“I’m sorry,” Taz apologizes grinning. “I don’t think I have a recipe for rhinoceros, but I’d love to have you over for Moambe Chicken. If that’s okay with you,” she suddenly adds, throwing a tentative glance my way.
“Of course it is.”
After the two girls exchange phone numbers, Taz and I make our way over to the lineup at the cash register.
“Sorry for putting you on the spot, I probably should’ve checked with you first,” she says in front of me.
I lean down so my head is next to hers. “I thought I’d made it clear; it’s your home too.”
I can’t help notice her little shiver when my lips brush the shell of her ear.
Two excited pups greet us when we walk in the house, and Taz seems eager to take them out back for a little relief. To say she’s been tense on the way home is an understatement.
While she’s looking after the dogs, I haul the rest of the groceries into the house and put them away. When she still hasn’t come in once that task is complete, I head outside.
She’s sitting on the bottom step, her arms folded protectively around her knees, while watching Lilo, who appears to be chasing something in the grass. Stitch is lying at her feet, his little tail wagging when he sees me.
Taz doesn’t move when I make my way down the steps and take a seat right behind her, stretching my legs on either side of her. Sliding both hands under that heavy mane of hers, I feel the tension in her shoulders and neck. Without saying a word, I start working on the knots until her body relaxes under my hands.
“Thanks.” She tilts her head back to smile up at me. “I feel like Jell-O now.”
“Perfect,” I mumble, even as I open my mouth over hers.
Taz
Is it possible to taste desire?
I swear, when Rafe slides his tongue in my mouth it’s all I can taste.
No tentative probe, or dominant claim, but a confident, purposeful message I instinctively recognize in the deep bold strokes.
I turn my body slightly so my back is braced against one of his thighs, reaching up to curl my fingers around his neck. A soft growl against my mouth is his response.
With one hand he cups the back of my head, while sliding the other down the stretched column of my neck to spread wide and possessively on my chest. I almost whimper, wanting to feel his touch reach my breast, but Rafe doesn’t appear to be in any hurry.
When he finally lifts his head, I look up into his eyes—dark indigo with want—and a deep satisfaction settles over me.
That look is for me. His need is for me.
“God, you’re beautiful.” The words just fall from my mouth and he almost looks surprised.
“That’s supposed to be my line,” he rumbles with a soft smile, as he bends his head toward me.
Unfortunately Stitch picks that moment to tug the rubber flip-flop off my foot and takes off running, his sister on his heels. I jump up and give chase, to Rafe’s great hilarity. He laughs when I dive to rescue my footwear from those sharp little teeth, and end up on my face in the grass.
The little bugger is fast, every now and then stopping to fiercely shake his newfound toy, before darting off again. Lilo happily follows him, ears flopping and tongue lolling, content to toddle behind.
When I finally give up and lie back on the grass, listening to Rafe’s chuckle, Stitch runs over and drops his trophy on my stomach.
“You’re a little turd,” I scold him. It makes no impression at all, his little body is wiggling with excitement as he tries to lick my face.
“All right, enough of that,” Rafe announces.
I twist my head and watch as he walks up, extending a hand. “Jealous?” I tease, and he grins at me as he pulls me to my feet.
“I can take him. I just don’t want to taste puppy slobber when I kiss you again.”
Instantly the playful, lighthearted interlude is gone, the air suddenly heavy with anticipation.
While I shove my foot in my soggy flip-flop, Rafe scoops up both pups, cradling them in one arm. He grabs my hand and almost drags me behind him up the steps and inside. He heads straight for the living room, almost distractedly setting the dogs on their feet before pulling me down on the couch with him.
My breath is choppy as he deftly settles me on my back, his bigger body looming over me.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles, bending down as his lips settle against my neck, kissing the rapid pulse of my heart.
“I didn’t do anything,” I protest hoarsely.
“You’re breathing.”
Uncertain what to say, I stay silent and focus instead on the weight of his body pinning me down.
Delicious.
Arousing.
I shift restlessly underneath him as my hands explore from his wide shoulders down to the rise of his rather spectacular ass. I’ve looked plenty, but there’s nothing like the intimate pleasure of feeling the clench of muscle under your hands.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters, his lips sliding down my chest, as his hand pulls at the droopy neck of my ancient shirt, clearing the way.
“Rafe…” I inhale sharply when my breast pops free of its confines and I feel the warm heat of his mouth close over the tip.
Months—no, years—of build-up converged in this moment. I feel like I’ll burst out of my skin when he presses his hips between mine, grinding the hard evidence of his own passion against the already damp apex of my thighs.
His hand roughly yanks on my shirt to free my other breast, tearing the worn material in the process. I don’t care. He can rip every stitch of clothing from my body in this moment and I wouldn’t even blink.
I’m too busy feeling.
A groan vibrates against my skin when he switches attention to the other side, a hand sliding down the back of my pants to squeeze the ample flesh of my butt cheek. My toes curl as I tilt my hips for better friction.
“God…please.”
The moment the plea leaves my lips, he rolls away, letting go of my nipple with a soft plop, before softly blowing on the wetness his mouth leaves behind. He props himself up on an elbow and looks down on me.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his free hand whispering over my naked skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
His eyes find mine as he brushes his palm down my belly, sliding his fingers under the waistband of my jeans, and I belatedly realize my lack of grooming in that area. It doesn’t seem to faze him when his fingertips encounter the damp curls. In fact, the blue of his eyes impossibly deepen a shade as he brushes the turgid little bundle of nerves hidden there.
My body arches off the couch, my mouth falling open, at the charge his touch sets off. So sensitized it’s like I can feel every ridge of his fingerprint as he rolls my clit with his pad.
Hungry for a deeper connection, I hook a hand around his neck and pull his mouth down on mine. The moment his tongue darts between my lips, the heel of his hand presses down on my sweet spot as a long digit slides inside me, followed by a second one.
Primed for months, it’s all it takes for me to fly apart, fragmenting into a million little pieces.
My ears still echo with the rush of my own blood, when I faintly detect the sound of a ringing phone.
The next instant I feel Rafe shift before hearing him answer with a curt, “Hello?”