Sweet Alibi (39 page)

“Vixen.”

She giggled and shot me a grin around her back. She knew exactly what she was doing.
 

“You wanna play that game, baby?” I stepped up behind her and brushed my hips lightly against her ass. I trailed a hand down the expanse of her back, feeling each and every dip and curve in her spine. Finally, my hand trailed across the curve of her bottom and I grabbed both of her hips in my hands and pulled her harder into me. I rotated my hips suggestively, my cock running the length of her cheeks. It felt so fucking good to relieve the pent up pressure. She moaned and rocked softly back into me.
 

My eyes fluttered closed and I relished her body pressed tightly to mine before running my hand up and underneath her shirt to connect with her skin. I pressed my fingertips into her spine and worked my way up her back before moving down again to land at the hollow.
 

So fucking soft. Sweet. Intoxicating. She had me in every way there was to be had.
 

“Tristan,” she moaned my name and my brain fogged up with lust. I gritted my teeth together as my dick begged me to ram into her at full force, while my head reminded me that she’d wanted to take it slow.
 

But my dick argued that we had been taking it slow.
Very
fucking slow.
 

But Georgia needed to be in control of the dance we had been doing the last few weeks.
 

She’d never been in control of her life until now, so I wasn’t about to take that away from her. My fingertips dug into the soft flesh at her hips before I dragged my body away from hers.
 

I stepped back and ran my palm over my face and through my hair, giving it a frustrated tug.
 

“Fuck,” she whispered as she bent at the knees and supported herself on a hand on the floor.
 

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I need a shower.”

“Me too.” She stood and sucked in a quick breath to catch her bearings.
 

“Georgia,” I groaned. “You can’t say shit like that.” I gritted my teeth together and clenched my fist in my hair.
 

“Sorry.” She frowned, but a flirty glint lit her eyes.
 

Such a vixen.
 

“You need a minute? Or can we get on with it?” She tilted her head with a flirty grin. I wanted desperately to tell her I was so ready to get on with it: in my bed, on the floor, against the wall, in the shower. Definitely in the shower—rivulets of water streaming down her body, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her hips.
 

I huffed in exasperation. “So, pink . . . salmon . . . it is.” I lifted a roller in defeat.
 

“I thought you’d see it my way.” She grinned and turned back to the paint tray.
 

“You seduced me,” I mumbled before dragging the roller through the fresh paint and putting the first lick of pink on the wall.
 

* * *

I glanced around the room and took in the bright paint color she’d insisted on putting on my walls. Last time I relinquished power to this vixen
ever
. It looked good, brighter than I would have picked, and striking against the white trim of the house.
 

Georgia and I curled up on my couch, watching an old movie. Well, she was watching; I was busy snuggling into her hair and inhaling her vanilla scent, which drove me to distraction. I was also trying like hell to keep from distracting her with my hard-on. It was torture, being pressed to the curve of her body, but it was the sweetest torture imaginable. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I slid my hand down her torso, my fingertips stroking dangerously close to the swell of her breast.
 

“Hey,” she murmured and pushed my hand away.
 

“Can’t blame me.” I nuzzled deeper into her ear and snagged her earlobe with my teeth.
 

“We’re taking it slow,” she reminded me.
 

“Tortuously slow,” I groaned into her ear.
 

“Calm your raging sexual appetite.” She squirmed in my arms and made the torture that much more unbearable.
 

“Impossible when you’re in the room.”

“Try harder,” she whimpered when I skimmed my hand up her stomach and brushed the underside of her breast with my thumb. My brain fogged over as a moan escaped her throat. She rolled over into me and I adjusted myself, relaxing on my elbow, hovering above her delicious form. My other hand slid up to cup the soft flesh of her neck, my thumb whispering along her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed as her breathing picked up, her chest heaving.
 

This was it. Could I have her? Right now? Could I drive her to the point of no return?

Maybe.
 

Did she want it? Right now? Was she ready?

“Georgia,” I murmured in her ear.
 

“Hmm?” she answered softly as she pressed her soft body into mine.
 

“Spend Thanksgiving in Jacksonville with me.” I flicked her earlobe with my tongue. She froze in place, her breathing halted, before her eyes opened. Her eyebrows scrunched together.
 

“You want me to come home with you?”
 

“Yeah.”

I watched the thoughts fly through her brain. I knew she was dissecting my words, trying to figure out what they meant. What it meant if she said yes.
 

“Okay,” she finally relented, a small smile lifting her lips.
 

“Okay,” I repeated before brushing my thumb along her full, lower lip. I bent down and touched it with my own lips in a soft kiss. I kissed from corner to corner, rubbing her jaw line gently with my thumb before I pressed a little harder, needier, asking for more. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her body into mine, her tongue licked my bottom lip, asking for entry. I opened and our tongues worked together languidly. I reached a hand up and under her sweater and caressed the soft skin at her hip and around her waist. I teased and nipped at her lips, relishing the satin of her skin under my fingertips. She threaded both hands in my hair and urgently pulled my head closer.
 

She was saying yes. She wanted more. She moaned and writhed underneath me, like I’d been dreaming the past few months. We’d taken things slowly. We’d been hanging out for a few weeks and this was the furthest we’d gotten. I was painfully hard as I thrust my hips into her, dry humping her on the couch like a teenager.

I groaned and sucked her lower lip between my own as I pulled away. She was going to have to work harder than this.
 

“Taking it slow, remember?” I pulled away and flashed her that lopsided grin that left her eyes hooded with lust. She narrowed her browns at me and a scowl crossed her face.
 

“Right.” She pushed herself up from couch and landed a palm on my chest, pushing me back from her. I grinned wider because she was so cute when she was angry and sexually frustrated.
 

“Your terms.” I shrugged one shoulder and settled back in the couch.
 

“Yep,” she murmured as she straightened herself out.

Thirty-Eight
Tristan

“I’m nervous.” Georgia bounced in the seat of my Jeep. It was two days before Thanksgiving and we were just a few short blocks from my childhood home.
 

“Don’t be. My dad’s laid back.”

“But what if I screw up the turkey? What if he doesn’t like my pumpkin pie? So much to live up to,” she moaned next to me.
 

“Most holidays, we eat out, so this will be a monumental step up.” I clasped her knee to prevent her from shaking it.

“Charlie's nervous too. All that panting, huh, boy?” She turned and gave my dog a scratch behind his ears and a nuzzle into the fur of his neck. He licked across her cheek and she giggled. It was the best noise I’d ever heard.
 

“His breath is about to knock me out,” I complained.
 

“Shh, he can hear, ya know.” She covered both of his ears with her hands. I rolled my eyes at her as the grin spread across my lips. So adorably fucking cute.
 

Her phone dinged with a text. She fished it out of her purse as I watched her out of the corner of my eye. A frown marred her beautiful face and she sucked her lip between her teeth. I pulled into the driveway of the small, suburban Cape Cod where I'd grown up.
 

“Everything okay?” I rubbed her thigh with my hand, hoping to ease the worry on her face.
 

Her eyes darted to mine and a bevy of emotions flicked through their brown depths. “Yeah.” She tried her best to fake a smile, but I could read right through it. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to meet your dad.” She hopped out of the car. I stood up and narrowed my eyes at her. She was definitely hiding something, but her eyes avoided mine as she shuffled through her big-ass purse for something. I let Charlie out of the backseat and made my way around the car to her.
 

I rested a hand on her lower back. “You sure everything's okay?” I dipped my head to catch her eyes with mine.
 

“Mhmm,” she hummed without meeting my eyes. I heaved a sigh and grabbed both of our bags before escorting her into the house.
 

* * *

The next morning, Georgia’s alarm went off much earlier than any sane person should ever get up and she hauled my ass out of bed to start the turkey. We were sharing a bed at my dad’s house, but that’s all we were doing. My dad had told embarrassing stories the night before—he was always chatty when company was over; too chatty for my liking. He regaled Georgia with stories of when I was eight and fell out of a tree and had to get my arm casted. And when I goosed the babysitter when I was eleven and was forced to apologize. She’d laughed hysterically at that and I’d only shrugged. The sexual prowess that had rolled off me from a young age couldn’t be contained. She’d socked me in the shoulder for that one and before she could lean away, I’d pressed her lips to mine in a kiss. She froze and then shoved me away with an indulgent smile.
 

So here I was at four in the morning, basting a turkey while Georgia fluttered around me. How could she be so fucking awake at this hour? I was dragging ass all over the place. Finally, she leaned down and slid the bird into the oven. On her way back up, I wrapped my arms around her waist and skimmed my nose along the line of her neck.
 

“Back to bed,” I murmured.
 

“We have to be up in a few hours to baste again.” She wrapped her arms around my own, which were locked at her waist.
 

“I just want you to myself today.”

“Can’t leave people hungry on Thanksgiving.” I heard the smile in her voice.
 

“I won’t go hungry.” I thrust my hips into her ass and nipped at the flesh of her neck.
 

“You are relentless,” she murmured as she turned in my arms and pressed her lips to mine. I kissed her and ran my hands up her back, pressing her body into mine, feeling every curve and dip.

“I wish you were naked right now,” I murmured against her lips.
 

“You're a hornball,” she mumbled between kisses.
 

“Your fault for making me wait. It’s torture not being inside you,” I muttered.

I heard her breath hitch at my words. “You wouldn’t in your dad’s kitchen.”

“I definitely
would
in my dad’s kitchen.” I eased her back against the counter and captured her lips with mine. She wove her fingers in my hair as our tongues tangled together.

“Bedroom.” She finally pulled away. I lifted her into my arms and she wrapped her legs around my hips without a word. I carried her down the hall and laid her out on the bed beneath me before pressing her lips to my own and thrusting my hips against hers. So fucking soft and smooth, her scent surrounding me, her hair fanned out on the white sheets—I wanted her so fucking bad, I couldn’t see straight.
 

“Can I have a minute?” She pulled away.
 

“Okay.” I watched her as she gave me one last peck and crawled out from beneath me. She trotted to the bathroom and I lay back on the bed to wait for her. I was so keyed up, my bloodstream hummed with need for her. I didn’t know how much longer I could take things slow. I was just hoping she would break soon because if she didn’t, I would. There was only so much a man could take, and I knew what it felt like to be buried inside her.
 

I fucking needed it.
 

I needed her.
 

I groaned and tossed my arm over my eyes as I waited. If she didn’t hurry up, I would need to take things into my own hands, which probably wouldn’t be a bad idea, considering I would probably be a two-pump chump when I finally was deep inside her again. I settled back into the pillow and waited.
 

* * *

“You should have woken me up.” I smacked her on the ass as she was setting the table later that day. Dad was plopped in front of the TV watching football, and Georgia and I were getting together the last few things for dinner.