She pauses outside her new bedroom door, leaning against the jamb with half her body in the room and half in the hall. She’s wearing long flannel pants but a tank top for a shirt. Her breasts are heavy in the skintight material, and her nipples peak under my gaze. My mouth waters for another taste of those succulent globes.
“Good night,” she whispers, her voice husky and low, and the soundwaves travel directly to my dick, long and hard in my own pair of flannels, which I’ll be removing as soon as I crawl into bed. I’ll need to relieve myself, taking matters into my own hand tonight to take off the edge.
“Good night,” I offer with a wave and then want to kick myself once she closes the door behind her.
Waving? What an idiot. I should have rushed her and kissed her senseless to remind her of our night together. That would be a good night salutation.
Because deep down, I don’t want to be just roommates with her.
“Morning,” my dad says to me as I finish cleaning up after the milking by spraying down the concrete flooring of the barn. We handled one hundred and thirteen this morning. Not bad for one morning, I consider, fighting my thoughts from wandering to a woman warm in a guest bed in my house.
“Got a guest?” Dad asks. My dad’s an easy enough going man. He claims my mother softened him over the years. Currently, as a houseful of men, we’re well past incriminations, but I’ve never brought a woman to my home.
“Yeah. She’ll be staying with me a bit,” I say, not looking up, afraid of his disapproval. I don’t need his permission, though. He’d be the first to tell me it’s my life, and I can make my own choices. I chose the farm before anything else. We had trouble a couple of years back, and I could have walked away from it all, but I didn’t. I stuck it out same as I have for some twenty-five years.
“Going to explain more,” Dad wonders.
“Nope.”
“Keeping things in perspective?” He’s referring to my past relationships. Most people assume I’m in a rush to marry, and they wouldn’t be wrong. I want what my parents had, what I witnessed between my grandparents, which was a total commitment and dedication to one another. Love. Marriage equates to such a thing, but I’ve been known to be wrong.
I give my dad one glance before turning away from him.
“Okay then. Good talk,” he mutters, slapping me hard on the back and turning for the office. I’m certain I’ll be a topic of discussion at the breakfast table, but I’ll be skipping that meal, heading back to my place to check on sleeping beauty. My internet research on pregnancy informs me a woman can sleep a lot during her first trimester. Scarlett’s considered high risk as she’s over forty. It’s not the most optimal age to be pregnant, so I won’t be doing anything to disturb the rest she needs.
Returning to my house as soon as I can, I find Scarlett standing in my kitchen staring at my coffee maker.
“Whatcha doing, sweetheart?”
She jumps at my voice, turning to face me in the tight tank and flannel pajama pants ensemble.
“I’m willing that coffee machine to work.” Her hands land on her hips as she looks up at me, sleepy-eyed and rumpled
She’s cute in the morning, and I once again regret missing out on waking next to her at Green Rocks. As my eyes have a mind of their own, they lower for the fullness of her breasts and the dark nipples protruding from the thin white material. Her nips peak, poking at the soft fabric, making me lick my lips.
“Bull,” she whispers. My name is like a breathless call in the night. However, I fight the urge to plunder her mouth, tug down that neckline, and suckle those supple swells screaming for attention.
“Bull,” she says sharper, crossing her arms, which does nothing to distract me from wanting those lush breasts. Snapping out of it, I glance up to see a knowing smirk on her lips. Busted, buddy.
“Coffee?” she questions, and I lean around her, brushing my body against hers. I hold up the plug.
“Helps if you plug it in.”
She shakes her head, looking up at me. With us this close, I could kiss her. I could lean down and take her mouth, but she wants distance, and I can respect that—sort of. I plug the extension into the outlet and turn on the machine already primed to make coffee. I must have unplugged it to move it around the counter when I made dinner last night and forgot to return it to the outlet after washing dishes.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, still crowding her in against the counter.
“Like a baby. That bed is too comfortable.”
I wouldn’t know as I’ve never slept on it, but I want to sleep on it with her.
Settle down.
Glancing up at the coffee machine as it hisses to life, I ask, “How do you work in a coffee shop if you don’t even know how a pot works?”
“Oh, well, I’m not a very good barista.” Her face pinkens, and I sense a story.
“Tell me more,” I tease.
“I just wanted a job, something to fill my time.”
“Did you work before coming to Vermont?” Her eyes meet mine, and she quickly looks away.
“I worked for an entertainment company.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like a television station.” I’m not much for television, preferring movies on occasion and a hockey game on the regular. She waves her hand, dismissing the topic, and turns to face the coffee machine as though she can make it work faster. As she presses her hands against the counter, strumming her fingers, I reach over her for the cabinet. My chest meets her back. The front of my pants hits the seam of her flannels.
She stills, and I inhale the sleepy-scent of her neck.
“Coffee mugs,” I whisper, blowing air at her moist skin, and she shivers. Opening the cabinet over her head, I pull down two mugs with one hand. Resting the other on the opposite side of her body, I cage her in. My nose trails up her neck. She doesn’t move away from me like she did yesterday. So much for distance. After I set the mugs on the counter, my mouth hovers over her neck, and she tips her head, allowing me better access. Her body is begging me to taste her. Breathing her in, I lift my hand for her belly, landing over the spot where one day soon she’ll swell. The idea of it causes me to inhale, and her breasts heave. Those nipples are so ripe, teasing me for attention.
“Knock, knock.” The soft click of the front door tells me someone entered. Dammit. Everyone has a key to my place, and I might need to impose a no-entry policy for the length of Scarlett’s stay. Instantly, I step back and turn toward the entry door, placing myself in front of Scarlett in her revealing tank top. However, there’s no way to disguise the raging hard-on in my pants.
“Heard we have a visitor.” My youngest brother’s teasing voice lets me know he’s here to scope out the situation. Nosy bastard.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”
“Good thing I have another one who can take the spot,” I groan, needing a second to cool my thoughts of Scarlett, the kitchen counter, and what I’d like to do to her against it.
“Hiya Red,” he says, tipping his head to look around me.
“Please don’t call me that,” she whispers behind me, and the sound of her voice tells me she doesn’t like that nickname. It’s more than disliking a play on her bright hair but something deeper.