patch of hair shadowing the part of her thighs.
By the time she got out of that bathtub, he’d decided, screw waiting. Then he walked in her room and that damn photograph caught his attention.
In the picture, Gretchen had her arms wrapped around another man and her lips playfully pressed against the guy’s mouth. They had been laughing in the photo and had likely continued laughing after the photograph was taken. Clearly it wasn’t a brother and he knew it must have been a boyfriend. Gretchen didn’t wear a ring.
He’d gotten so damn pissed off so fast, he’d been forced to sit down on the edge of the bed to keep from flinging the photograph across the room. He’d cursed every word and combination he could think of on that man’s head and Gretchen’s too. Then she’d walked in, sat next to him, put her chin on his shoulder and announced the poor bastard was her late-husband.
Her late husband.
Guy tried to buy a six-pack of Coke, attempted to be a hero and got himself killed for it. And Lane had sat there and called the man everything under the sun. And then Gretchen with her arms wrapped around him and…shit—it was all just too much.
It’d been on his mind all damn day, no matter how he tried forgetting it. He knew what was happening. He wanted more and more it was just too dangerous. He parked in his lot and took his porch steps two at a time. Tonight, just him and the TV and probably a cold beer or two. Hell, Gretchen had the right of it. Shades down, lights off.
He kicked his boots off at the door, dropped his keys on the side table and stopped at smelling something fruity or flowery. He couldn’t be certain, but knew for a fact it was all girly. Like light blonde hair and soft curves. Blue eyes to fall into and a warm body to lay against.
Lord, Gretchen had walked in his house yesterday afternoon and now the smell was in here. Everywhere. He stopped, grabbed a meal from the freezer and tossed it in the oven. The chicken fried steak would take care of any lingering perfume. Or maybe it was some of her lotion. With a curse, he stripped off his wet and filthy clothes and tossed them in the wash on the way to the shower.
He walked through his bedroom and stopped. Gretchen was in the middle of his bed. Curled under his covers. Fast asleep.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but she remained. Hair fanned across his pillows. Trim, slender arms against his dark sheets. He took a step and something caught on his toes. Her pants were on his floor. What the….
The house had been locked. But she had a master key. He stood at the foot of the bed. A smile curved his lips. Complete abuse of power, but it wasn’t like he was going to be saying anything. Not with her completely naked shoulders and back peeking up from his covers, looking so soft and warm. Just waiting for him.
He eased from his room, cut the oven off and stepped back through, into the bathroom and jumped in the shower. Hot water poured over him and he bathed fast under the stream, his cock getting thicker and harder by the moment. Seeing her in his bed like that was something he’d been imagining since the first time her saw her.
Screw better judgment. Lane was done being good and was going to take what was offered. Gretchen knew the score between them. He knew it too. As soon as work was finished, they were over with and he was out of here, no changing minds, no going back.
He dried off and hurried to his bedroom where she was still in the same spot, in the middle. She lay on her belly, her face to him. Her arms had readjusted to be tucked under the pillow. He tilted his head a bit and there was the outer curve of her breast just barely showing against the sheet.
He slipped in the bed, trying to be as careful getting in as when he’d left hers yesterday. She stirred a bit, but made this little purr of contentment and he moved alongside, put his hands on her waist and felt down to discover all her sweet, naked curves.
The bolt of pleasure
By the time she got out of that bathtub, he’d decided, screw waiting. Then he walked in her room and that damn photograph caught his attention.
In the picture, Gretchen had her arms wrapped around another man and her lips playfully pressed against the guy’s mouth. They had been laughing in the photo and had likely continued laughing after the photograph was taken. Clearly it wasn’t a brother and he knew it must have been a boyfriend. Gretchen didn’t wear a ring.
He’d gotten so damn pissed off so fast, he’d been forced to sit down on the edge of the bed to keep from flinging the photograph across the room. He’d cursed every word and combination he could think of on that man’s head and Gretchen’s too. Then she’d walked in, sat next to him, put her chin on his shoulder and announced the poor bastard was her late-husband.
Her late husband.
Guy tried to buy a six-pack of Coke, attempted to be a hero and got himself killed for it. And Lane had sat there and called the man everything under the sun. And then Gretchen with her arms wrapped around him and…shit—it was all just too much.
It’d been on his mind all damn day, no matter how he tried forgetting it. He knew what was happening. He wanted more and more it was just too dangerous. He parked in his lot and took his porch steps two at a time. Tonight, just him and the TV and probably a cold beer or two. Hell, Gretchen had the right of it. Shades down, lights off.
He kicked his boots off at the door, dropped his keys on the side table and stopped at smelling something fruity or flowery. He couldn’t be certain, but knew for a fact it was all girly. Like light blonde hair and soft curves. Blue eyes to fall into and a warm body to lay against.
Lord, Gretchen had walked in his house yesterday afternoon and now the smell was in here. Everywhere. He stopped, grabbed a meal from the freezer and tossed it in the oven. The chicken fried steak would take care of any lingering perfume. Or maybe it was some of her lotion. With a curse, he stripped off his wet and filthy clothes and tossed them in the wash on the way to the shower.
He walked through his bedroom and stopped. Gretchen was in the middle of his bed. Curled under his covers. Fast asleep.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but she remained. Hair fanned across his pillows. Trim, slender arms against his dark sheets. He took a step and something caught on his toes. Her pants were on his floor. What the….
The house had been locked. But she had a master key. He stood at the foot of the bed. A smile curved his lips. Complete abuse of power, but it wasn’t like he was going to be saying anything. Not with her completely naked shoulders and back peeking up from his covers, looking so soft and warm. Just waiting for him.
He eased from his room, cut the oven off and stepped back through, into the bathroom and jumped in the shower. Hot water poured over him and he bathed fast under the stream, his cock getting thicker and harder by the moment. Seeing her in his bed like that was something he’d been imagining since the first time her saw her.
Screw better judgment. Lane was done being good and was going to take what was offered. Gretchen knew the score between them. He knew it too. As soon as work was finished, they were over with and he was out of here, no changing minds, no going back.
He dried off and hurried to his bedroom where she was still in the same spot, in the middle. She lay on her belly, her face to him. Her arms had readjusted to be tucked under the pillow. He tilted his head a bit and there was the outer curve of her breast just barely showing against the sheet.
He slipped in the bed, trying to be as careful getting in as when he’d left hers yesterday. She stirred a bit, but made this little purr of contentment and he moved alongside, put his hands on her waist and felt down to discover all her sweet, naked curves.
The bolt of pleasure
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