Shawn laughed. “Okay, then. I never would have guessed you had a secret fear of stuffed animals.”
“It’s not fear.” Why was she failing to see the distinction here? “It’s like seeing someone have their fingernails pulled out. It’s disturbing.”
“How would you know what it looks like to see someone’s fingernails pulled out? Do you have a secret past as a terrorist interrogator?”
She was lucky he found her so cute. “Yes. So don’t piss me off.”
“Did you just make a joke?” Her eyes lit up in delight, and she laughed. “I love it. And don’t threaten me, Ford. I’ll sic my monkey on you.”
He walked toward her and was amused to see her back up against the dresser, darting her gaze around for an escape route. “Gorillas aren’t monkeys, and who is threatening who?”
All he had to do was reach his arm out for her, and she shrieked and tried to rush past him. Laughing, he didn’t find it a particular challenge to halt her progress. Despite her athletic strength, he was happy to say she was no match for him. “Where are you going?”
“I have to, uh, put the grounds in the coffeemaker for tomorrow morning.” She wiggled in his hold. “Let me go, you oaf.”
“Oaf? Okay, Gran, I’ll let you go.” Rhett was amused by Shawn, by their banter, by how comfortable he felt around her. He was also aroused by the way she was willing to tease him, the way she didn’t cower and back down, the way other women had with him.
“Gran?” she asked indignantly. “Is that a cougar slur?”
“No.” He grinned at her, pulling her tight against his chest so she would quit squirming. “I actually forgot you’re a cougar. Though I’m not sure you qualify since I initially approached you.”
“Well, I did ask you to marry me in exchange for money, so I think that makes me a model cougar.” Her expression was wry, but she did stop struggling.
“For totally different reasons. Not because you couldn’t score me all on your own. Because you could have. I would have been eager and willing.” He leaned forward and bit her bottom lip, just to hear her expression of shock and the follow-up sigh of pleasure.
“Really?”
“Really. And I’m eager and willing right now to make you scream with pleasure.” Rhett rested his hand on her waist and pulled her hard against his erection. “Now you have four minutes to deal with the coffeemaker and get back here.”
Her eyes darkened and her voice was husky. “Oh, yeah? What happens if I don’t?”
“I’ll come into the kitchen and I’ll punish you for making me wait.” His heart started to pump quicker at the thought of what he could do to Shawn, at how amazing it would feel to bury his c**k inside her wet and willing pu**y. His blood thickened, and saliva filled his mouth.
“You’ll spank me again?” she asked, and she sounded titillated by the idea.
Rhett shook his head, because it was important to keep her guessing, to maintain the control. “Probably not. You’ll never know what your punishment is until I hand it out. It could be anything.”
Her response was a low sound in the back of her throat. But then she disarmed him by kissing him sweetly and saying, “My time starts when you let me go.”
Holy shit, she was so hot it made his body ache in ways he hadn’t known were possible. Rhett released her and stepped back. “Go.”
She moved quickly to the door, not pausing to look back. Rhett checked the time on his phone. He wasn’t sure if he would actually hold her to the four minutes or not. But he didn’t think he would have to make that decision because Shawn was too competitive to miss the mark.
Waiting for her, he stripped off his sweatshirt and the tee beneath it and tossed them over Coconut’s face. He took his watch off and set it on the nightstand. He knew a lot of guys had quit wearing watches, but he liked the feel of it on his wrist. But not when he was going to be sliding his hands over every inch of Shawn’s body. He was cracking his neck, taking his chin in both hands and twisting it left, then right, when Shawn returned.
“Are you limbering up?” she asked, with a small smile. She was slightly out of breath from her efficiency.
Rhett glanced at his phone. “Three minutes. Impressive.” He didn’t answer her question, because he didn’t need to. “Good job.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze raked over his chest, his abs. “Do I get a reward?”
He should have known she would take it to that conclusion. It was her personality. Shaking his head, he told her, “No. Your reward is not being punished.”
Her lips parted, her eyes flashing with something close to irritation, and he waited for her to protest. It would be logical for her to protest, given Shawn’s need for control.
But she didn’t, and that was by far the sexiest response she could ever give him. “So what should I do?” Her hands were fiddling with the bottom of her sweater, like she wanted to strip it off and dive onto him. It was there in her expression. She wanted to take charge, shove him back on the bed, and climb on and ride him to a fast orgasm.
Efficient.
Get off and get on with it.
That’s the sex life Shawn had experienced before him. But Rhett wanted more than that. He wanted submersion, loss of control, total capitulation to the pleasure between them . . . the kind of pleasure where she forgot her name, what day of the week it was, or where she was.
So the erotic dance had to start where it had the night they’d met, with his hand taking hers and guiding her onto the dance floor. “You dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
He scrolled through his phone and hit play, taking a guess that babymaking R&B music could cause her to giggle. He went classic rock, and as The Doors filled the room, her eyebrows went up in surprise, and pleasure. He held out his hand and she took it, her head tilting in a way that almost read as shy as he pulled her into his arms. He suspected not a single man had ever truly taken the time to seduce Shawn, and he intended to make up for that.
As they swayed to the music, he nuzzled her ear and told her, “I’m very, very glad I saw you that night at The Wet Spot.”
Fingertips lightly on his shoulders, she whispered, “I am, too.”
Hooking his index finger on the collar of her sweater, he dragged it down so that her chest was partially exposed. He had the long, lean lines of her clavicle and the rise of her br**sts to explore with his tongue while they moved to the music. Her grip on him tightened as he lazily explored her jawline, her neck, her br**sts. She started to move her hands down his shoulders to his biceps, her fingers trembling, tentative, like she expected to be stopped any second. Or maybe because she’d never allowed herself the indulgence of touching a lover in curiosity. He didn’t know. But he did like it, did want her to express herself, take tactile pleasure for herself.