Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (31 page)

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I was too busy re-memorizing every curve of her luscious body, barely concealed by the thin layer of cotton. My mouth watered. I wasn’t fixating on a fantasy or memories from Friday because the generosity of reality drove every other thought from my mind.

Silence both stretched and thickened . . . and so did other things.

But then she lifted her lashes, looked at me with her impossible violet eyes, and said in her sweet way, “I missed you.”

“Civilized people must, I believe, satisfy the following criteria. . . Their hearts suffer the pain of what is hidden to the naked eye.”

― Anton Chekhov,
A Life in Letters

~Jennifer~

“I missed you.”
The words erupted, slipping from my lips before I could catch them. They’d been running through my mind for the last three days.

I miss him. I miss Cletus.

Actually, the sentiment had been running through my mind before Friday, but I’d been shushing the thought, pushing it away. Before Friday, I’d thought missing Cletus was futile, because I thought it would be endless.

But since Friday . . .

Happy sigh
.

I’d gone back to the Piggly Wiggly first thing on Saturday morning to collect the bananas. I didn’t want to be a scaredy-cat or ask Cletus to come with me. I’d been picking up the bananas on my own for years, no reason to stop now. But I did conduct a sweep of the parking lot before leaving my car. And I asked Mr. Johnson—the produce manager—to walk me out to my car.

Presently, I was smiling at Cletus, like a goof, lost in his chaotically handsome features.

Cletus’s eyes moved over me slowly, as though he hadn’t seen me in a long time. “I missed you, too.” His voice was gruff and had my stomach erupting with butterflies. Beautiful, lovely, velvety butterflies. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and twisted his lips to the side. “That’s an interesting outfit.”

I glanced down at myself and that’s when I saw—to my horror—that I was basically half-dressed.

“Oh my God! Look at me.” I endeavored to cover myself with my arms, trying and failing. “Wait. Don’t look at me! Crap! Turn around!”

Cletus lifted an eyebrow at my demand. “Really?”

“Yes. Really, Cletus,” I said on a rush, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t have a bra on under this apron.”

“I know.” He shrugged, his eyes skimming down, then up. Undaunted, he took a step forward.

My mouth fell open and I stared at him, frustration and embarrassment warring for control. Recognizing that Cletus had no plans to turn around or avert his eyes, I jogged past him to the back door. I felt his gaze on my backside as I slipped on my big coat and pulled it closed, holding the edges together.

When I turned I found him frowning. “You didn’t have to do that.”

A sound of disbelief tumbled from my lips.

“Yes. I really did.”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. No pun intended.”

My eyes flickered over him and I felt my cheeks heat, feeling the need to explain why I’d been baking half naked. “I sometimes take off the dress when I bake late at night, especially if it has a built-in corset. It hurts my ribs.”

“Makes sense.” He nodded once, twisting his lips to the side again. He was doing a bad job of fighting a grin, and the way his hooded eyes moved over my form made me feel warm and flustered.

My throat worked and my neck was burning hot as I searched his eyes. “I suppose you have lots of experience, with half-dressed women. It’s probably no big deal to you.”

“A half-dressed woman is always a big deal.” A smile lingered behind his eyes, it felt dark and delightfully wicked.

“Even at the Pink Pony?” I asked out of nowhere, surprising myself with the non sequitur.

I didn’t know what made me ask other than the fact that Beau and the owner of the Pink Pony were good friends; everyone was aware Cletus went fishing with them from time to time. I’d been having all kinds of crazy thoughts since seeing him last, usually involving best- and worst-case scenarios.

Or best worst-case scenarios, like—if Cletus went to the strip club—best-case was that he did so blindfolded and against his will. See? Crazy.

Cletus made a face. “I don’t much like those kinds of places.”

“Why? Don’t all men like looking at naked ladies?”

His eyes dropped to my coat and they heated. “I like to unwrap my own presents.”

The butterflies ceased flapping their wings and instead stripped naked. I liked that thought. I liked the idea of being unwrapped, like a present. But only if I could unwrap him, too.

“Did you come here to unwrap me?” I asked hopefully, relaxing my hold on the coat.

He smiled, his clever eyes narrowing just a bit. “Are you my present?”

Yes.

My embarrassed blush became something else. Heat still circled my neck, my heart still pounded, but the atmosphere shifted. My hot flash was no longer mortified at having been caught baking half-naked. Our smiles gradually waned as we stared at each other.

He took a step toward me, his eyes dropping to my jacket. Cletus inspected the edges, his expression thoughtful, then slipped his fingers inside the coat. I released my grip on the material as his hands parted the jacket and pushed. It fell to the floor.

“I didn’t come over here for this,” he said distractedly. His eyes studied the front of my apron as he pulled the tie at my back.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was a mess of wanting to tear his clothes off, and wanting to kiss his face off, and wanting more of what we’d done three nights ago. I simultaneously had the urge to shove him to the floor and attack him, and stand still to see what he would do next. Ultimately, I decided to stand still. I could always attack him later.

The bow holding the apron around my neck unraveled and the apron joined my coat on the floor, leaving me in just my panties and stockings. He looked at me. He looked at my body like I was his present. Like he had lots of ideas how he would play with me. I wasn’t cold, yet I shivered.

His eyes lifted, hot with intent, and he took a step forward. Instinctively, I took a step back. He gave me a barely there smile and continued to advance until my back met with the counter. Then he stopped.

“My dearest Jennifer,” he grumbly whispered, his fingers looping into the waistband of my underwear, “in case you’re making a list, this is the only thing I want for my birthday.” He lowered as he tugged the lace down my legs. I trembled again as his hands traced a light touch on the backs of my knees and calves.

I stepped out of my panties and watched as he pocketed them. Leaning forward, his eyes on me, he breathed a hot breath against the apex of my thighs.

I swayed, my hands coming to his shoulders for balance, my heart thundering. I was hot and cold all over, the ache of longing sharp and deliciously painful low in my belly. He used the leverage of my hands to cup my bottom, lifting me onto the counter. I sat perched on the edge and he spread my legs, his fingertips tracing my inner thighs until he parted me with his thumbs.

My brain was rioting, in chaos, and I was embarrassed, yet enthralled.

My pen pals had told me—in French, Japanese, and German—what having sex was like. They’d described what it felt like to have an orgasm, so I knew what we’d done on Friday had resulted in an orgasm for both of us. But nothing they’d described revealed the true intimacy of the act. How it was something beautiful and terrifying, to be naked and vulnerable, to be touched.

My breath hitched. I leaned backward at an angle and fought the urge to press my knees together. He was looking at me. His exhales falling across my exposed center made me clench and tense in anticipation and anxiety.

“Cletus?” I asked, with a mixture of uncertainty and eagerness.

He licked his lips and lowered his mouth to me. The air left my lungs as his wet, hot tongue connected with my wet, hot center. His tongue moved and my body gave a reflexive and inelegant lurch. I gasped. Unthinkingly, my fingers threaded through his hair and I pressed him to me, afraid he would stop.

It felt so good.

So good.

So. Good.

SO. GOOD.

My body shuddered again and I widened my legs, my hips rolling instinctively. He moaned, like I was delicious, like he’d been starving for me. His hands wrapped around my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of my thighs.

Then his eyes lifted to mine.

“Oh God,” I breathed. The force of his gaze was both sobering and intoxicating, and potent with knowledge. Knowledge of me, of my body, of my taste. He watched me, drinking in this secret sight of me.

He watched me while his mouth was on my body.

He watched me as he did sinful things with his tongue and lips.

The hunger in his eyes as his possessive gaze moved over my breasts and neck and mouth sent a sudden spiral of need and greed straight to where he devoured me. Suddenly I was coming in a powerful pulsing, quaking, and piercing release.

I threw my head back, the force of the tremors too unwieldy and strong. I existed only as a feeling. He held me in place, lapping and savoring, as though my mindlessness fed a need in him.

He held me still until it hurt—wonderfully, tremendously, spectacularly—and then he slipped his fingers inside me and I came again, crying out sharply with desperation and thoughtlessness. I couldn’t stay upright. I couldn’t hold my own weight under the force of my climax, so I fell backward.

His hands were suddenly there, he was suddenly there, standing and pulling me forward into his arms. He lifted me from the counter and I was limp in his arms, spent. A force field of warmth and satisfaction encased me, made me boneless. I snuggled my forehead against his neck and gripped his shirt weakly.

“The couch,” I sighed. “Let’s go lie on the couch.”

He squeezed me, and turned. He glanced to the left, then the right, hesitating. “Where is this couch?”

I chuckled lightly, then nipped his neck. “In the back.”

Is that my voice? Good Lord. I sound sexy.

It was deeper than usual, which I liked it. I liked how I sounded after Cletus unwrapped me. I liked how I felt. I liked my body in a new way that made me feel powerful and knowledgeable.

And I now understood why some people were “indiscriminant bakers.” Everything about the act felt good and right and necessary. Or maybe it was being with Cletus that was good and right and necessary.

On our way to the couch, Cletus retrieved my coat from the floor in an impressive display of flexibility and strength. Upon arriving in the back room, he kissed me on the forehead.

“I have to set you down so I can put this jacket on the couch.” He sounded like releasing me was something only to be done out of necessity or under duress. “Can you stand?”

I nodded and he tipped me to the side until my feet hit the ground. Quickly, he removed the back pillows, spread out my coat, then his, leaving the sofa mostly covered. Then he guided me to my side and moved to join me.

“Wait,” I stopped him, kneeling on the cushions and gripping the edge of his shirt. “Take this off.”

He frowned, hesitating. “Jenn—”

“Just your shirt. I miss your skin.”

His expression cleared as his eyes heated and he removed his white cotton tee. I resumed my reclining position and he joined me, pulling my body halfway on top of his. I kissed his shoulder and sighed.

“As I was saying, I missed you.” I ran my hand up and down his chest, threading my fingers through the sparse hair. I loved the hair on his chest and I loved the ridges of his muscles. I loved how different our bodies were, the texture and feel of him. “When can we do that again?”

He chuckled, his hands caressing my body like he was greedy for the feel of my skin. “Ten minutes?”

We both laughed and I rested my elbow on him, my chin in my palm. “So do I get to give you a blow job now?”

He tensed and his eyes narrowed on me. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

His gaze moved to my back, where his fingertips trailed light lines between my shoulder blades. “I’m shy.”

I laughed again, and so did he. A good, rumbly laugh. A mischievous laugh. I loved it.

“You are not shy.”

Cletus shrugged, still not meeting my eyes, his grin becoming something else, and said, “I’ve never done that.”

My lips parted in surprise. “You’ve never had a blow job? No one has ever done that to you?”

He shook his head, his lips pulled to one side in a wry smile. “There’s a lot of teeth in a mouth.”

“So, you’ve never trusted anyone enough to do it,” I guessed.

His eyes cut to mine and his fingers stilled. Cletus stared at me for a long moment, pointedly not answering, then cleared his throat.

“I’d like to come over tomorrow again, if you’re around after work.”

“That’s sounds good. Come by every day this week if you want.”

I decided to let him change the subject, but secretly I was planning my attack. One day soon, I was going to seduce him. Now I just needed to figure out how to go about seducing a man. Maybe my pen pals had some ideas.

“I can’t,” he sighed, but his eyes twinkled. “I have Jethro’s bachelor party on Thursday and I’m responsible for the entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

“Yes. Remember I told you about my stripper friend, George? The retired Navy SEAL? He’s the entertainment.” Cletus wagged his eyebrows.