thérèse manage to find a copy of Claude’s will?”
“I don’t know. I started the episode about three minutes before you showed up.”
“’Kay, well if you watch any more without me, shoot me a text to let me know what happens.” He tosses his hat and coat on the couch.
I swiftly pick them up. “Nope, these are coming with us. Boots too,” I add, gesturing to the black Timberlands he’s in the process of removing.
“Where are we taking them?”
“My room. I don’t want there to be any evidence of your presence in this room in case you forget something. This is a covert operation.”
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Bond.”
In my bedroom, I drop his stuff on the desk chair. Then shit gets awkward again, because Dean is standing there. Five feet away. Smirking at me.
“What?” I mutter defensively.
He shrugs. “Nothing.” But he still doesn’t make a single move toward me.
“You’re just going to stand there? Come here and do something, damn it.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Do what?”
I’m even more frazzled. “I don’t know. Kiss me. Take my shirt off. Anything.”
Dean crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Nuh-uh. If you want me, come and get me.”
Aggravation climbs up my spine. “So we’re playing games now?”
“Naah, no games.” He lifts one dark-blond eyebrow. “But I’m still not convinced this isn’t some sort of trickery on your part.”
“What, you think I invited you over so I could fuck with you?” I offer a saucy smile. “Sweetie, I invited you over so I could fuck you. Period.”
He chuckles, and the deep, husky sound goes straight to my core. Oh, screw it. If he needs me to make the first move, I’ll make the first move. It’s not like we both don’t want the same thing.
Without a word, I bridge the distance and sweep my palm over his cheek.
Dean gives a slight intake of breath. His face is completely clean-shaven, and I find myself longing for some stubble. I liked the way it felt against my skin last time.
But unlike last time, I’m stone cold sober tonight. There’s no way I can use alcohol as an excuse for what I’m doing right now.
I glide my hand over the back of his scalp and slide my fingers through his damp hair. As our eyes lock, I tug his head down and our lips meet in a featherlight kiss. No tongue. No urgency. It’s an exploratory hey-how-are-ya between our mouths, before I pull back to look at him.
Sweet Lord. His gaze contains so much raw, palpable heat it startles a gasp out of me. The next thing I know, Dean’s mouth crashes over mine again, and there’s nothing exploratory about this kiss.
It’s pure hunger.
His tongue thrusts into my mouth in a deep, punishing stroke. I hear myself moan, but Dean swallows the desperate sound with another greedy kiss, his warm hands clamping on my hips as he kisses me until I’m breathless.
My heart is pounding. Holy hell, I’m insanely turned on. So is he—I feel the proof of it when he grips my ass and yanks me against him, grinding our lower bodies together.
“You get me so fucking hard,” he growls.
He rotates his hips, bending slightly so his shaft lines up in the cradle of my thighs. Then he rocks forward and his erection rubs over my clit, triggering a shockwave of pleasure that sizzles along my spine.
“Naked,” I choke out. “Now.”
With another chuckle, he ignores the frantic request and kisses me again. His lips are as greedy as before, utterly dominating, and just when I think this frenetic, passionate make-out session couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Dean abruptly slows it down. His tongue tickles my bottom lip. His perfect teeth give it a tiny nip. Then he buries his face in my neck and lavishes it with soft, open-mouthed kisses that leave shivers in their wake.
Since he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get naked, I take matters into my own hands. I capture the hem of his sweater and draw the heavy material upward. I get it up to his collarbone, and he lifts his head to help with the rest of the way. The moment his sweater comes off, I eagerly sweep my palms over his warm, bare flesh.
He makes a husky noise and threads his fingers through my hair, watching me with lust-filled eyes as I caress his chest.
This guy is built. I damn near purr with happiness as I explore the hard planes of his chest. I trace each sculpted pec with my index finger, then target one flat nipple and press down on it. He jerks, his breathing going heavier. I trail that same finger down the line of dark blond hair leading to his waistband, then flatten my palm and stroke the defined ridge of his abs.
Dean’s lips find my neck again. With deft fingers, he works the material of my shirt up and eases it over my head.
He sucks in a breath. “No bra?”
“Seemed redundant.”
Pleasure ignites inside of me when he cups my breasts. He sweeps his thumbs over my nipples, and groans softly. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to play with these tits again.”
My head lolls to the side, and he takes advantage and licks a path from my neck to my ear. He sucks lightly on the lobe and I sag against his warm chest, losing myself in sensation. Dean continues to tease my nipples, but uses only the pads of his fingers. He’s barely making contact, and my nipples tighten painfully every time his fingertips ghost over them.
“Perfect handful.” He squeezes both breasts, his thumbs dancing along the underside of each one. “And these nipples. Jesus Christ, baby.”
He dips his head, and I cry out when he flicks his tongue over my right nipple. After all that tortuous non-attention, the firm, purposeful lick he gives me is like an electric shock through my body.
