She gasped in outrage before laughing. “And you give the worst compliments!”
“If it makes you feel better, it’s a disease I don’t want to be cured of.”
“Why are you comparing me to something like herpes? If I’m herpes, you’re…” She thought a moment. “Athlete’s Foot.”
He looked up at her. “I’m a foot fungus?”
“Yes, and one that keeps coming back.”
He smiled, and her heart melted. “My darling herpes, you drive me insane.”
Grace didn’t know if she should laugh, moan, or cry. Maybe all three. But when he began to unbutton her coat, his fingers trailing down her torso, she decided biting her lip to keep from moaning like an idiot was her best option.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let me touch you, Graciela. I need you.”
Like she was going to say no to something like that.
She smoothed her fingers through his hair as his hand drifted down her legs, inching up the skirt of her dress. She wore cotton leggings underneath, and as he danced his fingers across her hip, stroking her upper thigh, she felt like she was wearing too much clothing.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark. He kissed her just as he found the waistband of her leggings, and then he was touching bare skin.
“You’re so soft and sweet. You drive me crazy.”
You drive me insane, Jaime.
He kissed her harder. She gasped and moaned and wiggled against him, wanting him to touch her lower. Touch her all over. She’d never gotten this far with any guy, and she wished she’d worn something other than white cotton panties today. But Jaime didn’t even notice, and when his fingers brushed low on her pubic bone, she shuddered.
He kissed her neck. “Are you as blonde down here? I bet you are. Blonde and fair and pink and silky soft.” His words entranced her, made her heavy-eyed with desire. She could feel herself getting wetter, begging for his touch. Her entire body was on edge. She could only grip his shoulders and hope against hope that he’d touch her where she needed it most.
When he slicked a finger through her folds, she cried out softly. He captured the sound with his mouth. Her entire body shaking, he touched her with such gentleness that she wanted to cry. He murmured more words against her neck, about how wet she was, how much he wanted her, how beautiful she was. She moved her hips against his finger, which played with her in the lightest of strokes.
Her body tensed. She tried to find that perfect angle. “Jaime, Jaime,” she whispered. She buried her face in his shoulder, suddenly too embarrassed to have him look at her.
He slowly pushed a finger inside of her, and then they both groaned. “God, you’re tight.”
She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.
“Graciela, I want to see you. Look at me. I want to see you when you come.”
She shook her head. He brushed a thumb over her clit, and she could feel herself getting close.
“Yes, look at me.” He tilted her face up from his shoulder, and their gazes met. It was dark except for the light of the truck’s dashboard, but she had a feeling he could see everything on her face. He licked at her bottom lip. “Come for me.”
He inserted a second finger, and it was almost too much, but somehow as he lightly rubbed her clit and thrust his fingers inside of her, it was perfect. Something spiraled in her belly, and she didn’t even realize she was moving in time with his thrusts until she felt her body melting.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her mouth. “There you go.”
A moan and a scream and a hoarse cry coalesced in her throat until her body seized and she was coming. She felt Jaime’s thumb against her clit as he drew out her orgasm, and she stared into his eyes as it happened.
It was too much. It was all too much. She buried her face in his shoulder again, still riding the wave, and wondered if someone could break your heart just from touching you.
He slipped his hand from her body, but not before kissing her, hard and deep. Desperate. All of her nerve-endings were electrified, and she couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t think about the implications of what they’d just done.
Finally, he pulled his mouth away from hers, his forehead against hers.
“I’ll take you home,” he murmured.
She almost blurted out the words. I love you. But she bit her tongue until it bled, hoping that Jaime didn’t see the tears in her eyes as he drove her home.
Chapter Ten
“You, Jaime Alejandro Martínez García, are the biggest piece of shit in the entire world.”
Jaime looked at himself in his bathroom mirror, and sadly, his reflection didn’t feel compelled to agree or disagree with this announcement. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water until it seeped into him and maybe, just maybe, would cool off the rest of him.
Not fucking likely.
He just had to stop and pick Grace up, didn’t he? He just had to have her in his truck. And then he just had to stop said truck and touch her like that and get her off and hear her breathy moans as she orgasmed, and Jesus Christ, he wasn’t sure if he hated himself more than he felt stupidly pleased with himself.
It had been a grand total of two hours since their…encounter. The encounter where Jaime had kissed Grace Danvers, touched her, and oh, put his hand down her pants—or leggings, in this instance—and made her come with his fingers.
Looking at himself in the mirror again, he had half a mind to punch his reflection and shatter it.
The worst thing? He didn’t feel guilty. Not really. He felt guilty that he didn’t feel guilty, which merely made him feel even more tangled up in whatever this whole thing was. Their relationship? Is this what this was? If you got a woman off, did that make you a sort-of couple?
He groaned. Leaving the bathroom, he picked up the bottle of wine sans glass he’d been nursing, but when he took a swig, the alcohol settled in his belly like a lead weight. If it weren’t dark out and snowing, he’d go for a run. He considered it. Maybe he would go for a run. The worst that could happen was that he fell in a ditch and no one found him until morning, and at this point, he probably deserved something like that.
He laughed, the sound bitter in his small house. Going to his room, he put on his warmest running clothes, laced up his shoes, and was looking around for a hat when someone knocked on his door.
He stilled. He almost wondered if he’d imagined the sound. Then: another knock.
Opening the door with a “what the hell?”, Jaime found himself face to face with the one woman he had had no intention of seeing anytime soon. If ever.
“Grace?”
Her hair was down past her waist, and she wore pajama bottoms with her snow boots. She hadn’t buttoned her coat up, and he could see that she wore a thin tank top underneath.
He pulled her inside. “Is something wrong? What happened? Did you drive here in the snow?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Are you going running? At midnight?”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I could ask you the same question. Why are you knocking at my door—at midnight?”
“I realized after you dropped me off, I had your glove. In my pocket.” She pulled out the gray glove and handed it over.