I groan.
Everything is going to be fine, Maddison. Chill. Taking one more peek in the floor-length mirror behind the door, I smooth my sweater down, and fix any fly-away hairs, then walk back out of my bedroom into the kitchen, where Briggs is leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone.
When I walk through the doorway, he glances up, his eyes traveling down my body before holding my eyes again.
“Ready to eat?” My words come out in a squeak, and he laughs, low and raspy.
“Yes, whenever you are. I poured you some wine.”
“Thank you.”
I make his plate, then mine, and we sit across from each other at the table. Briggs immediately digs in, not once bringing up the real reason I asked him over for dinner.
“Christ, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” He groans around his fork full of lasagna. “Well… almost.”
His eyes twinkle with innuendo, and I feel myself blushing under his gaze.
“Thank you. It’s my nana’s recipe. I think it’s been passed down for three generations now. Honestly, I love to cook, and I don’t get to often enough because of work, and this tiny kitchen.”
“It’s amazing.”
I take a large gulp of my wine, hoping that it will take some of the edge off, and before I know it, my glass is empty, and I’m feeling slightly more loose. Before I lose my courage, I speak, trying not to even think about it.
“I’d like to try things… slowly.”
Briggs looks up, catching my eyes, and the corner of his mouth tugs up slowly. He sets his fork down quietly, before clasping his hands together under his chin. “Gonna need you to elaborate, Mads.”
My cheeks burn as I swallow down my nerves. “This. Us. Together. You’re right. I want to give it a chance. I just think we should probably take things slowly. Get to know each other better, since we only spent a weekend together when Olive was conceived.”
“An amazing weekend,” he says.
It was, which is part of the reason I am open to exploring whatever it was that sparked between us.
I nod. “It was. What you said the other day… about not being able to forget about it? I couldn’t either. Even during my pregnancy and after what happened… I didn’t. Even though I should’ve at the time.”
Reaching out, he gently takes my hand in his. His palm is warm, and considerably less clammy than mine, and for the first time tonight, I feel my nerves easing.
“I will never hurt you or Olive, Maddison, and I’ll prove that to you, if you let me, every day, baby.”
Baby.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my emotions from spilling out, I take another bite of lasagna, while Briggs pours me another glass of wine.
After dinner, he clears the table and puts everything in the dishwasher. I tried to help, but he insisted I enjoy my wine since I cooked. Three glasses in, and now I’m wondering what I was so nervous about in the first place.
I’m leaning against the doorframe, my head resting on the wood as I watch him clean up. Maybe it’s the wine, after not being able to have any, or maybe it’s just because that’s who Briggs is… he’s intoxicating. Raw masculinity, and I’m learning that under all of his exterior, he’s thoughtful and intentional.
The opposite of the man he used to be, or at least that’s the way it seems. More disciplined.
“I can feel your eyes on me from all the way over here,” he says hoarsely. When he turns around and our eyes lock, I feel it in my core.
“Just observing.”
Tossing the dishrag down on the counter, he walks toward me. Slowly. Until he’s right in front of me. So close I can smell the clean, woodsy scent of his body wash, and my breath quickens.
“Hmm. Wanna share those observations, Mads?”
I shake my head, bringing the wine glass back to my lips, enjoying this entirely too much for just having said I wanted to take things slowly. Briggs places his hands on each side of the doorframe behind me then leans in, not touching me, but close enough that I can inhale and feel him.
He has a way of calming me, the way the quiet eye of a hurricane would pass through even during the most chaotic of storms, yet somehow, only moments later, he has my heart racing in a way I haven’t felt since the night I spent in his arms.
“How about you tell me why you were so nervous earlier?”
I scoff quietly. “Me? Nervous? Never.”
Briggs smirks and, instead of answering, I drain the last sip of my wine and press the glass against his chest teasingly. The wine has my blood buzzing, and I feel more confident. Less nervous. More like the old me.
“It feels a lot like a first date is all. First dates are scary.”
“A first date? Maddison, I’ve spent an entire night buried inside your pussy, I think we’re past the first date.”
His words are filthy, and they cause my core to throb, like the traitor she is. Briggs leans in closer, running his nose along the sensitive spot on my jaw that has me sucking in a sharp breath. He takes the wine glass from my hand and sets it beside him, close to the counter, without ever breaking eye contact.
“We’re supposed to be taking things slow, remember?” I whisper.
“Mhm, I do.”
I feel his lips right there, right under the spot that he ran his tongue along before. The same spot that had me arching against him as he sank inside of me.
“Briggs, I need to tell you something.” My voice is nothing but a whisper.
He pulls back, his steel eyes locking with mine, and for a moment, the only sound is our labored breathing. The tension so thick it seems to suck all of the air from the room, leaving me desperate to breathe again.
To breathe him in.
“I need to kiss you, Maddison, right now,” he pants.
Every second that passes, it feels like my body is on fire. Starting at my toes, the burn seems to spread like wildfire.
Then we’re crashing together like we’ve both been in a drought without the rain. My confession that was on the tip of my tongue dies down as Briggs pulls me to him, and my arms slide around his neck into the thick hair at his nape. He kisses me hard and slides his tongue inside my mouth as I open, silently begging for more. My hands travel from his hair to the dark sweater on his shoulders, fisting in the soft material as I try and pull him closer to me. I feel his hands slide down my sides, past my hips to my ass, as he hauls me up against the door. My legs lock around his waist as he angles my jaw to plunge his tongue deeper, stealing the breath from my lungs.
It happens so quickly, I blink, and suddenly were mauling each other like teenagers, but the dull ache between my thighs, only seems to worsen with each second his mouth is hot against my skin. His tongue, skillful as ever, traces a fiery path down my throat as he nips at the skin, causing me to arch from the door, leaning against him.
Somehow in the hazy fog of lust that’s taken over my brain, I manage to break away and suck in a lungful of air as he kisses down my throat to the deep V of my t-shirt.
Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the raging hormones that have seemingly taken over my body since having Olive, but I want more. I need more. I need him.
“More,” I pant when his fingers brush over my taut nipples, straining against the material of my bra.