Last Second Chance (25 page)

“Do it,” she mumbled onto the head of him before tonguing his opening.

“Fuck, baby. Seriously.” He pulled her hair hard enough to hurt, but the sensation just emboldened her efforts.

She took him as deep as she could handle, pulling him as far into her as her gag reflex would allow. Once and then again. The third time, he lost his battle with holding out. The warm bursts hit the back of her throat and slid down quickly. She’d never done that to anyone before, but it was much less challenging than she’d expected.

Kissing him softly on his shaft, she sat back and finished the verse. “Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, and stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.”

“There’s more,” he said, staring at her with what looked like wonder in his eyes.

“There is,” she whispered, wondering if they were talking about the poem or something else entirely. “But I should go. I have half a dozen other checklists to complete.”

Van stood and helped her to her feet. “Every other motherfucker’s checklist better be questions and answers only. Or we are going to have a serious problem.”

She snorted out a laugh as she retrieved her previously forgotten folder. “Yeah, well. You know those questions about being accommodating? I need all tens on those.”

Van pulled her to him and kissed her swollen lips. “You better be kidding.”

“Says the guy who has women lined up to blow him. I should know. I wasn’t even first in line.”

The truth in her own words gouged her unexpectedly in the chest.

“Hey.” Tilting her chin up, he kissed her once more. “You might not have been first to offer, but you were the first to be taken up on it.”

“That’s something I guess.”

She stood awkwardly by his front door while he grabbed a pair of snug-fitting black boxer briefs from a drawer and slid them on. His muscular ass was perfectly defined by the material. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Her imagination ran wild picturing how good it would look flexing as he thrusted himself into her. She made a mental note to request sex near a mirror.

“Need help at the barn tonight?” he asked, interrupting her dirty thoughts as he walked over to the door to stand beside her.

She shrugged. “Sadly, no. Jesse has things pretty much caught up. I don’t even have any reason to go down there except I have to say goodnight to Shadowdancer.”

“You ever think the others get jealous of how much special attention he gets? I mean, he’s kind of the asshole of the bunch. Yet you seem to love him the most.”

She smiled at his crinkled brow. And at the fact that he was completely serious.

“I don’t know. I guess I have a special place in my heart for assholes.”

At that, Van grinned, lighting her up from the inside out. “Oh yeah? Got room for one more?”

Her breath caught. “Do you want to be in my…heart?”

His mouth gaped open slightly. Clearly he hadn’t read into the significance of his own words.

“Relax, rock star. I’m teasing.” Letting him off the hook seemed the best way to go. Heavy conversation just seemed out of place after oral sex.

But then his eyes darkened. “I want to be wherever you’ll let me, Stella Jo.”

Startled by his honesty, she smiled up at him. “Well, I can think of a few places.” Stella wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his until he kissed her back.

“Do you have a problem kissing me after I had your cock in my mouth?”

Van’s hands tightened their grip on her waist. “Absolutely not. I was trying to ignore how delectably swollen your lips were from sucking me off so that I could let you leave instead of bending your sexy ass over my kitchen table and fucking you blind. Since you still have work to do and all.”

Her entire body responded to his words. “Can we
pretend
I need help at the barn tonight?”

“Yes. Yes we can,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“Good. And don’t bother wearing a shirt. I have vital research to complete involving your tattoos. See you around seven?”

His lips curved into a smile as he pressed them against hers once more. “Seven it is.”

H
e couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. Or if he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he glanced behind him to make sure no one was around. He’d taken the long route around the barn, walked decidedly slowly—especially for a man who couldn’t wait to get where he was going.

But now he stood at her door. Picturing her smile, her eyes burning into his as she kneeled before him, wondering what she’d be wearing for their date—or whatever the hell it was—tonight.

Knocking gently, he contemplated kicking his own ass for getting so worked up. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like him. And yet, he’d freeze fucking time if it meant he could keep her. Could keep seeing her. Could somehow keep being the version of himself she apparently wanted to spend time with.

The door opened, pulling him from his thoughts and effectively evaporating the air in his lungs.

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry. Were you praying? Did I interrupt?” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, barely managing to hide a smile from him as she stepped aside to let him in. The jeans she wore must have been made specifically for her body. The thin sweater was a gentle shade of pink. Or maybe peach. He wasn’t sure. But it matched the blush that crept high up on her cheekbones perfectly.

“You look…” He shook his head. “Beautiful is an insult compared to what you are.” He’d never had a woman take his breath away before. Until now. “If this were real life, I would’ve brought flowers. No florists currently in rehab I guess.”

“There’s lavender and hyacinth by the barn,” she informed him. “Just sayin’.”

Van grinned. He loved her smart mouth, loved the way she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to be honest about the way she saw him. The real him. Somehow she saw through the bullshit. It seemed to be all anyone else could see. And she cut right through it completely.

“I’ll make a note of that for future reference.”

She smiled. “So we have two options.”

“Only two?” He could think of a lot more.

She rolled her eyes as they stepped into the small area where an overstuffed white couch with about half a dozen more throw pillows than were necessary sat across from a television.

“I can make pasta or we can order pizza.”

“I eat so much pizza on the road. I’ve kind of enjoyed the break.”

“Pasta it is.” She turned toward a kitchenette that wasn’t much larger than his. “Make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

“If I could stand being that far from you right now, I would happily sit my ass over there and pretend to watch television. But since I can’t, give me an easy job like throwing lettuce in a bowl or spreading butter on garlic bread. Something.”

Her answering smile was brighter than any of the lights in her cozy living space. And it damn near knocked him on his ass.

“Okay,” she answered softly, giving him a demure smile as she led him into the kitchen. “Here. Chop these.”

He ached to touch her, but he settled for the tomatoes she was handing him instead.

A few minutes into his task, he felt her move in close behind him. “You don’t have to be so careful. They can take it.”

His knees took the brunt of her words. “Oh yeah? They like it rough then?”

Her musical laughter floated into the air. “Yeah, they do.”

Taking a deep breath, he finished chopping—slightly rougher than before. “Okay, now what?”

“Half in here.” She gestured to a pot on the stove. “And the other half in here,” she said, handing him a bowl of lettuce.

“You make your own sauce?”

“I do. Canned stuff just doesn’t have that same sweet, savory flavor. I prefer the real thing.”

His fingers fisted closed at his sides. They’d had to or his hands would’ve grabbed that sweater she wore to see if it was as soft as it looked and he would’ve pulled her to him and told her how badly he needed a taste of something sweet and savory. Something that didn’t have a damn thing to do with food.

“Ah,” was all he could get out. He watched as she skillfully sautéed onions and garlic in some oil on one burner while boiling pasta on another. She moved as if she could’ve cooked the entire meal blindfolded. He knew it was probably going to be amazing.

Which was why it was such a damn shame they weren’t going to eat it.

“Close your eyes,” she said, turning on him suddenly.

“What?”

She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Her mouth quirked up. “It’s secret ingredient time. So close ’em.”

He stared at her for a full minute before he realized she was completely serious. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t stand not being able to see her. Her shirt lifted above her waist as she reached into a cabinet, revealing a mouthwatering strip of skin he wanted to lick more than he wanted his next breath. His hands gave up being good and pulled her to him.

“You peeked! Who does that?” Her mouth opened in surprise as he yanked her to him.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

The wooden spoon dropped to the counter as he licked her soft lips. She opened for him and he dipped his tongue inside. All the talk about sweet and savory and tasting had pushed him to his breaking point already.

“Did you see them?” Her breathy voice pulled at his dick, giving him the last shove over the no-going-back line.

“See what, baby?” His fingers acted of their own accord, dragging her shirt slowly over her head.

“I’m going to burn the sauce,” she mumbled against his mouth, making no effort to stop his pursuit.

“Here.” He reached around and turned the burner off. “And I promise not to tell anyone you put sugar and crushed red pepper in your spaghetti sauce.”

“Ugh. I so don’t trust you!”

He gripped her tightly under the ass and sat her on the counter. “Yes you do. You let me tie you up. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”

Her entire body seemed to flush at his words.

“I know you can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered into her ear.

Before she either confirmed or denied it, a loud splashing sound followed by a hiss alerted them that the pasta was boiling over.

Stella let out a small sound of alarm and hopped quickly off the counter. Clad in jeans and a bra, she did some magical maneuver to drain it over the sink before combining it with the sauce.

When she turned back to face him, he raised a questioning brow. “So dinner’s ready?”

Her breasts rose and fell, capturing his full attention. “It is. You hungry, Van?”

“Fucking starving.” Clutching her to him once more, he ran his tongue from the valley of her breasts up her throat.

Her legs buckled beneath her and she wrapped her arms around him for support. “I was really excited to cook for you.”

Her words stopped his assault on the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. No one had ever cooked for him. Other than Val. And she’d done it for their survival, not because she’d especially wanted to.

“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, feed me, cowgirl.”

A pleased smirk brightened her beautiful face. Van lifted her back onto the counter beside the stove.

Stella removed a fork from the drawer below her and proceeded to twirl spaghetti straight out of the pot.

He opened his mouth and let her feed him a giant bite. It was damn good. Not as good as what he planned to put in his mouth as soon as she’d satisfied her desire to feed him, but damn good nonetheless.

He moaned his appreciation at both the food and the beautiful expression on her face. Her legs came up around his waist and pulled him closer.

“My turn.” He didn’t use a fork. He just pulled a few strands of spaghetti out of the pot with his fingers and dangled them in front of her mouth.

She opened for him. He tossed the noodles into his own mouth instead.

“That was just mean.” She narrowed her eyes before pulling pasta out of the pot just as he had done.