I’m only gone for a few seconds. I think.
Enough to miss him separating our bodies, which I probably couldn’t have handled anyway when I’m sensitive inside and out, a live wire waiting for a spark.
I come dimly awake as he lifts me into his arms. Through my half-closed eyes I think I see the spent condom falling forgotten under the picnic table bench, before I drift off again.
When my eyes open a second time, struggling, I can’t really see the used rubber anymore and think it must’ve been a dream.
Everything does, no surprise.
“Landon?” I mumble drowsily.
“Shhh,” he murmurs. Okay, and I’m definitely dreaming because that’s tenderness in his voice. “I’m just getting us settled. Sleep, Reb.”
“But...outside...”
He chuckles, a quiet thing that rolls through me, shaking his shoulders and my whole body where he holds me against his chest. It’s a warm sound, a comforting sound, and without even opening my eyes I snuggle against it, pillowing my head to his shoulder.
“Newsflash: people have been sleeping outside since caveman days,” he says gently. “We’ll be fine. It's beautiful out here tonight.”
He’s moving, then, and I manage to pry one tired eye open long enough to see he’s settling us down on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. Then warmth drapes over me as he snags a beach blanket from a stack folded on the patio table and wraps it around us both.
We settle into this dreamy warmth, comfortable against the reclining lounger. I should probably protest being curled up in his lap this way, but my sore, sated, deliciously tired body doesn’t want to move.
Spent is the word I always use after my fictional ladies get fucked into the next universe. Whatever I am right now, it doesn't seem powerful enough to describe how utterly drained I am.
“'Night, Landon.” I manage to slur, already sinking away again, fighting an expansive yawn.
Another chuckle. A kiss to the top of my head. “Sweet dreams, little Reb.”
I want to say something else, ask him what this means, but my head is heavy and my tongue is thick and his arms feel far too good.
Forget it. I don’t want to ask. Not now.
I just want to enjoy this strange, miraculous thing, and drift off to sleep in his arms.
I guess it really is as easy as it is in my books. I should have seen it coming.
Except I’d be lying.
Because there’s nothing easy or predictable about Landon Strauss at all.
12
Catchup (Landon)
Clearly, impulse control isn't my strong point.
If it was, I wouldn’t be waking up under the blistering SoCal mid-morning sun with the only things saving me from a sunburn being an overhanging tree, a beach blanket, and Reb’s near-naked body.
Shit!
Is this real life? Did I really get in my car, chase McKenna Burke down, and fuck her on the grass in her brother’s backyard?
Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did, and considering how good she felt wrapped around me and how good she feels against me right now, I can’t really say I’ve got too many regrets.
Even though I know it’s a massive mistake.
It's a life changing fuck-up, even, but the only thing on my mind is how hard I am against her thigh. And how fucking good I bet her pussy would taste on my tongue as a wake-up call.
Then cold reality hits me between the eyes.
Right now, I’ve got enough drama in my life that I don’t need more. While I don’t regret sex with Kenna, I’m gonna regret the fistfight if her brother walks out here and finds us like this.
Guessing by the sunlight, it’s about ten or so, and it’s a miracle Steve hasn't already come outside to water the ficus or something, and wake me up with a ferocious smack across the back of my head.
“Kenna.” I nudge her gently. “Wake up.”
“Mmph.”
That little fucking kitten of a woman just burrows into me deeper. And it’s really not helping things, considering her shirt is still rucked up and her bra is still mangled down. Her pale, soft breasts and those strawberry-pink nipples rub against my naked chest, and if I wasn’t wearing jeans, having her bare skin against me would probably just end up with us doing it all over again instead of me struggling to ignore my growing hard-on.
“Kenna,” I repeat, louder, shifting my body to jostle her a bit more firmly. “Wake the fuck up. We’re half naked and your brother’s home. You want Steve to see us like this?”
She jolts upright at Steve’s name like someone flicked a switch on the Energizer Bunny.
“What? Steve?” It comes out in a breathy little screech, only for her voice to trail into a squeak as the blanket falls down around her waist. She lets out the most adorably chirpy little “Fuck!” I’ve ever heard, clutches at the blanket, pulls at her tank top, freezes for a moment, then rapidly sets her bra and tank to rights before clutching the blanket around her waist.
She shoots me a nervous, wide-eyed look. “Oh. Uh. Crap. Morning.”
I grin. I can’t help feeling like the cat that got the cream. “Morning, beautiful. Let me get our clothes so you can stop wearing that blanket as a shawl.”
Her cheeks burst with color. It just makes me want to taste her tongue again.
She glowers at me, but it doesn’t have much effect when her glasses are falling off her nose – and you can bet it was hot as fuck last night, seeing her arching under me, eyes wide and wet behind those sexy librarian glasses – and her hair’s a wreck and she’s clutching a blanket for decency.
“Pants, Mister,” she says firmly. “I want my pants before we talk about this.”
I smile, quirking an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lifting her off me gently, I keep the blanket wrapped around her so I don’t get kicked in the junk, and shift to stand while simultaneously twisting to deposit her in the seat. I lean down to kiss the top of her head. She plants a hand on my face and shoves me away.
I just kiss the center of her palm, then grin and saunter away to fetch my shirt, her shorts, and her panties.
I shouldn’t feel so light about this.
Too bad I’ve been an arrow strung tight to a bow for the past five years, and the tension’s finally released, shooting straight home.
Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like Reb is the last bit of home I have left. The rest has been a mess of death, dad, Dallas, and bad fucking memories.
I push them out of my head for now, plucking my dew-damp t-shirt out of the grass and pull it on, settling it over my chest. Then I drape her shorts and panties over my arm and return to the poolside lounge chair. She’s made herself a kind of blanket nest, burrowed down in it. She's looking out over the pool with that dreamy look in her eyes, her brows knit together.
I sink down on the edge of the chair and offer her clothes.
“Here.”
She darts me another one of those nervous glances, then snatches her panties and shorts. They disappear underneath the blanket. There’s a little wriggling, a little cursing, a lot of blushing, and then I guess she’s dressed because she’s no longer clutching at the blanket like it’s her last line of defense.
She bites her lip, pulling her knees up to her chest, watching me over the little round hillocks they make.
“Hi,” she says in a small voice.
I smile again, this time wider. “Why do you look like I’m about to tell you to go fuck yourself?”
“Because that’s been the pattern for the past five years, hasn't it?” she retorts dryly. “Though, I guess I don’t really need to fuck myself since you did a pretty thorough job.”
“Thorough, huh?” I grin wolfishly, and she scowls. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
“I – you know what I mean!”
“Do I? C'mon, Reb. You write romance books. You start making clever sex puns, you gotta own them.”