Preston stopped moving and brought his hands to the sides of my head, weaving his fingers into my hair. “I know that now.” The words made my heart melt, but the picture of us tangled together in his bed—especially with his body so close to mine as it was in that moment—also made my body heat. My breasts were full and achy, and I felt the stirrings of desire between my legs. My young body had experienced the same things on that night in this Laundromat, and the feelings had made me confused and uncertain. I hadn’t known enough to realize that Preston’s body was reacting to me in the same way.
I looked up at his darkened eyes and felt the hard ridge of his erection at my lower belly and smiled softly. I knew now. “I wanted you to kiss me that night, too,” I admitted.
“You did?” His voice was deep and slightly throaty, and when I pressed myself against him, he hissed in a sharp breath.
“Oh, yes.”
His hands tightened on my scalp and I tipped my head backward so he had full access to my mouth. “Like this?” His head lowered, his lips met mine, and we both moaned. He slid his tongue into my mouth and I felt my brain go hazy at the taste of him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, and he moaned again, a sexy sound of masculine pleasure that shot straight to my core and made my underwear feel wet and far too tight. Yes, like this. God yes, just like this.
“You make me weak in the knees,” he whispered between kisses before pulling me even closer, his tongue slipping into my mouth once again. Our kiss went wild as our hands moved over each other and small gasps and moans filled the room. Neither one of us attempted to be quiet. We had the place to ourselves and were mostly hidden from view of the street by the rows of washers in front of us and the tinted glass of the front window.
Preston walked me backward two steps and my back hit the folding counter and I let out a small cry of surprise that turned into a moan of bliss when his hands moved to my breasts and he circled my nipples over my uniform as he continued to kiss me. “Oh God, yes, Preston, I—”
His lips broke from mine with a tortured sounding groan, and he set me away from him. I felt foggy and flushed and tingly with need, and I shook my head slightly, attempting to get my bearings, to drag my mind out of the lust-fog it had been in.
Preston was staring at me with a pained expression, his chest heaving as if his heart was beating so rapidly it had stolen his breath. “We’re taking things slowly this time if it kills me,” he murmured. “And it just fucking might.”
I couldn’t help laughing softly at his grimace, but I was in pain, too, and so my laughter was short-lived. “We don’t have to take things too slowly.”
He let out a shuddery breath. “Yes, we do. I want to do things the way I should have done them the first time. And when we make love it’s going to be in a bed, and I’m going to take my time.”
“Tell me more.”
I saw him visibly swallow, watched the movement of his tanned, slightly stubbly masculine throat and for a moment became enthralled with that small part of him. I’d never had a chance to explore him. There must be so many unexpected places on his male body that were sexy and sensitive. I wanted—needed—to know them all, to find the small spots that affected him most.
“I,” he started, and I forced myself to tear my eyes from his neck to his eyes, “I want to touch every inch of you. I want to drive you crazy with my mouth and my tongue until you don’t think you can take another minute of it. I want to slide into you and feel you clenching and shuddering around me. I want to make love to you in every way possible, and find a few new ways, too.”
Lust surged through me, and my breath picked up. “How many ways are there?”
Preston chuckled, but it ended on a short groan. “A few. Or so I’ve heard.”
I laughed, too, but it was laced with a small thread of jealousy. I wanted to know how many he’d tried—but I didn’t dare ask because I didn’t really want to know.
I sighed, but nodded. I was turned on and frustrated, but I wanted to start over, too, and so if he meant to take things at a leisurely pace, I guess that had to be in all areas or it wouldn’t work in quite the same way.
Our heartbeats slowed and after a minute, he pulled me back into his arms and moved me to the next song on the still-familiar playlist. I laughed. “I can’t believe the owner hasn’t changed the playlist in this place.”
“Of course he hasn’t. The eighties never end here.”
I leaned back to look in his face, raising my eyebrows in surprise. “You remembered.”
“Ah, Annalia, I remember everything when it comes to you.”
Feeling happy and hopeful, I smiled, resting my head against Preston’s chest as he pulled me closer and George Michael ruminated on all the harm one careless whisper could do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Preston
It was harvest time for several of the crops and therefore necessary that I work from dawn until dusk. Annalia had two days off mid-week, and I asked if she wanted to come over to watch Hudson while I worked. Tracie might enjoy the days off. Annalia’s agreement was slightly breathless as if she was surprised, but I heard a hesitant edge to her voice and wondered why. But I supposed it was normal that she was a little nervous—the last time she’d spent an entire day caring for him, he’d been an infant. It would take some time for her to become used to all the ways he’d changed—and all the ways caring for him was different now than it had been.
The timing was especially good because my mom would be out of the house, working at one of the charities she volunteered for in town for the next few days, so Lia would have the house to herself and plenty of bonding time with Hudson.
As I worked outside that day, I thought about Lia and how good it had felt to hold her in my arms in the Laundromat, how kissing her had brought the same torrent of heat to my veins it always had, and how the taste of her still caused me to lose at least a little control. But I was bound and determined to keep a grasp on it this time, not just for her, but for myself as well. I wanted to ease us both back into a physical relationship. I wanted to explore slowly, to learn intimately, and to experience the steady—probably somewhat painful—buildup that we’d denied ourselves for so many years.
We couldn’t go back—not really—but we damn sure could recreate at least a few experiences. My body throbbed hotly with the thought, and I took a deep breath, focusing on the work beneath my hands. The physical labor of farm work was hard enough without being in an uncomfortable state of arousal, too.
Most of the crops we grew on our farm, like the lettuce I was helping pick today, had to be harvested gently—completely by hand—and I still couldn’t afford the labor force I really needed. Next year we’d be fully back in business, God willing. But I figured every farmer should know the back-breaking labor of working his own land—and what the realistic expectations should be—if he was going to be the kind of boss his employees were loyal to. My father had taught us that work ethic. Experience had hit it home. Hard.