Page 24 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)
She gives a dramatic huff like she’s personally offended by my sun care negligence.
Then she turns to Charley and instantly transforms into pure butter.
Her face lights up as she cups Charley’s cheeks.
“You are a treasure. A musical angel. If this one—” she jerks a thumb at me “—gives you any trouble, you just pack a bag and come stay with me. We’ll drink sherry, and binge-watch Bridgerton . I’ve got Netflix.”
Charley beams. “Thank you, Mrs. Callahan.”
“Oh, please.” She flutters a hand in the air like she’s waving off peasants. “Call me Betsy.”
“Betsy it is.”
I nod. “Good night, Betsy.”
Her head whips around so fast I hear her neck crack. “Excuseme?”
I clear my throat, straighten up like I’ve just been yelled at for slouching at my desk. “Good night, Mrs. Callahan . ”
She smirks, satisfied, and walks off with the kind of swagger only a seventy something year old woman in orthopedic sandals can pull off.
As we walk away, Charley sighs, dreamy. “I really like Betsy.”
“She’s nicer to you than me.”
“Probably because I’m teaching her great-granddaughter guitar.”
“You brought a salad. If I brought a salad instead of a heavy creamy casserole, she’d throw it at me and accuse me of cultural sabotage.”
“Like you’d make a casserole. You had oatmeal and pop tarts in your cupboard.”
I lift my chin, all indignant. “Fine, be like that and now I’m not going to make you my famous oatmeal, pop tart casserole. You’re really missing you.”
She laughs. “I don’t think I’m missing out on anything.
At least…after tonight I won’t be.” There’s heat in her voice and my thoughts are no longer on pop tarts.
“She likesyou, Rip,” she adds. “She just wants to keep you on your toes and make sure you do right by me. She’s old fashioned and I think it’s sweet of her. ”
I slide my hand around her back and pull her close. “What if I want to get off my toes, and still do right by you.”
A fine shiver goes through her, then a teasing look brightens her eyes. “Wait, you said casserole. Was that your safe stop word?”
I laugh. “I actually think we need a new go word.”
“Wasn’t that window.”
I adjust my pants. “Yeah, I just can’t seem to think straight tonight.”
“That makes two of us,” she says breathless. “Ever since seeing you in those water wings.” She playfully waves her hand in front of her face.
We reach the cottage, and I quickly open the door. She steps inside and I glance over my shoulder, gauging how far away Mrs. Callahan’s cottage is, and if she can hear us.
While you’re standing there, trying to figure out if Betsy is listening, I’m going to wash this marshmallow out of my hair.
She steps into the bathroom and doesn’t shut the door behind her.
Three seconds later, I find her bent over the tub, adjusting the water.
She turns around and gasps when she sees me.
“How… Oh my God, Rip.”
She’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted a hockey stick—and, in a way, I have. Between my legs. I glance down at my very naked body, my dick standing at full salute for the girl who makes me forget the world even exists.
“What?” I ask, deadpan, trying to play it cool even though every cell in my body is vibrating with the need to touch her.
“You’re naked.”
“Am I?” I blink, mock-surprised. “Huh. So I am.”
She gestures vaguely at the air between us. “You were dressed three seconds ago .”
I close the distance, steam curling around us like we’re inside some ridiculous romance novel cover, and gently brush my knuckles over her flushed cheek. “Did I forget to mention I hold the title for fastest undresser east of the Mississippi?”
She chokes on a laugh. “Is that even a thing?”
“Absolutely. There’s a plaque and everything. Very prestigious. Right next to my third-grade spelling bee participation ribbon.”
“Impressive résumé.”
“If you don’t believe me, I can show you my credentials.”
She laughs, but her eyes go soft. I can see it, that flicker of something deeper, something softer in her eyes now. I don’t want to just be the guy who gets naked fast, but the guy she can trust.
“You don’t need to show me your credentials, Rip,” she murmurs, pressing up against me, her lips ghosting the edge of a smile. “I can already feel them.”
My body throbs as heat arcs between us, sharp and undeniable. I drop my voice, all humor gone. “You left the door open,” I murmur. “I assumed that was an invitation.”
My fingers trail down her arms, and I grip the hem of her dress. I lift it slightly, and her breathy sigh is all the encouragement I need. I pull it higher, my other hand sliding between her legs. She parts them instinctively, like her body’s already made the decision her mouth hasn't said yet.
“It was,” she whispers.
I lean in and growl into her ear, low and rough. “All night, babe. All fucking night, I’ve been thinking about you.”
Her voice trembles with anticipation. “What were you thinking?”
“This,” I say. I drop to my knees and hook my fingers in her panties. She lifts her dress, watching as I slowly drag the fabric down her silky legs.
“You’ve been thinking about my panties?” she asks, a teasing note in her voice.
“Yeah. And the sweetness underneath.”
I lean forward, part her folds with my tongue, and taste her.
“Oh, Rip…” she moans, her hips swaying, her body seeking more. I grip her thighs, steadying her, grounding us both in the moment I’ve been aching for.
“I’ve been thinking about you too,” she breathes.
“Tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking about your hands. The way they touch me. About your mouth, and the pleasure you bring with your tongue.”
I drag my tongue from bottom to top and circle her swollen clit.
“Yes…like that,” she gasps, her voice unraveling.
I slide a finger inside her, and she whimpers. “You’ve been thinking about this?”
“Yes. And those two big boxes of condoms, and all the memories we’re going to make.”
I glance up, and what I see nearly steals my breath. The heat in her eyes. The flush on her cheeks. My heart pounds a little harder.
Memories.
Is it a reminder to me—maybe to herself—of what this is. Fleeting. Temporary. A moment in time?
But as I look at her, this strong, kind, stunning woman giving herself to me I’m suddenly not so sure I want fleeting.
Maybe I want more.