Bonus Kisses - Freya Barker Page 0,58

the markings on the scanned sketch. “Is that the upstairs?”

“Yup.” I tap on the screen. “There’s the master suite.”

“I can see that, I see Spencer’s room, but what is this here, where Sofie’s room’s supposed to be.”

I lean down and kiss the patch of skin showing at the base of her neck. “I started working on an alternative layout for the upstairs about a month ago.” She swivels her head around, looking at me with surprise. “I knew what I wanted, Taz. I didn’t know how to make it feasible. This…” I point at my sketch, “…was the one thing I could plan for, the only part I felt I had any control over.” I sit down on the edge of the desk and slightly adjust her chair so she’s facing me. “I like this house. I like having the clinic right next door. I like that the kids get to grow up in a real family home. Your family home.” I pause for a second, making sure I get the words right. “But it’s also the house where I shared a life with Nicky, and I fully understand if that were a deal breaker. I thought about ways to make this your house. Our house, even.”

“Rafe…” Her warm hand comes to rest on my knee. “You don’t need to—”

“Oh, but I do,” I interrupt her, drawing her attention back to the screen. “Because I never want you to think you’re only a fill-in—someone’s guilty secret—and yet you’re already feeling it. I didn’t say anything because a lot depends on if Sofie would want to move into the master bedroom.” I point to the sketch, at the wall between Sofie’s and the spare bedroom. “If we take that wall down, we have space enough to make a new master suite, complete with our own bathroom.”

“But you’d lose your guest room.”

I turn and slide my hands along her face and into her hair. “We wouldn’t need one.”

Her hands grab on to my wrists when I drop my forehead to hers.

“It’s barely been a week,” she whispers.

“Not planning on knocking down walls tomorrow, Taz, but it’s good to plan for when the time is right. And for the record…”

I drop my mouth to hers for a gentle kiss.

“…It’s been nine years.”

Taz

“Rafe…”

I barely get his name out before I’m pulled out of my chair and find my hips wedged between his knees. His mouth slams down on mine, his tongue spearing between my lips in a bruising kiss.

He reaches around and slaps the laptop shut before using that same hand to mold my breast, brushing my hard nipple. I moan down his throat in response, and suddenly all control is gone.

My shirt is gone, his is next, and I only have a second to thank the universe I’m wearing yoga pants. He one-handedly shoves them down, taking my panties with them, until they pool at my feet. Then he plants a foot between my legs, and with an arm banded tightly around my midriff pulls me straight out of my pants, and deposits me with my bare ass on his desk.

With a hand flat between my breasts he pushes me down to my back, his eyes that midnight blue as he scans down my body.

“Christ, my fucking wet dream spread out like a banquet.” His voice is gruff as his hand follows the path of his eyes, fingers trailing through the dark curls between my legs. “Wet.”

“Your proximity will do that,” I confess, biting my lip on a moan when he lightly brushes the pad of his thumb between my slick folds.

When his hands push my knees wide, I’m sharply aware of the bright light overhead and the hard surface underneath me. So different from the soft shadows of night and the silky feel of bedsheets, which were the scene for each time we’ve tentatively explored each other these past days.

This is different: raw, revealing, and deliciously decadent.

I feel liberated, unashamed, and almost greedy with need as I prop up on my elbows, pull my heels onto the edge of the desk and let my legs fall open in a blatant invitation.

Rafe’s eyes betray his barely contained hunger as he takes in my offer, nostrils flaring. His fingers dig into the soft skin on the inside of my thighs as he leans down using the tip of his nose to brush my curls.

“Fuck,” I hear him curse before he drops to his knees and buries his face between my legs.

The moment his tongue