The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (37)

“You can’t do that to me.” She followed on my heels.

I sat on the sofa and resumed eating my taco. “Do what?” I mumbled, slowly chewing.

Eve parked her hands on her hips. “Tease me. I will not be toyed with like a cat. You can’t say that and not kiss me.”

God, she was even more beautiful when she was mad. Her pink cheeks and the determination in her dark brown eyes tried to unravel me.

“It was just an idea,” I said, watching the TV. “Talking out loud. Like should I go fishing or hunting? Then I think over the pros and cons of each and make a decision.”

“You didn’t give me a say in the matter.”

I swallowed and licked my lips, shifting my attention to her. “Sorry. What say you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest but didn’t speak.

My heart raced because whether or not it was a good idea, I knew she’d let me do just about anything to her. And that made my mind go in directions it didn’t need to go. It was a war between my fleeting rational thoughts and my dick that wanted me to let things happen, fuck the consequences.

“You’re getting in over your head,” I said, shifting the blame to her. I was fine, completely in control.

Liar.

I was the wolf, the hunter.

Eve was my prey, and I was giving her time to run.

But she didn’t have a bone of self-preservation in her body. Eve didn’t just gravitate toward trouble, she was trouble.

For three full seconds, I felt like my self-control was winning because her hands fell to her sides as she deflated. But in the next breath, she shrugged off her hoodie and then her T-shirt.

Fuuuck …

Her tan skin flushed, but she kept going despite her visible nerves. And I didn’t stop her.

Not when she removed her jeans.

Not when she stepped closer to me, so close that I had to spread my knees to let her stand between them. The women in the magazines under my mattress didn’t hold a candle to Eve.

My hands remained at my sides on the sofa's edge while hers threaded through my hair. I curled my fingers into the sofa to keep them from touching her. But I wanted to unhook her bra and slide her thin, white cotton underwear down her long, toned legs.

Eve’s nearly naked body shredded my common sense. My nose brushed the hollowed space between her cleavage. She smelled like flowers and sweet spice. Responsibility lurked over my shoulder like a good little angel.

I slid my hands up the back of her legs, pausing when she drew in a sharp inhale. But then her fingers curled, tugging my hair, bringing my face closer so that my lips grazed her breast over her bra.

Teetering on a razor’s edge of control, I slid my right hand into her panties and palmed her butt.

She buried her face into my hair, kissing my head.

There was only one problem. Well, there were many problems, but my waning sense of responsibility focused on the most immediate one: I didn’t have a condom.

Not a single, fucking condom in the entire house.

But my dick was so hard that my irrational mind played the bartering game. Maybe I didn’t need a condom.

You need a fucking condom!

We could just kiss. Yeah, that’s what we would do.

I leaned back and guided her to straddle my lap. That seemed like the smartest position to just kiss.

“I won’t be anyone’s regret,” Eve said, teasing her fingers down my neck.

“Not kissing you is the only thing I would ever regret,” I whispered, ghosting my lips over her cheek, dancing around the point of no return.

“What are you waiting for?” she murmured.

“Just taking my time. We only get one first kiss.” I teased her earlobe with my teeth while both of my hands breached her underwear, gripping her perfect ass— a bad idea.

She rubbed herself along my erection—the worst idea.

I rested my forehead on her shoulder and watched as she worked her pelvis back and forth over the bulge in my jeans. I was so damn mesmerized, tightening my grip on her ass to guide her. Her fingers dug into my upper back.

We needed to stop.

I couldn’t stop. I was dying. So, I tortured myself by keeping my left hand on her bare ass while my right moved between us. I teased my fingertips along her inner thigh before snagging the crotch of her panties, pushing it to the side so her flesh rubbed along my denim. I wanted to see how wet she was for me, and I was hellbent on killing myself.

Eve paused her motions and leaned back, lust-filled eyes finding mine. As she wet her lips, her delicate fingers unbuttoned my jeans.

Stop her.

She eyed me the whole time as if she were silently asking permission.

Stop her.

As she started to pull down my zipper, I framed her face in my hands. She froze as we stared at each other, our lips a mere breath from touching.

“Eve,” I whispered while grinning.

Her smile mimicked mine, face flushed, wayward strands of hair teasing her eyelashes that fluttered shut as I kissed her for the first time.

I felt ten years younger. The hottest girl in school was straddling my lap with her tongue teasing mine and ribbons in her hair. The perfect mix of naughty and nice.

Everything inside me buzzed with need. I wanted to kiss her harder and deeper, but I didn’t. She deserved my patience, after all, I had no clue what I was doing or where things were going between us. But I liked kissing her, and I liked pretending that it was okay to touch her. Before it ended, she reached behind her to unhook her bra.