Or so I think.

  I accept his rejection and have started to pull back when one of his hands curls around my nape, his fingers spiking into my hair. He tugs me against his insistent mouth and kisses me hard, his tongue sparring with mine.

  I don’t hold back.

  I tangle my tongue with his, climbing to my knees in front of him. He lifts one of my legs and encourages me to straddle him. I settle onto his lap as the thick ridge of his growing erection nestles against the inside of one of my thighs.

  I tear my mouth from his to catch my breath—a much-needed inhale. From where I sit, Dax’s chin is lifted and I’m on top of him looking down.

  “This why you’re here, Princess?”

  Yes. It is. I didn’t come here to feed him as much as I came here to devour him. I can’t resist him. I don’t want to be away from him. Since I’m a terrible liar, I answer with a jerky nod.

  “Can I interest you in dessert?” I ask.

  A laugh tumbles from his chest, further dampening my panties. What he does to me... It’s unfathomable.

  “You’re a helluva lot sweeter than those pancakes, babe.”

  I kiss his lips briefly, then veer to sample his neck, inhaling his scent as I do.

  “Mm, you taste good.” Clean, and he smells like that blue soap guys always use.

  He sucks in a sharp breath as I continue placing open-mouthed kisses on his throat. He likes this.

  “I have an idea,” I whisper into his ear. I fist the hem of his T-shirt and shove it up, revealing his wide, beautiful chest. I kiss my way over his pecs, along his ribs, and to his belly button, until I’m on my knees on the floor.

  “Like your idea already.” He’s leaning back but also coiled—fists balled, nostrils flared. Even his voice is strained. The ridge I felt when I rode his jeans is larger from this vantage point. I look him right in the eyes and lick my lips. His hips buck.

  Oh, yeah. I’m going to enjoy this.

  “Princess.” It’s nothing short of a growl.

  “Yes, my liege?” I bat my eyelashes as I unloop his thick leather belt and carefully slide his zipper aside to reveal several inches of happiness pointing straight up. “No briefs tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” he manages. Barely.

  “Tell you what, Dax.” I reach for a pillow and wedge it under my knees, my arms resting comfortably over his big thighs. “The only words you need to say from here on out are ‘more,’ ‘don’t stop,’ and your favorite swear word.”

  “Fuck,” comes his rumbled response.

  “Sounds like you’re ready.” Without any further teasing, I lick the head of his cock and take him inch by inch into my mouth until my lips hit the root.

  Then the fun begins.

  Chapter 14

  Dax

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I stopped saying it aloud since I can’t enunciate at the moment. Not with Becca between my legs licking me like her favorite ice-cream cone.

  She’s not in a hurry, either. She’s going so slow that my brain has melted and oozed out of my ears. There’s nothing rattling around in my head. My body’s just a mangle of sensations. Her hot, wet mouth, the attention her tongue pays to the ridge around the tip of my cock, the way her hands massage my balls.

  She takes me deep, then lets up. Cool air chills my damp flesh before she takes me all the way in again, until the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat.

  “Fuuuuuck.” It’s strangled, but I manage one more. Hands on her head, I attempt to lift her off—I’m seriously close to going over—but she’s not stopping. Her fingers continue dancing around my sack as she picks up the pace.

  And now I can’t breathe.

  “Princess,” I pant. “Babe.”

  She continues her work as my balls pull up, and a tingle at the head of my dick warns me I have few precious seconds left to stop her.

  “Becca.”

  She doesn’t even slow down.

  I’ve never thought of myself as possessing superhuman strength, but that’s exactly what it takes to put my hands on her shoulders, pry her off my hard-on, and get my knees working well enough to stand. As I’m ripping my jeans off my legs, Becca sits on her knees, prettily swiping the corners of her mouth with her delicate fingers. I swear to God I nearly blow right then.

  I blink. Hard. Then open my eyes to find her still on her knees, looking up at me and biting her lip. She looks like every fucking fantasy I’ve ever had.

  “On the couch, Princess. Ass in the air.”

  Her eyes widen with interest. I fish a condom out of the pocket of my jeans. As I roll it on, she strips out of her dressy clothes, but I only let her go as far as her underwear before I wrap my hand around her thong and pull her back against my front.

  Pressing my erection against her butt, I put my lips to her ear. “Say it.”

  “Yes,” she breathes.

  I rip her panties free and toss them aside. The moment she rests one knee on the couch, I join her and enter from behind in one long, smooth, mind-melting thrust.

  She grips the arm of the couch, and I let her get one more knee beneath her before I stroke into her again. I free her of her bra next, reaching around to fondle rose-tipped nipples with one hand. I use the other to clutch onto her hip while I slide in deep again.

  And again.

  She cries out in pleasure and utters another “yes” for me before her breathy request of “faster” almost floors me. I can go faster.

  “Harder?” I ask.

  “Harder. Faster.” She drops her head, arches her back.

  “Hang on, gorgeous,” I warn, but she turns her face to the side to make sure I see her smile.

  Absolutely. Missed. That smile.

  I do as she requests. Harder, faster. When I’ve pushed myself to the brink and notice she’s not there yet, I find her clit and massage with my fingertips until she gives me another barrage of “yeses.” I’d love a “Yes, Dax,” but beggars can’t be choosers.

  She’s squeezing me from within, her fists clawing at the cushions, though she’s unable to get a grip on the leather. She knocks off pillows and writhes to the sound of her own shouts of pleasure.

  Only then do I give in. Embedded deep, I come hard. The slap of her ass against the fronts of my thighs make my release that much better and last a helluva lot longer than I thought possible.

  I finish us off and slide my hand around to her breasts, giving each nipple a gentle tweak.

  When I pull out, it’s to the tune of Becca’s sated exhale. She slides from ass in the air to flat on her belly on the couch.

  “Wow,” comes her muffled praise.

  No shit.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t worry,” I hear her say as I pace to the bathroom. “I can’t.”

  “So this is becoming a habit.” Becca’s draped over my body. My back is flat on the couch and I’m wearing her like a blanket. She’s naked, and I didn’t bother with clothes either, so she’s wearing an actual blanket she yanked off the bed.

  “That didn’t sound like a complaint.” I smooth my hands over her back and hug her tight against me. I like her here. Right here. I mean, yeah, I like the sex. The BJ is enough of a reason to beg her to stay, but this—her in my arms and the soft scent of her perfume in my nostrils—is somehow better.

  Which is unbelievable, because that was some blow job.

  “It’s not a complaint.” She doesn’t say any more, and for a long while we lie here, my hands stroking her back, until our hearts beat in sync.

  My cellphone buzzes. Then buzzes again. Then once more. I turn my head in the direction of the phone, face down and half out of one of the pockets of my jeans.

  “Need to check that?”

  “I don’t know what I could do for whoever that is.”

  She slides off me, dragging the blanket with her, and grabs my phone.

  “Peggy.” Becca hands it over as I sit upright. “She’s insistent.”

  I take the phone as it buzzes with two more texts from my mom. “What can I say? She’s been on my ass since birth. Can’t convince her to leave me alone.”

  “Your mom?” Becca guesses as I swipe the screen.

  “Yes, she is.” I scroll through the texts. The first one says, Forgot to send you the pics from earlier today, and the following five—now six—texts are photos of her flowers. I hand the phone to Becca.

  “They’re beautiful. She has quite the green thumb.”

  “I’m glad she has hobbies.”

  “What was your dad like?”

  I train my gaze on her, but all she does is wait for my response. I guess getting personal and talking about the past is a thing we do now.

  “He was outdoorsy. Loved to fish, hunt, camp, and take care of the acres of land my parents live on. He had a stroke last year and slid downhill from there.”

  She doesn’t say she’s sorry, but she doesn’t have to. She snuggles close and covers me with the blanket, cocooning me with her. I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

  “How old was your dad?”

  “Sixty.”

  “Young.”

  “Too soon,” I mutter. Because it was.

  “Did he play football too?”

  “Not like I did. He played a little in high school. He could throw a ball. Graduated OSU, which meant he was a huge Buckeyes fan.”

  “I bet he loved when you were on the team.”

  Warmth floods my chest at the memory. “He came to every game. And those were Saturdays he could’ve been hunting, fishing, and camping.”

  She hums while I tell her a story about the time my friend Barrett and I teamed up to score a winning touchdown against Michigan State.

  “I bet you were one sexy linebacker.”

  “Tight end.”

  “I have evidence that you have one fine tight end,” she teases.

  I trap her beneath me, a mountain of comforter between us.

  “Where are you staying tonight, Becca Stone?” At home, I’m guessing. I don’t want her to go home. I can’t think of a single reason for her to leave.

  She swipes her fingers along my cheek and loses her smile. If there was a line, I just overstepped it.

  “Back to my brother’s. I have my own room now, so that’s a plus.” She touches my bottom lip, her eyes flicking to my mouth. “I’m not the staying type, Dax.”

  “I’m not the ask-you-to-stay type,” I admit.

  Fear freezes her face into an uncertain wince. Not what a guy wants to see when he invites a woman to stay.

  I sit up, taking her with me, and then wrap her tight in the blanket. I grab the remote, because if the other option is that I keep talking about myself and she offers nothing in return, I’d rather not talk at all.

  Hell, what is there to talk about if she’s on her way out the door again?

  “Hate to point this out, Princess, but someone should.”

  She stiffens like I just confessed I was a serial killer and my ax was under the couch.

  “If this is sex and pancakes”—I toss the remote aside without turning on the TV—“or showers and quesadillas, then there aren’t a lot of conversations that need to happen.” I turn my head to find her chewing on her cheek in thought. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “You want to get to know me, or do you want to fuck me and then leave? Pick one.”

  Heat seeps into her gaze, and it’s not the sexy kind that will end with us sharing a bed tonight.

  She’s pissed.

  I, for one, don’t care if she’s pissed. I’m glad she’s committing to an emotion. The ambivalence isn’t only lazy; it’s also disingenuous.

  “I can guess what you’d choose.” She tosses the blanket off her shoulders but isn’t able to disentangle herself from it before I catch her up in the folds.

  “No. You don’t know what I choose. You never asked.”

  Her nostrils flare as she sucks in an irritated breath.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want me to ask you what you want,” I tell her. “I don’t think you know.”

  She shakes out of my grip and, still partially concealed by the blanket, drags on her clothes in jerky motions.

  “Yeah, well, I do know, but you don’t want to hear it. And like every guy who came before you, you want me to promise that I’ll be loyal, but it’s not like you’ll give me the same assurance.” She pulls on a sandal and wobbles while she balances on one foot to pull on the second. Then she throws my jeans at me.

  I catch them an inch from my face and stuff my legs into them. In the kitchen she angrily throws ingredients into the shopping bag she brought.

  “I came over to spend time with you because I wanted to see you. I hoped you wanted to see me,” she says.

  “I did. I do,” I say, buttoning my jeans. She storms past me.

  “I don’t know what you expect from me! Isn’t pancakes and a blow job enough?”

  Her question shocks me into silence. Because, God in heaven, shouldn’t it be? My life is in Ohio and hers is here. I’m visiting for a limited time, and she’s been here for months and isn’t willing to put down roots. A no-strings fling during vacation should be utopia. Ask any guy if he wants pancakes and a blow job and I promise you he’ll say yes to both. Simultaneously.

  Becca’s eyebrows draw down over her nose as her mouth flattens into an angry line. Trepidation shakes her arm as she jerks the bag onto her shoulder. She doesn’t want my honest answer.

  She’s getting an answer anyway.

  “You bet your sweet ass it isn’t enough, Princess. Question is, are you brave enough to do something about it?”

  Chapter 15

  Becca

  If my brain had a transcript, it would read something like “Uhhhh...”

  When it comes to guys demanding more from me, I don’t have a lot of experience.

  “We don’t have to have a natural disaster for you to admit you want to hang.” Dax stands sentinel over me while my tongue is tied in a double knot.

  When he puts it that way, it does sound ridiculous. What am I hiding from?

  His thick eyebrows lift. “You leaving?”

  It’s a dare. I can hear it in the gruffness of his tone. And yet I don’t feel the least bit threatened. I’m challenged, though. By his words as much as by what’s behind them. Am I brave enough to step up and take what I want?

  “I’m leaving.” When his stubborn jaw goes rigid, I explain. “I’ve had a long day. My bed is waiting for me. My fancy face soap is waiting for me.”

  He tilts his head. I can tell he’s smiling on the inside, even if his signature smirk hasn’t made an appearance yet.

  “But if this is a sincere invitation,” I say, wrapping my fingers around the bag’s handles and stepping closer to him, “then I won’t say no to coming back.”

  He uncrosses his arms, which I take as a sign that he’s no longer upset with me. He confirms that suspicion with “Tomorrow—do you work?”

  I nod.

  “Bring a bag. Your fancy face stuff. Clothes you can wear in the wilderness.” His gaze rakes appreciatively over my nine-to-five outfit. “You’re welcome here as long as you want.”

  A surge of excitement engulfs me. I’m coming back. I’m staying as long as I want. I know I should be more scared than excited, but I can’t help it.

  “No longer interested in spending time alone?”

  “No, Princess, you seem to have changed that.” Finally, his smirk arrives. It’s gone in a blink.

  “I’ll cook.”

  “Won’t argue with you there.”

  “Why do you want me here?” I can’t help asking.

  “Because I’ve felt like dog shit for the last year. Hell, the last couple of years. No one has clicked with me. No one wanted to. You make me feel good. Great. Epic. Phenomenal. I’m trying my damnedest to make you feel the same way.”

  Is it me, or did a trickle of hurt seep into the hard planes of his face?

  “You do.” I don’t hesitate to tell him that—he absolutely makes me feel all of those things, and he should know.

  “I brought you home for night one, Becca, but you were the one who came to me on night two.”

  “Dax—”

  “Tomorrow.” He ducks his head and places a kiss on my forehead. “Tomorrow you’re coming back to me.”

  That’s the ends our conversation.

  He opens the door for me to leave. I leave.

  I guess that’s that.

  WEDNESDAY

  I spot Dax as I’m slowly driving down cabin 7’s driveway the next morning. He’s standing on the front porch, a steaming cup of coffee resting in front of him on the railing’s edge.

  I’m on a similar edge—I want to go to him, cozy up, and stay here until he heads back. I’m also tempted to cut and run.

  The battle waged on in my head after I left his cabin, which made for a practically sleepless night. Indecision also tormented me for a good part of my morning while I packed an overnight bag. I hesitated before adding two extra outfits, zipping the bag closed, and accepting my fate.

  I want to be here.

  I admire Dax’s strong forearms leading down to hands braced on the railing. He’s wearing jeans and a tee with an open flannel over top, and I have to laugh. I packed a similar wardrobe.

  Such is life in the sticks.

  I climb out of my car, which I parked beside his Jeep, and then move to the back door to gather my stuff. A moment later, my host is at my side, hand extended.

  I give him my overnight bag and a shopping bag full of food, since I planned a few meals. No questions asked, he takes the straps of both bags in one hand and holds out the other, his eyes surveying with sharp approval the number of bags I have with me.

  I packed for the week. It’s obvious.

  “That it, Princess?” he asks, both hands full.

  I pull my purse over my shoulder and grab my makeup bag. “That’s everything.”

  He hefts the load inside, holding the screen door for me even though I’m the one carrying the lightest bags.