Page 8 of The Last Key (Baker Girls #2)

CHAPTER SIX

DEVON

Wednesday

I wake to the sound of quiet breathing, my arm draped over Kennedy’s waist and her short brown hair splayed across the pillow next to me.

Her arm is resting on mine, and I feel more at home than ever.

This is where I’m supposed to be. How I’m supposed to wake up each morning—arms wrapped around the woman I… love.

That’s not easy to admit. I feel like an idiot when I do.

For spending years with her deep in my heart.

At one point last year, I tried to convince myself it was my way of closing off.

If I loved her, I didn’t have to care for anyone else.

Like imagining myself with her was some protective response.

So, I spent a few months committed to dating.

I know my parents want me to find the right person, get married, and have kids. I want those things, too.

We host speed dating at the inn once a month, so I gave it a go.

There was a woman I hit it off with. She was new to the area, and we went out on a few dates, but when it became clear she had feelings for me, I panicked.

Not because I didn’t want that. God, I wanted that.

It would’ve been so easy had I felt something for her, but I didn’t.

In the back of my mind, Kennedy was still all I could think about.

I had a few more dates with other women, a couple of whom I also slept with, but I still couldn’t get Kennedy out of my head.

I couldn’t stop imagining myself with her.

That was when I had to accept it. It wasn’t a crush.

Not me trying to avoid a serious relationship.

It was Kennedy, my best friend, who, at some point, I’d fallen in love with.

I thought I was completely hopeless until yesterday.

From dancing in the kitchen to that moment in the pantry, to last night.

God, hearing her moan in the shower about did me in.

When I knocked on the door, I mostly did it to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.

When she awkwardly told me she was singing, I knew for sure.

Damn, I hope while she moaned like that, she thought of me—of all the things I’d do to her perfect body.

Then I caught her bent over the dresser in a goddamn towel and I almost blew a load in my pants.

I’ve never run as hot for her as I do right now.

Then again, I’ve never let my feelings for her near the surface before, either.

I’ve been so scared to lose her because of my feelings.

I never believed she could have similar ones for me.

I still don’t know for sure that she does.

Maybe she wants to screw me and get it out of her system.

Maybe she wants what I do. Maybe she just wants to take a chance and see.

I have no idea, but I’m enjoying the fun we’re having, playfully pushing boundaries.

Like when she walked out here in my T-shirt last night.

I saw her take clothes into the bathroom, which means she decided to wear my shirt when she saw it hanging there.

Sure, it’s comfortable, but I know that’s not why she did it.

Now she’s lying in my arms wearing a shirt with my last name on it. There’s nothing hotter. And my dick has gotten the message. My hard-on is now pressing into her ass, and I’d be worried, but worst case, I can just pretend I’m asleep if she notices.

After a yawn, I pull her closer and close my eyes again, imagining what it would be like to act on my desires. Maybe I’ll drift off and dream about it.

Then Kennedy groans and pushes her ass into my rock-hard dick.

My heart stops for a second. Is she awake or asleep?

There’s no good way for me to find out without getting handsy—which I won’t ever do.

We’re not in a relationship, and I have no idea if she’d be comfortable with me touching her, so beyond where my arm is wrapped around her, I’ll keep my hands to myself.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, I relax and let this play out.

She groans again and rolls her perfect ass over my cock.

Don’t thrust your hips.

She whimpers, and I almost lose it.

Then she lets out a breathy “oh” and I actually think she might be awake.

My dick is painfully hard, and if she presses into it again, I’m worried I’ll come. Since I’m only wearing boxers, that would be evident, and I don’t want to make this awkward.

Leaning in toward her, I wrap my arm tighter around her waist. “Kennedy?”

She’s quiet for a moment, then slowly rolls over, blinking.

“Hi.”

“Morning,” I say, voice as thick as my cock which is still pressing against her.

She looks down.

Right at it.

Direct eye contact.

“Oh,” she says breathily.

“Uh, sorry.”

That’s right, I’m smooth as fuck.

Her eyes snap back to me, then she bites her fucking lip.

Christ .

“It’s fine. Happens, right?” She shrugs one shoulder, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of playfulness in her eyes. Was she rubbing against me on purpose?

I stare at her for a moment, my chest heaving with each breath as I fight the urge to kiss her, own those plush lips.

“If you say so.”

Our intense stare down continues for another beat. Then she smiles, tosses the covers off, and climbs out of bed. “I’ll get started on breakfast. Feel free to take care of that if you need to.”

She gives me a wily smile, then walks out of the room in nothing but my T-shirt and a tiny pair of boy shorts.

I lie back against the bed. Her catching me with a hard-on should’ve made me feel awkward, but it didn’t. Her lighthearted response, continuing to tease me, made me even harder.

I glance at the bedroom door, then down at my cock, but opt not to touch it here.

She could walk back in any second. Then I look over at the bathroom.

A second later, I’m flying out of bed, across the room, and into the bathroom.

Locking the door behind me, I make my way to the shower and turn it on.

As steam lifts into the air, I climb inside, water pelting me as I wrap my hand around my hard-as-stone cock.

Kennedy.

I’m shameless as I imagine her on her knees in front of me, lips wrapped around my shaft, my hand twisted in her hair as I fuck her mouth.

I thrust into my fist over and over again, replaying the noises I heard her make last night. Whimpers and moans.

Fuck.

I groan, gasping as I work my hand faster.

She’s all I can think about. What does she feel like? Taste like? What does she look like when she comes? I know what she sounds like, and it’s on repeat in my head.

Her soft ohs.

My abs constrict as I moan. A shiver runs up my spine and my balls tighten .

“Fuck. Fuck.” I run my thumb over my tip as I grunt, squeezing harder, until… “Kennedy.” Her name is loud and raspy, rolling off my lips as I come on the shower wall.

Bracing a hand on the wall in front of me, I let the water soak me as my heart pounds in my ears and I struggle to catch my breath.

If it feels that good imagining her, what would it feel like to be with her?

Don’t.

There’s no time for another hard-on right now.

Getting on with it, I finish my shower, get dressed, and head downstairs.

“Hey,” she says, as I walk into the kitchen and plop down on a stool. “Breakfast sandwiches are almost done. Are you… okay?”

Is she asking me if I fucked my hand?

Pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about, I ask, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I thought I heard you calling for me. I was worried maybe you needed something.” She says it with such a straight face, she has to know. She’s not that fucking innocent. Especially after what I heard yesterday. She knows.

She turns around and flips the eggs in the pan.

How do I answer that?

Yes. I needed you against the shower wall, water beating down on us as I fucked you from behind.

Then I smile, and I take a page out of her playbook. “No. I was just singing.”

She’s in the middle of flipping one of the eggs when I say it and she nearly drops it and the spatula. I’m wearing a cocky smile when she spins back to look at me, eyes wide.

“Singing?” she chokes out.

“Yeah. I guess we both like singing in the shower.”

Her eyes are massive and locked on me.

Still grinning, I hop off the stool, stroll around the counter, and flick the burner off, then croon the titular lines from Brett Young’s In Case You Didn’t Know.

Maybe it’s a little heavy-handed, but I do like the song.

She continues gaping at me until the toaster oven beeps. Then she turns her attention to getting the bagels out, buttering them, and assembling the sandwiches.

When she finishes adding the eggs, she turns and shoves a plate in my hand, then says, “Not Like I’m in Love With You.”

Now I’m staring at her with wide eyes.

She smiles devilishly. “It’s a song by Lauren Weintraub. My shower go-to.”

She turns and flits past me, plate in hand, and sits down at the island.

Damn, she’s good.

“That should be fine. I’ll be here anyway, so I can?—”

“Relax and enjoy yourself,” Gladys says sternly. “It’s your high school reunion. You will enjoy yourself.”

I’m sitting next to her at the check-in desk, talking through the details of the reunion next weekend. While our senior class president is in charge of the planning and logistics, since we’re holding the reunion here, we have to oversee the details.

Although, apparently, I’m not allowed to help.

“I know it’s my reunion, but?—”

“No buts. All you are going to worry about is having fun. Especially if it’s with a certain sweet brown-haired girl.”

Her gaze goes to the dining room where Kennedy is sitting, headphones on and typing away on her laptop.

“I second that,” a voice drawls.

Gladys and I both look up to see Justin standing there, bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

For as long as I’ve known him, he’s looked like a Greek god. Tall, muscular, sandy blond hair, and the kind of smile that melts a woman on the spot. Most women, anyway. A few have been impervious to his charms. Kennedy, for one.

The three of us were inseparable throughout college, and even after, when we all lived in New York together. I’m glad he flew out while Kennedy is in town.

“What are you doing here?” Gladys asks, utterly thrilled. “I thought you weren’t coming into town until next week.”

His grin grows as he strides over to the desk.

“Dev told me Kennedy came into town early, and since I don’t have another modeling job until mid-June, I decided to come early and see my besties.”

“Did you really just say besties? I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

“It’s a valid term. You are one of my besties.”

Gladys laughs.

“Don’t encourage him,” I tell her.

“Hush, you.”

“She likes me better,” he teases. “It’s the accent.”

Justin grew up and currently lives in Georgia.

Despite going to college in Chicago and then living in New York, he still oozes southern charm, and he knows how to use it.

His easy-going attitude and love for attention makes him a perfect model, which was something I recommended he try when he was looking for a job in college.

I’d been doing it since high school and had some connections.

It was the perfect career path for him, and he makes an excellent living doing it.

He found a home in the cover model industry and often appears on romance book covers.

A couple of years ago, he parlayed that into audiobook narration, voicing cowboys and southern small-town boys.

“And he spoils me,” Gladys says happily as Justin slides her three new books—all with his face on the cover. She flips one open and sees that it’s signed by the author. “Signed? You’re too good to me, honey. ”

“Never.”

“Suck up,” I cough.

“Shut up. Now, where’s my girl?”

I openly glare at him, and he laughs so boisterously his belly shakes.

“Aw man, you have it so bad for her. Are you finally going to man up and do something about it?”

Gladys laughs under her breath, and I sigh. I’m not in the mood to explain to either of them that I am doing something about it. Even if it’s not direct.

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” I nod toward the dining room. “She’s in there, but good luck. She’s in her own little world.”

He chuckles and pulls out his phone, quickly typing out a text and sending it. Then he holds it out to me so I can read it.

Will you get your nose out of your damn computer and come give me a hug?

A second later, there’s a smack as Kennedy’s headphones land on the table. She flies out of her chair and dashes across the room, leaping into Justin’s waiting arms.

Jealousy shouldn’t flare in my stomach at their hug. I know nothing would ever happen between them, but damn it, I’m jealous of anyone else touching her.

Fuck, Justin’s right. I have to man up and tell her how I feel.