Page 107 of Delicious (Delicious #1)
Chapter Four
Kiefer
I t would be so easy to kick my own arse for waiting so long. I could’ve had his mouth on mine for years.
I shake my annoyance away, reminding myself that if we had kissed back then, maybe we would’ve fizzled out before we’d gotten the chance to really begin.
Now, though, with history and friendship, we have a foundation to actually make this work. Am I getting ahead of myself? Maybe. But every single part of his reaction—how pliable he went in my arms, the way his fingers curled in my hair, the way his tongue stroked mine—makes me hopeful that I’m reading him right.
I’m so tired of holding myself back, which is what I’ve been doing for a while now. I don’t even know what it was about the other night when I rescued his meal with his parents that made me decide today—with my on-the-spot decision to take Ste out—I’d make it happen. That today I’d swallow my nerves and tell him how into him I am.
Not that I’ve told him that exactly, but asking for a kiss was just the start.
“You good?” Ste brushes his thumb over my hand. Not for the first time since heading to my place, I have to control my emotions and the desire to purr or gush or some shit. We’ve been holding hands as much as possible since packing up, then dropping off the tinny before heading to my house on Southside… that’s heady as fuck.
I angle towards him as I say, “Yeah, more than,” following up with a smile as I soak up the way his cheeks are still flushed. We’re almost at my house, just a couple of roads away, and the increasing speed of my pulse is a little distracting. “You sure you’re okay cleaning up at mine?” I double-check.
The tension between us may be enough to snap the strongest of wires, but I don’t want to screw up here.
“The sand in the crack of my arse says the sooner I can shower, the better.”
I snort, agreeing wholeheartedly.
“That I can shower with you,” he says with another gentle glide of his thumb over my skin, “is not something I want to miss out on… if that’s what’s on offer.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks, the swiftness with which my cock turns hard so distracting I jerk the wheel a little.
Ste’s chuckle is all heat and amusement. “You need me to keep my thoughts to myself?”
I cast him a quick glance and roll my eyes, shooting him a wry grin. “Mighty generous of you.” I shake my head and indicate to pull into my driveway.
My small two-bedroom Queenslander has seen better days, but it’s mine, and I’ve been chipping away at fixing it up bit by bit. It has its quirks—the creaky wooden floors, the rattly old windows that never quite close all the way—but it holds a certain charm. The yard could definitely use a mow—the grass is creeping past ankle height—but with Ste by my side, yardwork is the last thing on my mind.
I grab the Esky and towels from the car, balancing them as we head up the weathered wooden steps to the veranda. The late-afternoon sun casts long golden shadows, and I glance back at Ste, catching him smiling in that way he does when he’s both curious and content.
“Home sweet home,” I say, shoving open the front door that sticks a little from the humidity. I nudge it wider with my shoulder and gesture for him to step inside. “Watch your step. That second floorboard is a bit dodgy.”
He follows me in, his eyes roaming over the space. It’s small but cosy, with warm wood accents and a mix of mismatched furniture I’ve slowly collected or inherited over the years. A faint smell of fresh paint lingers in the air from the touch-ups I’ve been working on.
“You’re making good progress,” Ste says, his voice soft as he takes it all in. “It’s… you.” He’s been here a few times, but not for a while.
I smirk. “Old and in need of repairs?”
He sets the towels down on a chair and steps closer, his expression shifting into something gentler. “Welcoming.”
The air between us thickens, a quiet hum of tension. His words hang there for a moment, sinking into the space between us, and I don’t know if I want to thank him or kiss him. I’m leaning toward the latter when he closes the gap, his hands finding my hips as mine instinctively curl around his shoulders.
Before I know it, we’re pressed together, his lips brushing mine. The kiss starts slow, exploratory, but it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens, heat and hunger sparking between us. I feel the edge of the kitchen counter press into my back—or maybe it’s me pushing him against it. Either way, the world narrows to just us, the taste of him, the way his body moulds against mine.
“Shower,” I manage to mutter between kisses, though I don’t make any effort to step back. I slide my hands down to his waist, pulling him tighter against me.
“Yeah,” he breathes, though he doesn’t let go either. “Shower.”
Somehow, I muster the willpower to drag myself away, though it feels like pulling apart two magnets. I take his hand and lead him down the short hallway to the bathroom. It’s not a big space—just enough for a single person to move around comfortably—but we make do.
The first thing to go is his shirt, and when he pulls it over his head, my breath catches. The late-afternoon light streaming through the frosted window highlights his skin, smooth and tanned with faint lines marking where his sleeves protected him from the sun. His shoulders are broad, his chest lightly dusted with hair that tapers down towards his stomach. I want to run my tongue over every inch of him.
When his shorts drop, I can’t help but stare, and he knows it. He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Like what you see?”
“Ste,” I say, shaking my head but unable to suppress a laugh. “You know I do.”
His grin softens into something sweeter as he steps closer, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my board shorts. He tugs gently, pulling me towards him until our bare chests brush, heat radiating between us. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Because I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”
The confession sends a jolt through me, and my heart pounds as I reach up to cup his face. “Me too.”
We step into the shower together, the warm spray cascading over us as steam fills the small space. The water feels incredible against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of his hands roaming over my body. I can’t stop touching him either, my fingers tracing the softness of his skin, sliding down his back, over his hips.
When our mouths meet again, it’s wetter this time, hungrier. My lips move to his neck, trailing kisses down to the hollow of his throat. His skin tastes faintly salty from the day’s heat, and I groan as he tilts his head back, giving me better access.
He wraps his hand around my cock, and the first stroke nearly undoes me. “Fuck,” I gasp, my head falling back against the cool tile. The contrast of the water’s warmth and the chill of the wall is dizzying, but all I can focus on is the way his hand moves, firm and sure.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. His thumb brushes over the head, and I shudder, my hips jerking involuntarily. “Better than I imagined.”
I can’t form a coherent response, so instead, I reach between us and wrap my hand around him. He’s hot and hard in my grip, his foreskin sliding easily under my palm. The way his breath hitches, the way his hips thrust forward into my touch—it’s intoxicating.
“Christ, Kiefer,” he rasps, his forehead pressing against mine as his free hand grips my waist. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”
“Yeah?” I twist my wrist on the upstroke, drawing a low groan from him. “Me too.”
His lips find mine again, urgent and insistent, as we move together. Our hands are slick with water and precum, our breathing ragged, the sounds of pleasure mixing with the steady rhythm of the shower spray. It’s overwhelming and perfect, every touch and stroke pushing us closer to the edge.
“I’m close,” I manage to gasp, my body tightening as heat coils low in my belly.
“Me too,” he pants, his voice rough. “Let go for me, Kief.”
His words are my undoing. The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, my body trembling as I spill over his hand. His name falls from my lips in a broken moan, my vision blurring as pleasure overtakes me.
Moments later, he follows, his release hot and sticky against my skin. His groan is deep and guttural, and I hold him close, both of us shuddering through the aftershocks.
We stay this way for a while, the water washing over us, pressing together as we slow our heavy breathing. The intimacy of the moment, the connection between us, feels almost sacred.
When we finally step out of the shower, Ste’s low chuckle breaks the quiet. I glance at him in expectation.
“I’m not convinced I got all the sand off me.” His grin is wide.
“Maybe we need to step back under the spray,” I tease, more than willing to help wash him down more thoroughly.
“Tempting.” His voice turns to gravel. “But I’d prefer to spend time between those soft-looking sheets of yours.
I’m impressed he took in any of the details of my room since we’d all but stumbled, our moves connected, into my en suite.
“I like your plan better,” I say, passing him a clean towel.
We dry off and head to my room, where the sun’s warm glow pours through the windows. The bed is small, but we don’t need much space. We curl around each other, his head on my chest, and I stroke my fingers through his damp hair.
“This feels….” I trail off, searching for the right words.
“Right,” he says softly, finishing my thought.
I press a kiss to his forehead, a quiet sense of contentment settling over me. “Yeah. It does.”
As the sun dips lower on the horizon, I close my eyes, knowing that whatever comes next, it’s going to be good.