Page 384 of Devil’s Disciples

“Well,” I said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t. He and I had real potential. We each had areas we needed to improve upon. If we were honest with each other—and with ourselves—about everything in our lives, we could go the distance.

That I was sure of.

He reached for his plate and stood.

I did the same. “The shrimp were great. So was the steak.”

Behind me, dishes clattered. Then. A pause. “Thank you.”

I turned around. Dressed in his typical attire of jeans, boots, and a tee shirt, it would stand to reason that he looked the way he always did. He didn’t. At least I saw him differently. He was taller. More attractive. His features were sharper. His lean, muscular structure was more defined.

Something was wrong with me. He’d already explained that we were only beginning. That there was more on the horizon. Yet, I didn’t want him to leave. I couldn’t spend a night without him. I could. I didn’t want to.

He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes gestured to the plate I held. “Will you hand me that? Please?”

Completely lost, I did as he asked.

While I gawked, he rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. He turned around. I was still staring. At nothing in particular, really. Just him. All of him.

He gave me a kiss. A good one. My legs went wobbly.

“Let’s go the bedroom,” I said. “I don’t want to fuck in the kitchen.”

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me again. This time, it was like the kiss on the roof. Our first kiss.

The hem of my dress raised. His hands cupped the bottom of my butt. Gripping my cheeks firmly, he spread them apart as the kiss continued. I felt myself open, like a flower.

I moaned into his mouth

There was a long list of things I’d told myself I wanted to do the next time we embraced in a passionate kiss. Places I wanted to touch him. How I wanted to hold him in my arms.

I did none of them. My mind raced with ideas, but I was so lost in what he was doing to me that I couldn’t send a signal from my brain to a single one of my extremities.

His kiss—and his hands—had rendered me useless.

A finger entered me. Then, another. Using both hands, he opened me wide. I pulled my mouth away from his.

He opened his eyes. I peered into them. His desires were clear. He wanted me as bad as I wanted him.

“I want to fuck,” I murmured. “Right now.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “In the kitchen?”

The previous locations of my various sexual adventures were limited to seedy motels, cars, and the occasional pickup truck. Fucking in Goose’s bed became a guilty pleasure. Sex on a soft mattress while wrapped in 1,800 thread count sheets separated my former life from my new one. I liked that.

Now, I was so sexually frustrated I didn’t need clean sheets or a bedroom. I needed sex. Any way I could get it.

I glanced around. Goose’s kitchen was as spotless as the rest of his home. It would rival a hospital operating room in cleanliness. The island’s white countertop glistened. It was the perfect place.

“On the island,” I breathed. “Is it clean enough for you?”

He slipped his arm behind my knees and lifted me from my feet. “It is.” One side of his mouth smiled. “I like it that you care.”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “Right now, I’d let you fuck me just about anywhere.”

Chuckling, he carried me to the island. He laid me on it. “Don’t move.”