“He had some help. Greg ran over and wrestled with him a bit. Showed him a few takedown moves. And I can hear you doing the mom thing in your head,” he added, rubbing a hand down her back. “Reagan says he did great, was happy as a clam, and hit the hay hard. Look.”
He held the phone out, and she smiled when she saw the photo of her baby boy sprawled out on his bed, feet where the head should go, in Spiderman boxers and Captain America T-shirt. “He looks happy.”
“You can practically see dream bubbles of superhero battles drawn over his head. He’s good. And Reagan also says . . .” He navigated away from the photo and back to the text message screen. “‘Don’t rush home, Greg and I are watching a movie and we’re gonna make out for a while. Be a friend, leave us in peace.’”
Kara gasped, then giggled. When Graham stood, her still in his arms, she gasped again and grabbed for his shoulders. “Put me down! I’m too big for this.”
“Too big,” he scoffed, tossing her a little against his chest. She shrieked—which was probably his number one goal—and held on tighter—a close second. “You’re tall, sweetheart, but you’re not big. Let’s follow in their footsteps and watch a movie. I’ll flip through what I’ve got and yell if you like something.”
“Just a movie?” she asked innocently as he settled them down on the couch and turned on the TV for Netflix. “Really.”
“I mean, if you wanna throw in some of that making out . . .” He held his hands up in a what can you do? gesture. “I won’t deny you. I doubt I could deny you anything.”
The final sentence had been spoken so softly as he flipped through the instant queue, she wondered if he’d meant for her to hear. But while the movie titles scrolled by, they started to blur. Her skin tingled where it touched his, even through clothing. Her breasts felt heavy, and she fidgeted a little on his lap. In response, she could feel a hard presence making itself known.
“Stop,” she croaked out. The movies froze, landing on what looked like a foreign film. She didn’t care. She wasn’t paying attention.
“See something you want?”
His voice was low, so low, and she knew he was onto her. Just like she knew, if she stood up and walked out, he wouldn’t stop her or complain. And would probably just ask her to dinner again tomorrow night.
She shifted, turning and using some creative flexibility until her knees pressed into the couch, straddling him. “Yes, I see something I want.”
The remote dropped to the cushion beside him, his hand gripped her waist and pulled her forward, torso to torso, groin to groin. His eyes were gleaming, like black onyx, and his mouth was set in a firm line. She could read him so well, now. He wouldn’t move until she made the first one. Wouldn’t push another inch until she opened the door and issued the unquestionable invitation.
Wanting to delay, wanting to hurry, she forced herself to calm down and slow down. Kara’s hand brushed over his hair, nails scratching lightly in his scalp. It had nearly the same effect as his foot rub had on her. His breathing deepened, and his hands squeezed rhythmically against her hips. Leaning down, she brushed her breasts against his chest to test his response. Even between the layers of the thick sweatshirt, her nipples hardened into points, begging for attention.
“Graham,” she said softly by his ear. He uttered a grunt. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”
Another grunt. He’d gone very quiet for a man who had all the answers earlier.
“Maybe I should be good to myself. I thought being good to myself meant being disciplined, and resisting temptation. But maybe it means treating myself to something, after having waited for so long.”
Her throat burned, and her eyes stung a little. She breathed in his scent, just to calm her nerves a bit. Then, pressing her lips to his neck, she whispered, “I’ve waited for a long time.”
He stood again, and she shrieked again. He hoisted her up below the butt, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. He was strong. So, so strong. And without another word, he carried her back to the bedroom.
CHAPTER
9
He’d never been a neat freak. Tidy, for the sake of simplicity and efficiency. Just not a freak about it. But he’d never been so grateful for his natural tendency to put his dirty boxers in the hamper as he was when he carried Kara into his bedroom. It hadn’t crossed his mind they would actually make it this far back in the house . . . and not having to shove dirty socks under the bed while she wasn’t looking made things much easier.
As he laid Kara out on the bed, he stood and took her in. And had a moment of second-guessing. Was this pushing? Winning the battle but forfeiting the war?
Then she looked up at him, eyes heavy, and reached for him. Any man who could resist the temptation of Kara Smith in his bed reaching for him was destined to be a monk. He quickly stripped his shirt off, just to make things easier on himself, and lay down beside her.
“This skin,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his sternum, running her hands over his chest. “This skin is amazing to me.”