Page 60 of Never the Same

Chapter Twenty-One

Reed

When I walked into the kitchen after my shower, the last thing I expected was for Hollis to be preparing food for both of us. Also . . . “You changed,” I breathed out, knowing there was some type of double meaning there I couldn’t tackle right now.

“You seemed to be uncomfortable around me in what I had on.” She turned toward me, armed with a butter knife covered in mayo. “I assume you’re not allergic to anything in your kitchen, or you wouldn’t have bought it, right?”

My shoulders relaxed, but my heartbeat didn’t seem ready to calm down. “No allergies.” I gave her a hesitant smile before stepping behind her, looking over her shoulder at what she was up to with my food.

She’d butchered the homemade sourdough bread Audrey had dropped off this morning, clearly using the wrong knife to cut it. Slices of turkey and cheese were on top of the bread. She was currently adding the mayo to the meat, instead of to the bread like I’d have done. That would’ve normally bothered me, but for some reason, it didn’t. She was trying, and the effort did something strange to me, like making that useless muscle in my chest—only good for keeping me alive—beat even faster.

“You didn’t have to change,” I said a few internal curses and two skipped heartbeats too late (I probably needed medical attention).

“I didn’t technically change. I just put on a shirt.” She looked back to catch my eyes. “Proper etiquette to wear a top while we eat together, yeah?”

“How about you always keep your top on when we do anything together?” My voice remained surprisingly measured despite the blood rushing from one head to the other, with her tongue now sliding across the seam of her mouth, just waiting to be caught between my teeth.

“You’re going to strain a muscle if you keep looking back at me.” Against my better judgment, I brought a hand to the nape of her neck. My palm slid up and around her soft skin to the front of her throat, skimming her sharp jawline, before gently urging her face to point toward the tragic sandwiches and away from me.

She dropped the knife and braced herself against the counter, slightly tilting her head like an invitation to keep my hand on her.

For the life of me, I couldn’t pull away. I set my other hand next to hers on the counter, then dragged my knuckles over her cheek before cupping her chin, resting my thumb over her mouth. She arched back, and that ass I ached to grab hold of went flush against my body.

At that moment, I forgot who I was. Forgot I was supposed to keep my distance and not fall for her. We were two souls in each other’s orbits. Her forgotten past and my horrible one were yesterday’s news. They didn’t exist. Just the here, the now.

“What are you doing?” To me. I left off those two key words from my question as my desire poured from my lips, my body, from every part of me. Melting right into her.

She couldn’t possibly get any closer with our clothes still on, but God help me, she tried. Wiggling her ass, like she was trying to absorb everything I had to give her, realizing I was in rare form.

She flicked her tongue out at my thumb. I kept it there anyway, wanting to feel the vibration of her words thrum into my skin when she finally answered me.

“I’m, um, just making sandwiches,” she finally answered.

My arm remained looped around her as she angled her head, offering me better access to her throat.

I held her just under her jawline, lightly squeezing, trying to stop myself from turning her head toward me again. To kiss her. Taste her. Have sex with her right here on this counter.

She trailed her fingers along my forearm down to my hand before squeezing like a request to hold her tighter.

When she covered my other hand on the counter and rotated her hips, she nearly obliterated what was left of my brain cells. I pressed my erection against her and growled a curse under my breath.

“Hollis,” I warned. Begged. Pleaded. Also, didn’t let go of her throat. I didn’t grip harder, either.

“This feels . . . right,” she whispered between breathy pauses while shimmying against me, her warm hands still covering both of mine. “You. Me. That’s all that makes sense.”

Don’t do this. Don’t. My conscience hollered out even more demands, and I ignored every single one of them, feeling like a man possessed.

She was never going to believe me now when I told her there was nothing between us. Why would she? I was about to take her in my kitchen, all because she looked so damn sexy making us sandwiches.

“Hollis,” I tried again. It’d probably help if I stopped holding her throat like I owned the words that came out of her mouth. The problem was? Old me could do exactly that. Make her cry out in ecstasy with my hand, tongue, or cock.

But she wasn’t herself right now, and more than ever, I couldn’t be my old one.

She lifted her hands, probably about to reposition them, and I took that as my chance to fight with everything I had in me to remove myself from temptation.

I unlocked my hand from her throat and staggered back, tearing my fingers through my damp hair, trying to regain some sense of control.

She slowly turned, forest-green eyes narrowed, a swirl of confusion there. I was damn grateful I hadn’t left a handprint on her throat. What had I been thinking?