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Authors: Lila Monroe
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darkness
and the secrecy and the soft touches somehow made this moment illicit
and stolen and not to be spoken aloud.
“I trust you,” I murmured.
There was a pause as Hunter took in my
words. “Thank you,” he finally said.
My hand was still on his. As if they
had a will of their own, my fingers began to stroke his palm—I
blushed, glad that the poor light would hide it, and pulled away
under the pretense of selecting a snack.
The tin was small, but it held a solid
assortment of sweets, dried jerky, and home-made trail mix. I chose a
chocolate in a bright green foil and unwrapped it, the foil rustling
like a secret waiting to be told. When I bit down, a sweet cognac
liquor burst across my taste buds, and I couldn’t keep from
groaning in ecstasy.
Hunter laughed.
“Hey, you try eating this and not
expressing your appreciation!” I shot back at him in a whisper,
waving the chocolate in his face.
He raised an eyebrow at me, and then he
bit right down on the chocolate in my hand, his soft lips just
moistening the tips of my fingers.
I froze.
Calling all doctors, calling all
doctors, Allison Bartlett’s heart has just stopped cold.
His rakish grin set my blood on fire as
he leaned forward and carefully licked a smudge of chocolate from my
thumb.
I swallowed, hard.
“Not bad,” he allowed. “But
I think you’ll really like this much better.”
He unwrapped another chocolate, and
slipped it between my lips. My eyes fell closed as the sweet taste of
butterscotch melted across my tongue, and a little sound of perfect
contentment escaped my chest in a sigh.
My tongue darted out to catch the last
of the taste against his skin, and I could hear his breath catch in
his throat, and my blood quickened further. I could feel my own heart
pounding, blood rushing through my veins, warmth pooling between my
legs as my arousal tightened within me like a spiral, my nipples
suddenly hard against my silk bra, wanting his hands on them instead.
My eyelids parted slowly, and I was
gazing up into his eyes, so dark with desire in that dim hallway that
I could no longer see the line between his irises and pupils. They
were only dark and determined, the golden light no longer dancing
playfully in them but serious as anything I had ever seen.
He leaned closer, and I could taste the
chocolate on his breath, as intoxicating as his gaze, I could so very
nearly taste his lips—
I can’t let him kiss me.
Not with so much riding on this job.
So much for both of us.
I broke away before we made contact,
stumbling backwards in my haste to save us from the dastardly
destruction of our own hormones.
“I should shower before dinner!”
I thanked God and also Jesus for the humidity that made this lie less
obvious. “I didn’t think of that before but I should
definitely shower and we’ve already used up ten minutes!”
I was babbling as I backed away, but the words kept spilling out,
trying to construct a wall between us so I wouldn’t take a step
back towards him, wouldn’t soothe away that worried furrow in
his brow with my hands, wouldn’t kiss him so hard that he—
“So I’ll barely have time and I’m totally gross so
I should really take all the time I can, glad you understand, you’re
great see you later, bye!”
And then I fled, in a display of
cowardice that would have made Robert E. Lee ashamed to call me his
countrywoman.
#
I cranked the shower handle further to
the right and gritted my teeth against the cold water, trying to
forget the taste of Hunter’s lips.
Why must that night haunt me? We hadn’t
even slept together, not really. He’d only gone down on me,
that talented tongue and lips stoking the fire that his hands had lit
as they traced over my skin, as I moaned, arching my eager body
against his, ready for everything he had to give me—
Not helping, brain!
I scrubbed furiously with the lavender
and black pepper soap, trying to punish my skin for its inconvenient
desires, to scour them
and the secrecy and the soft touches somehow made this moment illicit
and stolen and not to be spoken aloud.
“I trust you,” I murmured.
There was a pause as Hunter took in my
words. “Thank you,” he finally said.
My hand was still on his. As if they
had a will of their own, my fingers began to stroke his palm—I
blushed, glad that the poor light would hide it, and pulled away
under the pretense of selecting a snack.
The tin was small, but it held a solid
assortment of sweets, dried jerky, and home-made trail mix. I chose a
chocolate in a bright green foil and unwrapped it, the foil rustling
like a secret waiting to be told. When I bit down, a sweet cognac
liquor burst across my taste buds, and I couldn’t keep from
groaning in ecstasy.
Hunter laughed.
“Hey, you try eating this and not
expressing your appreciation!” I shot back at him in a whisper,
waving the chocolate in his face.
He raised an eyebrow at me, and then he
bit right down on the chocolate in my hand, his soft lips just
moistening the tips of my fingers.
I froze.
Calling all doctors, calling all
doctors, Allison Bartlett’s heart has just stopped cold.
His rakish grin set my blood on fire as
he leaned forward and carefully licked a smudge of chocolate from my
thumb.
I swallowed, hard.
“Not bad,” he allowed. “But
I think you’ll really like this much better.”
He unwrapped another chocolate, and
slipped it between my lips. My eyes fell closed as the sweet taste of
butterscotch melted across my tongue, and a little sound of perfect
contentment escaped my chest in a sigh.
My tongue darted out to catch the last
of the taste against his skin, and I could hear his breath catch in
his throat, and my blood quickened further. I could feel my own heart
pounding, blood rushing through my veins, warmth pooling between my
legs as my arousal tightened within me like a spiral, my nipples
suddenly hard against my silk bra, wanting his hands on them instead.
My eyelids parted slowly, and I was
gazing up into his eyes, so dark with desire in that dim hallway that
I could no longer see the line between his irises and pupils. They
were only dark and determined, the golden light no longer dancing
playfully in them but serious as anything I had ever seen.
He leaned closer, and I could taste the
chocolate on his breath, as intoxicating as his gaze, I could so very
nearly taste his lips—
I can’t let him kiss me.
Not with so much riding on this job.
So much for both of us.
I broke away before we made contact,
stumbling backwards in my haste to save us from the dastardly
destruction of our own hormones.
“I should shower before dinner!”
I thanked God and also Jesus for the humidity that made this lie less
obvious. “I didn’t think of that before but I should
definitely shower and we’ve already used up ten minutes!”
I was babbling as I backed away, but the words kept spilling out,
trying to construct a wall between us so I wouldn’t take a step
back towards him, wouldn’t soothe away that worried furrow in
his brow with my hands, wouldn’t kiss him so hard that he—
“So I’ll barely have time and I’m totally gross so
I should really take all the time I can, glad you understand, you’re
great see you later, bye!”
And then I fled, in a display of
cowardice that would have made Robert E. Lee ashamed to call me his
countrywoman.
#
I cranked the shower handle further to
the right and gritted my teeth against the cold water, trying to
forget the taste of Hunter’s lips.
Why must that night haunt me? We hadn’t
even slept together, not really. He’d only gone down on me,
that talented tongue and lips stoking the fire that his hands had lit
as they traced over my skin, as I moaned, arching my eager body
against his, ready for everything he had to give me—
Not helping, brain!
I scrubbed furiously with the lavender
and black pepper soap, trying to punish my skin for its inconvenient
desires, to scour them
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