Page 11 of Accidentally Mine

I didn’t need to ask. She swiveled so that her knees were pressed to mine. She was wearing a short skirt, baring phenomenal legs. Her hand went to my thigh, and she gave me a look that told me everything she wanted me to do to her.

“Where?” I asked huskily.

In answer, she took my hand and directed it underneath the hem of her skirt, pressing my palm against her warm center. Her underwear was a little piece of lace, no obstacle whatsoever. It was already soaked with her wetness.

For me.

I looked around the café, which had emptied out. Even the waitress was gone. My eyes returned to hers, those big turquoise orbs begging me sweetly. “Now? Here? Are you sure?”

She licked her lips and pressed my hand to her more firmly, encouraging my fingers to move in slow circles, coating my fingertips in her wetness.

My cock grew inside my slacks as I kneaded her between her legs, until I wondered if even the detailed stitching of my slacks would hold it back.

Her breathing came faster as she spread her legs for me, wider and wider, urging me on.

Her eyes were the very shade of blue of the woman’s at the scene of the accident.

But instead of looking at me with concern, their gaze was heavy-lidded, full of desire.

I looked around the café again, glad to see that it was still empty. Knowing what I wanted to do to Rebecca, I wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on this for long, because I wanted to make her scream. Then, everyone in the kitchen would know what we were up to.

But fuck, I was game. How could I not be?

I ran my finger along the place where her thigh met her pelvis before sliding it underneath the fabric and between her lips.

Just a fraction of an inch. She groaned, and I slowly circled my thumb over her clit still covered by lace, lightly hitting that spot, making her jump and let out a small moan of approval.

When she opened her eyes, I brought my thumb to my lips so that I could taste her.

Salty, musky, sweet. I wanted more.

She smiled at me, tossed blonde curls over her shoulder in a way that shattered any resolve to stop that I might have held on to. “Good?”

“Delicious,” I murmured.

She licked her lips in response. She wanted more too.

I wasted no time flicking her panties aside.

Her pussy was drenched now, and hot, wanting more attention.

Drawing on every ounce of patience, I slowly dipped one finger into her, a mere inch, pressing in between her tight, sensitive walls.

She was thrumming with excitement and felt so alive beneath my hand that I wanted to draw this out. Make it last.

A sweet sigh escaped her mouth, and I lost all self-control, pushed my finger deeper inside.

She squirmed and let out a sweet mewl but did not protest—so warm and wet, silky and tight as fuck.

When I pulled back and slid in again, she arched her back, grabbing my wrist to hold me in place, using my hand as her fuck toy.

I moved my finger in circles inside her, her insides clenching around me.

Before she could protest, I sank down onto my knees in front of her, gathering her skirt up around her waist. I ripped that thin strip of fabric from her hips, and it fell away with no resistance.

She gasped as I hooked my arms around her thighs and brought her bare, pink pussy to the edge of the stool, to meet my waiting mouth.

I pressed my face between her thighs, the only thing on my mind getting more of this woman against my tongue. I’d had a sample, and now I wanted the full buffet.

I breathed in deeply, taking in her sweet scent, and then out again through my mouth.

The hot air against her clit made the little pink bud stiffen.

I couldn’t wait to taste it. When I finally flicked my tongue out to touch it, she squirmed before pressing herself closer against me.

I sucked what was offered to me, taking her clit inside my mouth and tonguing it lightly.

She purred in approval, shifting toward me on the stool.

“More coffee?”

I looked up to find Anita standing over me, ready to pour hot coffee into my cup. But she poured it on me instead.

I screamed, my hands tightening on the steering wheel.

I was in my Porsche, and there were lights, the screech of tires.

The loud blare of a truck horn. Through a curtain of fog, green-blue eyes gazed at me with such sympathy emotion sprang to my face.

I reached out, but the eyes were replaced by the wall of a truck container skidding toward me. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact.

And woke, sweat-soaked, tangled in my sheets, with the sensation of something heavy lying across my chest.

I rolled over and looked at the clock, mentally commanding myself to breathe. Five-thirty in the morning, exactly. The time I always seemed to wake up, with or without an alarm.

Same dream. Well, it had started out differently. But it ended the way it always did, with that truck skidding toward me, and those blue eyes gazing at me in concern.

I threw myself back in bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized I had the hard-on of a lifetime.

Rebecca. If that was even her name. Chances were, it wasn’t her. Just my memory playing games again. But in my dreams, the women were interchangeable.

I had to know. I had to see her again.

I had a meeting in the office at ten, but after I showered and dressed, Ernest drove me to the café, early as usual. There were beautiful women all over this city. But not one was her. Some had her hair, some had her legs. But not one of them had her eyes.

Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with me?

I made it to the café just as it was opening, craving the kind of connection I’d had in my dream. I hadn’t had a sex dream since the accident. In fact, the accident had changed a lot of things I used to enjoy. A big one was sex.

Since the accident, I’d had sex, a few one-night stands to fill a basic need. It was hard to have an active sex life when your body refused to work the way it used to. But that dream had opened up need inside me, and it throbbed.

I went inside and sat at my usual place, ordered toast and coffee, and waited.

And waited, drumming my fingers restlessly on the counter.

As I did, I checked my text messages to see if Kyle had pulled up any information on her. Nothing yet. Then I read the newspaper to see if there was any more information about the Rebecca Reece story. Every time the bell over the door jingled, my eyes went there. I felt like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

Anita came by and cleared my plate away. “Can I get you anything else, sweetie?”

I didn’t want anything but that blonde. “No, thanks.”

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asked with a knowing smile.

I looked at the door again. “Yeah. You said that woman, the blonde from yesterday, has been coming to the café every day for the past four, right?”

She nodded. “Aw, sweetie. That’s who you’re waiting to meet? She usually doesn’t come until after ten. Yesterday was a rare thing.”

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. I still had another hour.

My phone buzzed with a reminder about the meeting. It was nine, and my meeting was in another hour, so I messaged my admin to have it pushed back to tomorrow.

I pointed to my cup and settled back against the stool. Something dangerous pulsed through me—a thirst I didn’t know how to quench. It had to have been that dream. “I’ll take a warmer. And, what the hell, give me whatever your special is.”

She blinked. “Really?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Hopefully you don’t have to wait too much longer,” she said, looking toward the door as the bell jingled. Her eyes lit up. “Or maybe you won’t have to wait at all.”

I followed her gaze until I was looking once again at the door.

And there she was, standing in the doorway, biting her lip sheepishly.

Anita leaned over and whispered, “Go get her, lady-killer,” but all of my senses were focused on the gorgeous woman in the oversize cardigan and Red Sox cap. She looked almost exactly as she had the day prior. Hot and sexy and every bit the girl of my dreams.

It seemed like an eternity before she appeared to gather up the courage to walk across the café to where I sat. When she got there, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. With every second that ticked by, I wondered if that was regret seeping into her features.

I curled my hands around my coffee mug so I wouldn’t reach for her. “Hi.” Smooth line, cowboy. Way to loosen her up.

She let out a breathless, “Hi,” and looked around as if she were taking in every detail of the café. “I can’t stay. I—”

I silenced her by putting a finger to her lips. Soft lips that beckoned me to kiss them. Instead, I placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to mine. “My name’s Brent. What’s yours?”

“Um. I can’t,” she said, doubt pooling in those eyes. “I came here to—”

“It’s just a name,” I coaxed, holding her gaze. The sounds of the café became muffled, as if we’d been transported to some other reality.

“Roselynn,” she whispered, as if hypnotized. “Roselynn Reid.”

Not Rebecca. Not the girl from the newspaper, after all. Disappointment lanced through me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, spinning the stool beside me toward her in invitation. I tried hard not to think of the way she’d been perched on that very stool in my dreams, knowing that’d get me hard. Wasn’t working.

She accepted the invitation, dropped her bag on the floor, and slid onto the stool. Her eyes swept over my face. “How is your nose?”

I’d forgotten all about it. It was sore, but nothing time wouldn’t fix. “Fine. Perfect.”

Anita arrived, pushing a black coffee and two pastries across the bar to us before topping my coffee off from the silver carafe in her hand. “I figured you wouldn’t want to share, cuties.” She made herself scarce before I could thank her.

Roselynn dropped her gaze to her coffee and started to add cream and sugar.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” I said.

“I almost didn’t.”