“Who?”
He pulls me into his chest, laughing. “There it is.”
“What?”
“Your tragic flaw. I knew you were too good to be true, Gemma Wilde.”
“You think that’s my tragic flaw? Have you forgotten how we met?”
He pulls back and plants a light kiss on my forehead, smiling for the first time since stepping into this damp, dark, extremely not-sex-cavish basement.
“Fair enough. And to answer your question, no. My store is a place, and you are a person. A very weird person sometimes, but I think that’s why I love you.”
My heart stops.
Completely.
It ceases to beat inside my chest until my brain catches up and processes his confession.
“You love me?”
He lets out a long breath as if his lungs were suffering from the same momentary malfunction as my heart.
“It wasn’t supposed to slip out quite like that. I probably should have made it way more romantic, but yes. I do. I love you, Gemma.”
He doesn’t move toward me. Instead, he teeters on his toes as if he isn’t entirely sure how this will go.
This is a big deal. A huge deal. Dax dated his last girlfriend for almost four months, and he never once uttered those perfect three words.
He loves me. And although I’ve suspected? Hoped? Sent intentions out into the universe that he hopefully feels the same overwhelming emotion that’s overtaken any rational thought these last few weeks? It still feels wonderful to hear it out loud.
“I love you too, Daxon B. I have for a long time.”
My confession is enough for Dax to take a step forward, although his arms stay glued to his sides. “You still gonna feel that way when I’m an associate tax professional?”
“Uh, especially when you are an associate tax professional. Taxes are hot.”
He gives me a very unconvinced one eyebrow raise.
“I love men in practical chinos.”
“Gemma.”
“If you promise to do my taxes for me this year, I swear to god I’ll drop down on my knees right now and give you a blow job.”
“Gems.” His tone is all laughs, but I’ve said the magic b-word. Now his eyes are all heat and sex. His hands finally find their way back to my body, resting lightly on my hips, the pads of his thumbs finding the bare strip of skin between my T-shirt and jeans. He leans in and presses three light kisses on my neck. One by my collarbone, one just below my jaw, and the last one just south of my ear. Then he runs his tongue to my earlobe and nips playfully. “We have seven more months until tax season.”
It’s all the invitation I need. We’re in a sex cave, and I’m craving the feel of his body. My fingers seek out the drawstring to his jogging pants. He flicks open the button of my jeans with a single hand. Undergarments follow in the same coordinated, frenzied motion. We’re bottom-half-naked in under a minute.
Efficiency.
I like it.
I think I’ll enjoy fucking Dax the tax associate.
I push him back, only realizing after the fact that his ribs are likely still tender. He falls onto the bed with a small grimace as he hits the mattress. But as I climb on top, carefully straddling his waist with my knees, his face melts into a slow smile as his hands slide up my thighs and slip beneath the hem of my T-shirt. The rough skin of his calloused palms is a stark contrast to the softness of his fingertips, which tickle as they travel up my rib cage, sending a ripple of pleasure up my spine.
I doubt I’ll ever get sick of him touching me like this. Or the way his smile widens when his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, or the way he looks at me, half-lidded and content, like he too could do this forever.
“Come here and kiss me already.” Dax pulls my head to his for a kiss that starts off all sweet and slow but quickly shifts to heated and hungry until it is momentarily halted by the sound of raised voices arguing in the kitchen above us.
“I have a feeling…” Dax whispers as his eyes lift to the ceiling, “that they’re debating whether they should invite us up for brunch, so…”
He gathers my shirt into his fist and pulls me down for another kiss. This one wastes no time. It is all tongue and want and efficiency. Messages received, Daxon McGuire. Time is of the essence.
He lifts my shirt up just enough to pull my bra downward and free my breasts. He takes my nipple into his mouth, which causes me to moan a little too loud, seeing as we’re trying for covert sex here. Maybe if Dougie knew the incredible sensations Dax was creating with the swirl of his tongue, he’d leave us alone for the next hour. Or maybe the rest of the afternoon.