Page 23 of Mister McStudmuffin

Do I want to get out of my wet clothes? Yes. Do I want to watch him get out of his wet clothes? Abso-fucking-lutely.

But he’s right, we do pull into his driveway and then the garage a few minutes later.

“I didn’t bring anything to change into. I wasn’t exactly planning to stay,” I say.

“What were you planning?”

“Other than just getting you to stop ignoring me, I hadn’t thought much past that.”

He laughs. “I’ve got something you can put on.”

We go back into the house the way we left and he stops in the sizable laundry room. He pulls off his boots and socks, then starts taking off his shirt.

I’m standing here like a weirdo just watching him. He pauses when his hands get to the button and zipper of his jeans. He cocks a brow at me.

I toe off my shoes, but I’m still just looking at him.

He closes the distance between us, then turns me around. His hands go to the zipper at the back of my skirt and pulls it down. My senses are so heightened at the moment, I swear I hear every click of the metal teeth. The soft material slides down my hips and pools at my bare feet.

His big hands grip my biceps and he turns me again. This time, he takes off my shirt, and I hold my arms up like I don’t know how to undress myself. Then I’m standing there in nothing but my panties and bra. They don’t match because this—nearly naked moment—was not even on my radar.

My nipples harden. I already know my underwear are soaked and that has nothing to do the rain.

His dark eyes slowly peruse every inch of my body. Every curve and bump and roll.

“Christ, Chelsea,” he says, his voice so deep and husky. He makes quick work of removing his jeans and then he’s hanging our wet clothes up, presumably to dry.

He crowds into my body, once again picking me up, and puts us chest to chest. This kiss is just as hungry and needy as our first one. Most of the fabric between us has disappeared, leaving little but delicious friction between my damp seam and his hard ridge.

His lips leave mine to trail hot kisses down the column of my throat. Then he’s walking us out of the laundry room and through the house. Every step rubs his erection against my greedy clit and by the time he stops, I’m already on the verge of coming.

“JD,” I whine.

He looks into my face, searching for something I don’t understand.

“Chelsea, I don’t want to pretend anymore. This is the first time we’re going to be together. I don’t want to pretend it’s just another night. Because to me, it’s so much more.”

“Is that what we were doing tonight? Pretending?”

He puts me down, letting me slide down his long, hard body. His thumb rubs over the two words inked into my bicep. No fate.

“It was our alternate timeline,” he says. “If you had met me before Mike.”

“JD,” I say.

He shakes his head. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to beg you to choose me instead of him. All the business trips where he was gone for weeks at a time. Never sending you flowers or taking you on proper dates. No weekend flights to the Bahamas. It made me so fucking angry that he never treated you right when I was ready to spoil you rotten.”

My heart pounds so loudly, I’m surprised he can’t see it beating through my chest. He’s going to hate me, but I need to tell him the truth.

“JD, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He sits on the edge of his bed and pulls me to straddle his lap. His hands grip my hips, squeezing the plump flesh. “You don’t know how I fought with myself. How I wanted nothing more than to press you face down on my desk and fuck you from behind. Plant your perfect round ass on top of my desk and kneel between your thighs, showing you exactly what I can do with my tongue and this beard.”

I gasp. Where did he get this filthy mouth?

“Tell me the truth, baby, did you ever think about those things? With me? Did you want them too?”

“God yes, all the time.”