Before he slides out the door, he gives me one more fleeting look like he has to burn the image into his head. The door shuts and then reopens. “Oh, and no taking off any clothes. That’s my job.”
The heavy door slams shut, and I fall back to the counter blindly searching for my cell phone to tell Hannah and Victoria that I won’t be back in the office. I refrain from the details that I will, in fact, be enjoying an afternoon delight. And if I’m lucky more than one.
Chapter Nineteen
I do as Dean dictates, staying on his counter hammering out a quick text to the girls.
Me: I won’t be in for the rest of the day. Something urgent came up.
I put them on a group message. Really need to rethink that next time.
Hannah: oh lala…
Victoria: Was it the jasmine that did it?
I shake my head, but the door opens, and Dean walks in without Grover. Not saying a word, he lets the door shut, stripping from his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor and I can’t even question what the hell is going on before his mouth is on mine.
Our lips devour one another, his tongue searching for mine, his hands planted on my cheeks. And as though no time has passed we’re back in that frantic dance we perfected years ago.
His mouth starts kissing across my cheek and he angles my head with one hand, sprinkling open mouth kisses to my heated flesh.
Again, he pulls me into him so I’m flush with his body. His hard-on hasn’t diminished.
“Dean,” I sigh, loving the feel of him all over me.
“Down the hall. The teenage girl is going to dog sit for me.” Then he’s kissing me again, his fingers finding their way to my back and unzipping my dress. “Don’t mention Grover again,” he mumbles against my skin.
He kisses all over my body like he’s in a game show and has to touch every inch of me within a certain time frame. His large hands pull down my dress from my shoulders and his lips skitter along one collarbone to the next.
I slide my hand out from my dress, left in only my red bra. He pulls back for a moment, his gaze glued to my chest. Taking the opportunity, I grab his tie and pull, unknotting it as he stares down at me.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his knuckles gliding along the swell of my breast. “I almost don’t want to unwrap you.”
It’s then that I witness Dean taking me in like a piece of precious art he’s waited decades to view. His tongue slides out and he licks his bottom lip.
While he admires me, I pull his shirt from his body, letting it join his jacket on the floor. I look at a man five years older, more muscled, more defined. We’ve grown. His flat stomach now has more dark hair trickling down past his waistband, his nipples more prominent on stronger pecs. He’s turned from boy to man and I missed the transformation.
He lets me look him over the same way he does me. Finally, his hands cup my breasts right before his fingers find the clasp in between my mounds, releasing it. The fabric pulls apart, revealing me completely.
Worry flashes through my head. Have they lost the fight with gravity?
His palms cover me again, his thumbs running over my taut peaks. “Just as I remembered.”
I close my eyes as he caresses me, my core heating up more and more.
“Dean?” I break up the mood. Not that I’m not enjoying what he’s doing, but Dean doesn’t do gentle caressing.
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his lips touching my skin and finding their way down to my breasts.
“Don’t treat me like I’m damaged goods.” He lifts his head and stares at me like I’m a crossword clue he can’t figure out.
“What?”
“You don’t need to be gentle with me just to prove you’ve changed.”
The one side of his lips lift. He knows exactly what I’m referring to. Our sex life was never tame—it was break the table, shatter the lamp kind of sex.
“Are you asking me to fuck you, Chelsea Walsh?” A full smile creases his lips, his forefingers and thumbs now pinching my nipples harder. A moan falls from my lips.
“I’m asking you to show me exactly how much you want me.”
“Well, I do always aim to please you.” The pressure on my nipple intensifies, sending a current racing through my body. A glorious pain I’ve missed more than I’ve admitted.
“Dean,” I sigh, my head falling back to his granite countertop.
One hand covers my right breast and he squeezes and then massages it. The fine art of hard and soothing—no one knows it better than him. He bends down taking my nipple into his mouth as his arm slides under my back along the counter. In one motion, he pulls me up to him. My legs wrap around his torso so that he doesn’t have to stop tormenting me with small bites to my pebbled nipples while he carries me to the living room.
The cool air-conditioned room quickly warms with the heat our bodies are throwing off.
My breast pops out of his mouth and he loosens his grip enough so that I slide down his body. The cool metal of his belt pressing on the bottom of my ass. He lets me unhook from him, allowing my feet to fall to his hardwood floors, but instead of letting me unbutton his pants, he swiftly turns me around.
“Place your hands on the couch, gorgeous.” His voice transforms to that authoritative mix of stern and sultry that I love.
I do as he says, my ass out for his viewing pleasure. One hand smacks my ass and then slides down, gripping and squeezing.
Then my body ignites with the sound of his belt being unbuckled and the thud as it falls to the floor, along with his pants.
“I’m torn on having you strip me down the rest of the way, or me bending you over and hammering into you.” I close my eyes as shivers rush across my skin.
I wait for instructions or him to put my body where he wants.
“Tell me, baby.” His hand runs up and across my stomach, gripping the other side and swiveling me around to face him.
His mouth claims mine and he steps into me, his boxers soft on my skin. I stare at his lust-filled eyes that already promise me what I want. His one hand slides up to the base of my neck and his fingers tighten on the strands of my blonde hair. “You want me?” he asks like I’m not resembling Grover—salivating for his next instruction.
“I want you.”
He twists my neck and his lips fall down on me like a vampire, nibbling on my skin all the way down.
“Apologize for making me wait,” he demands, his tone firm and ready to dominate me.
“No.”
His fingers tighten, and the strands of my hair pull on my scalp. My fists pound his chest.
“No?” I feel his lips widen and he’s struggling to hide his smile at our play.
“You apologize for ruining our marriage.” My fists open and I run my nails down the front of him, purposely using enough force to leave a mark.
His teeth scrape down my chest and he bends me over the back of the couch. Licking his fingers, he rubs my clit in circles, his one finger teasing my entrance.
“I already apologized. You weren’t all innocent.” The five o’clock shadow of his chin pricks my skin as he continues to bite me on his way down my belly, to my center.
“You were a drunk and you gave up on us,” I pant.