Page 61 of Blue Line

Weston.

The more I email back and forth with Donna, the more real it feels that I actually have family. Distant family, but it means I’m not alone anymore.

My mind drifts to years down the line when maybe Donna and her family come to Florida, and I get to meet them. Maybe I could travel to Missouri.

“Weston Andrew, do you want dessert?” Hadley’s voice is muffled from the other side of my door.

Yes.

I toss my phone down onto the bed, hop to my feet, and pull open the door.

My breath catches in my throat. She’s wearing a faded Storm shirt and a pair of very short shorts.

“What are you offering?” My gaze trails down her body.

“Brownies are in the oven, and there’s chocolate ice cream to go with them. Unless you’re more of a vanilla guy.”

“Nah, not a vanilla guy.” I bounce my eyebrows. “Are you sure you know how to make brownies?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I think I know how to read the instructions on the box.”

“Good, because I don’t like burnt brownies. I prefer them moist.” I take a step forward.

She licks her lips, and my cock starts to harden. “Me too.”

We stare at each other, so close yet so far away. It feels as though we’re standing on a precipice.

“Hadley,” I say. I want to get everything out in the open, but the oven timer starts beeping, interrupting my plan.

“Shit,” she mutters. “Be right back.” She winks at me before turning and heading toward the kitchen.

I heave out a breath. Get your shit together, Weston. I stalk after her and pause in the doorway to admire the view—Hadley bent over, her ass barely contained by her shorts, peering through the oven door. I scrub a hand over my face. I could get used to that sight.

“Watch it, tornado. You might burn yourself.” I come up behind her and grip her hips.

She wiggles her ass back, making contact with my half-hard dick, and I swear she lets out a low moan before she collects herself and glares at me over her shoulder. “I got it.”

“Oh, really?” I take a step back so she can straighten up.

She spins around so we’re chest to chest. I want so desperately to kiss her again. Have since I left her room last night.

She loops her arms around my neck, her tits brushing against my chest, and even though she’s wearing a shirt, I can feel her hard nipples.

“Careful, tornado.” I lean closer to her, whispering in her ear, “Maybe I wasn’t talking about the oven when I said you might burn yourself.”

She shivers, her eyes flaring before her gaze dips down to my mouth and then back up. She licks her bottom lip.

“Maybe I want to be burned,” she husks out, then she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses me.

It only takes me a few seconds to catch on to what’s going on, and when I do, I pull her closer, banding my arms around her waist. Her fingers spear into my hair. I groan, and she licks into my mouth. I meet her stroke for stroke, letting her take charge for a few seconds. Our kiss turns frantic, and she grinds against me.

The oven timer starts blaring, and she pulls away with a whispered, “Fuck.”

I let her go because I’d rather not have burnt brownies or have the smoke alarm going off. I take a step back to give her room to take the pan out of the oven.

“They have to cool,” she says, turning to face me.

“Hmmm,” I hum.