“But then I saw your face, now you got me tryna catch your eye, catch your name,” he croons, in a voice that isn’t particularly bad.
I’ve heard this song in passing, not being so much of a country fan, but the lyrics get me as we continue to drive. It’s about how a man wasn’t looking for anything at all, was just trying to have a fun night out with his buddies. Then, wham, a girl walks in and he goes weak at the knees, basically.
It’s kind of how I feel about the man in the driver’s seat; I wasn’t looking for anything romantic in the least. I would have been fine shriveling up and dying an old shrew after everything I’ve been through. But Walker’s persistence, his charm, this innate sense of safeness I have when I’m around him … it’s slowly but surely winning me over.
The drive from the salon to Walker’s house is about ten minutes, and when we pull up his half mile long driveway, I take a second to just marvel. Of course, I used to live a neighborhood over from him, and I’ve been here before. One Halloween, Walker had a party for the team and anyone the players wanted to invite. He’s also hosted summer barbecues that we stopped by for a short period, back before Shane liked to attend events solo.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” His hand makes a sweeping motion as he parks in the driveway and begins to get out of the vehicle.
“I’m not sure I’d call this humble.” I chuckle, as we meet at the front of his truck.
“Hmm.” He pretends to be thinking as he wraps his arms around my waist. “I guess you’re right.”
And then he dips his head, giving me a kiss that seems to stretch on for eons. When he breaks away, I’m practically a puddle at his feet.
“What was that?”
“Figured I couldn’t give you a proper hello in the salon, and I’ve missed you.” He shrugs, but his smile is pure deviant.
And now all I can think about is how much I’ve missed him. I wanted him the other night, oh how badly I’d wanted him. When he ended our date with a searing, soul-melting kiss for the ages, I wanted him to push it further. And then he gave me that line about not wanting to push, wanting to respect everything I have going on, and I was like a teenage girl floating to her bedroom after her crush asked her to prom.
But I wanted him to push me, to put his hands in places that now feel needy and achy.
“What did you make for lunch?” I gulp, trying to steady my already shot nerves.
I follow him in after he unlocks the front door. “I made us some Italian chicken paninis with this press I’ve gotten pretty good at using. Do you like roasted red peppers? I wasn’t sure if I should put them on …”
He’s so cute trying to guess what I might like. “I am not picky, I’ll eat whatever. Especially if someone else is making it. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me instead of the other way around.”
“Well, get used to it. I want to do things for you.” Walker’s blue orbs are so earnest, it makes the organ in my chest do a little happy dance.
We pause in his kitchen, with its butcher block counters and dark green cabinets, and I think it dawns on both of us that we’re finally alone, with nothing to get back to or anyone to report to for at least a little while. And that ignites something, because before I realize what either of us are doing, we’re locked in each other’s arms.
Walker’s hands are in my hair, mine are pulling at the hem of his long sleeve. Our kisses are rushed and passionate, and the sounds coming from my throat are animalistic.
He walks me backward, hoisting me up onto his kitchen island, and then moves to position himself between my legs. The moment I feel his hardness through his jeans, his erection jutting to nudge my most sensitive parts, I break off in an aroused, surprised gasp.
“Oh God, Walker … we can’t,” I say between pants, but his hands don’t leave my hips. “I haven’t … it’s been a long time. And there is so much baggage. I haven’t shaved my legs.”
The last thought pops into my head before I can cover my mouth to keep it from coming out. But it’s true. I’m not sure if it’s been a week or maybe two since I took a razor to my stubble.
Walker chuckles beside my ear. “Hannah, I would sleep with you if you were hairy as a baboon, and enjoy every single second of it. Hell, the thought of discovering a landing strip when I get these panties off you is making me so hard, I think I’m leaking cum.”
My entire body flushes with hardcore lust at his hilarious but dirty words. But I move my face, nudging the side of his, so that he has to look at me.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a positive way in quite some time. We just started seeing each other. We haven’t even talked about what this is, or how it would possibly ever work. Sex … complicates things. And I’m not one to take it lightly.”
His baby blues flash with concern. “Did he hurt you, during … ?”
I know he can’t force himself to finish that sentence. I gulp, looking away.
“No, not hurt, exactly. But my needs haven’t been seen to in a very long time.”
Shane was selfish, in every sense of the word. Our sex life, just like everything else in our marriage, became about his gratification. He took no time to see to my needs, I often didn’t orgasm, there were no sweet nothings whispered, no magic or even lusty romps because we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. The sex became another way he used his power over me, taking what he wanted from my body and giving nothing in return.
“Let me cherish you, pleasure you. I don’t want to push you, Hannah, but good lord, you deserve to be worshipped. The places I want to put my mouth on your body, the ways in which I want to make you squirm and moan … I’m not sure I can even describe how badly I want to watch you come.”
I mean, how am I even going to argue with that? I want that so badly, to the point that I just shamelessly thrust my hips against him, until he moves to start removing my pants, right there on his kitchen counter.
17
Walker
Our clothes seem to have disappeared somewhere, thrown onto the tile of my kitchen floor.
When I decided to surprise Hannah and bring her over for lunch, I didn’t assume this was going to happen. Did I want to get her alone without anyone else within earshot? Yes. Did I envision a steamy make-out session? Yeah, definitely. Have I jacked off this entire week thinking about how much I regret walking away when I dropped her off after our first date? More times than I count.
But to see Hannah, with all of her wild black curls spread across my kitchen island? No, I definitely didn’t anticipate this. Dreamed about it, yes, but this is more than I could ever imagine.
Her sea glass eyes are fixated on me, both swamped with lust but also skittish. She’s like an animal that might bolt at any sign of sudden movement, and it guts me that she hasn’t been cherished or taken care of in a long time. Her body is laid before me like an offering, one I want to feast upon. All olive, unblemished skin, petite curves, and small, rounded chocolate brown nipples. Hannah is my greatest fantasy, with her girl next door innocence and womanly maturity mixing in a heady combination.
I can’t even look at her pussy without growling, and I want to bend down and stick my tongue between her thighs. But I know I have to go slow, I have to worship her. And as she’s laid back against the marble, that’s all I want to do.