Page 67 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

I chuckle. “That was easy.”

She hooks her fingers into my belt loops and tugs my hips forward. “What did I just agree to?”

I pull back and grin. “We’re going dancing.”

“No, we’re not. We’re going to my house. Or your house. Or any house in any part of the world, as long as that house has a bed. Actually, there doesn’t even have to be a house or a bed. I have it on good authority there’s a patch of grass in this parking area we can use.”

“In good time, Magpie.” I run my thumb over the soft fabric of her dress. “Wait until you see where we’re going.”

She groans. “There’s only one bar for dancing in this town, and it’s the Barrel House. I’ve been there, like, a million times. We should be at the naked part.”

“Shush, you.” I tap the tip of her nose, not ready to end this portion of our date—Maggie showing me her softer sides. “It’s Pride Night, and Ricky says it’s a blast. It’ll be fun, and I promised you a fun date.”

I open her door for her, loving her cute pout as she steps into my truck.

I get in my side and reach for the ignition, but Maggie is staring intently at me. I study her furrowed brow. “You okay?”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“For what?”

“For being patient with me. For pushing me to take a chance on us. I had an amazing time tonight.”

I cup her cheek and blow out a rough breath. She may have focused on our sexual chemistry to distance me emotionally at times earlier, but her effort with me at dinner and now shows how hard she’s trying to open up. We’ve both fantasized about each other for eleven long years. Delaying having sex would be cruel to us both.

I drop a kiss on her gorgeous mouth, murmuring the one word that defines us, “Inevitable.”

Instead of driving us to the Barrel, I hit the gas and head to my place.

chapter twenty-three

“This is better than dancing,” Maggie says on a moan.

My mouth is on her neck, my hands squeezing her glorious ass as we dry fuck in my hallway. I’m hopped up on adrenaline and pheromones, aching for Maggie, her strawberry-amaretto scent driving me wild. I’m dying to fast-forward to the part where I thrust hard and deep into her, but she’s pulling at my clothes, not giving us a chance to appreciate the beauty of this moment—the two of us finally, gloriously together. Her frenzied hands are everywhere, yanking at my belt, fumbling in her hurry.

I wrench away, stumbling back. “Truth or dare,” I say.

She’s panting, looking as ravenous as I feel, but her lips quirk. “Dare, of course.”

It’s our usual repartee, but I don’t want usual. I want more from Maggie. “I dare you to kiss me without touching me.”

A spark of surprise lights her face. “Dare accepted.”

This is how I slow us down. Take us to the next level. Show her how much more we are than this blazing attraction, our deeper connection always hovering under the surface.

I crowd her, walking forward until I have her cornered against my hallway wall. Unlike Maggie’s childhood home, my rented farmhouse doesn’t have a Family Wall of Fame. The place came furnished with worked-in couches, white curtains, and simple wooden furniture. Nondescript but nice.

I suddenly crave splashes of color. A red accent wall the same color as Maggie’s fiery hair. Framed photos of her bright smile. A room decorated with her fifties flair and my non-hipster style. More permanence in this comforting space I love.

I want a million more nights with Maggie, the two of us building a life together, and that starts here.

I plant my hands on the wall, caging her in, but I keep my body at a distance.

She knocks her head back and licks her lips. “Are you trying to torture me?”

“I’m trying to show you,” I say as I brush our lips together.

I slant my mouth over hers, sharing her breath, ghosting our lips then pressing harder. So slow but thorough. I want her to feel my devotion, my absolute dedication to her pleasure and happiness. The kiss goes on and on, air sipped between deeper passes. My body is electric. On fire with wanting her, but I don’t let us touch.