“You have a nice ass,” she blurted, trying to play it off as something she ever normally said to anyone.
The rumble of his laugh would have made her smile, except he seemed surprised, not just amused. She felt kind of bad for…well, she didn’t feel bad for being hard on him or whatever, but maybe she had a little tiny bit of guilt over one or two of the not-so-nice things she’d said to him out of irritation.
“This isn’t angry sex,” she said.
“Yeah, I put a moratorium on that, remember?” He grinned, tugging her shirt all the way over her head. “Teaching me how to ranch, expanding my vocabulary—this is quite a learning experience.”
Which was fine, but not the point. “I think you’re hot.”
His grin went sly, and he tossed the shirt into the recesses of his messy room. “I know.”
Of course he did. How could he not see the way she wanted to melt into him? The way she all but disintegrated with every illicit touch. “Right, but, what I mean is, it’s not just… I’m not using you, exactly. You are…a person who I don’t… I know I can sometimes come off…”
He gave her ponytail a tug, then cupped the back of her neck, fingertips brushing against every sensitive part. “Spit it out, sweetheart.”
She’d like to, but he kept touching her and looking at her, sending the sparks of attraction and lust so deep, so hot, so intense she had a hard time forming words or thoughts. “I like you, okay?” she said, exasperated and itchy. “You’re not a bad guy.”
His hands stilled, and she realized he was doing all the touching, and she was doing all the letting him touch. She needed to stop that, stop being so passive. Passive was not in her vocabulary. She wanted to touch. She wanted to take as much as she wanted him to take, to give.
“Not a bad guy, huh?”
She forced herself to look him in the eye despite the fact that he was slowly edging the straps of her bra off her shoulders. But she was surprised to find some serious concentration on his face. “I just didn’t want you to think… I mean…you’re not just some random guy.” She’d come here specifically, for him, and yes, it was just temporary, something to do because she wanted to do something on a whim, but it was still… She wasn’t at the Pioneer Spirit getting drunk and hitting on the first guy to cross her path.
“I think I get that.”
“Okay then. I mean, I just, I’m not here to—I…”
He took a step toward her, so his knees pressed to hers, her breasts brushed the front of his chest setting off an electric current that almost made her knees buckle again. “You want to forget,” he said, hands reaching around to unclasp the back of her bra.
“Yes.” Which he was helping her do. All this touching, and she was already forgetting what had brought her here. Because everywhere his fingers touched, she felt revered, she felt things she normally didn’t. Soft and feminine and special.
“Then let’s do that.”
*
Dan was trying to take it slow. Not because he thought she particularly needed that, but because he wanted to enjoy this. All of it. For all her “you’re not a bad guy” sentiment, he wasn’t stupid enough to assume there’d be more of this.
This might be a onetime deal, and he was going to make the most of it.
Except, she kept making these noises that made him forget about the slow thing. Like the way she inhaled sharply once he’d gotten rid of her bra, and the way she’d sighed when he palmed each breast.
He wanted to make her sigh a million times, to feel her give, relent. There was nothing he did that wasn’t met with some kind of response, and all those thoughts of going slow dissolved. Dissolved into him nudging her onto the bed and immediately beginning to fumble with the snap and zipper of her shorts.
He wanted all of her. All. Mel, laid out on his bed, wanting him as badly as he had been wanting her. He would find some patience for that. Somewhere.
“Here.” She pushed his hands away, undoing the zipper herself and pushing them down her hips. This time he pushed her hands away, hooking fingers in the waistband of her panties and flattening his palms all the way down her legs until the shorts and panties dropped to the ground.
He kneeled above her, reminding himself to take this in, to remember, and to make it count.
Maybe if he took care, found some way to, it would count, at least for a while.
“Mel Shaw naked on my bed.” Not a terrible thing to feel satisfied over, pride in. Even if she wasn’t really here for him, she was here for something he could give her. She could have gone to one of those dumb cops she always laughed with, to the ex she hadn’t loved but had been willing to marry.
So, yeah, this was an accomplishment.