Daddy Crush - Adriana Anders Page 0,32

maybe so. There’s pressure in what I’m here to do. Got to get it right, don’t I?

“Hey.” I lift the pizza and beer and wine I picked up earlier. “Dinner.”

Her pixie smile loosens some of my tension. I’m not here to teach her rocket science. We’re gonna make out. That’s it.

“Heavy Petting 101,” I say, flippant as fuck.

“Oh.” Her blush deepens. “Right. Should we…are you sure you want to eat? I mean, do you have time, or maybe you just want to—”

“Let’s eat.” I give a nonchalant shrug and meet her eyes. “Make it like a real date. Good practice for you.”

“Of course. Like a real date.”

“Second date.” My lips go into a deep, automatic frown. “Make that fourth. You might not want to do it too soon. If you…” Shut up, dumbass.

I shut the door as she grabs the pizza and heads back to the kitchen, reminding me of a similar scene, just the other night. With notable differences. Like, oh, say, the things we’ve said to each other in the past twenty-four hours. And, hell, the fact that we’ve heard each other come. I know, for example, that she stops breathing at the specific moment it happens. Stops moving at all.

I want to see that intensity, maybe put my hand to her throat and feel her go still, press my mouth to hers; get a deep taste of her pleasure.

“…without Squid?”

“Sorry.” I shake myself. “What was that?”

“You didn’t bring Squid along?”

“Oh, nah. Figured it’d be better if…” I trail off. Maybe she doesn’t need to know all of my thought processes.

“Better if he’s not here?”

“He, uh, gets curious. Sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Wow! Okay, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I force a laugh. “No manners.”

We set the pizza up on plates, each grab a drink and head to the living room, without a word. Impossible to tell if it’s awkward between us or comfortable. I hope the latter, but, aside from work and family and the very occasional screw, I spend no time with women.

I sit on the sofa, she sinks to the floor and it’s confirmed—shit’s weird.

“Uh, Jerusha, do you—”

“Don’t feel like you have to—”

“Sorry?”

“Say that again?”

We laugh, definitely awkward, and come to a stop.

In the silence that follows, I set my plate down and bend forward. “You okay? After last night?”

She nods, watching me. “I’m good. Are you?”

Just as I’m about to give her an automatic yes, I stop and reconsider. How do I feel about this situation? Do I like it?

Hell, no. Like is too small a word for what’s happening in my body right now. Not that I’m particularly good at expressing feelings, but she’s this ball of honesty. It’s the least I can do to try.

“I’m…uh… I’m kinda tired. But in a good way, you know?”

Her smile’s somehow knowing and cheerful and dirty all at once. “Same. And I can’t stop thinking about…”

“Come here.” I half dive to the floor and she arches up and my hands dig into all that hair and hers are on my neck and shoulder and our mouths meet and, Jesus, I’m not hungry for pizza or any of this other shit, but for her.

The kiss isn’t choreographed, but it’s just right. The taste and smell and sounds of her are a cocktail made for me.

And the feel, shit, how could I forget the way she presses and pulls back, nips and licks, like she needs to try all the things, do it all, taste it all. Like she’s got only so long to live and—

I pull back, out of breath. “You’re not, I don’t know, dying or something are you?”

Her comically startled expression tells me what a jackass I am.

“Uh, no?” Those massive eyes get even wider. “Are you?”

“No. Shit, no.” I rub my hands over my face and sink back into the sofa. “Though my brain’s gone haywire.”

When she doesn’t reply, I suck in a big breath and look at her. “Sorry.”

“Should we…do you need to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

This time she’s the one who laughs. I honestly don’t get how she can be so nonchalant, when that kiss did something to me. I thump a fist to my sternum.

“No, last night was…everything I’d never imagined it would be.”

“So, it was good? Helpful?”

“I’m not scoring you on your lessons, you know, Professor, this is more of a—”

She stops dead, probably at the look on my face. Or maybe it’s the choked sound I made. Because, fuck, there it is again. The feeling that this sweet,