Getting Lucky by Regina Wade

Author:Regina Wade [Wade, Regina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-03-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Lucky

May you be in heaven

half an hour before the devil knows you're dead. —Irish Proverb

The kiss hits me with all the subtlety of ten shots of Jameson.

Eli’s lips brush against mine with a softness I didn’t know was possible. His hands grip my upper arms tightly in counterpoint to the gentleness of his mouth. It’s such a small thing, but it changes the entire tone. What would have been a tentative, almost hesitant kiss is instead transformed into something patient, sweet without being saccharine.

I moan softly against his mouth as I feel his light dusting of stubble graze my cheek. It’s rough against the sensitive skin of my face. Masculine in a way that sends warm fingers of fire radiating out pleasantly from between my thighs. Idly, I note that his large hands encircle my biceps easily. Eli is usually so quiet he tends to fade into the background. Right now I’m all too aware of how he dwarfs me.

The warmth deep in my body pulses to the rhythm of my heart, a rapid staccato ramping quickly as he leans into me. Everything about Eli radiates sex and masculinity, from the roughness of his hands to his scent, a heady mixture of wood smoke and whiskey that I inhale deeply.

His kiss is gentle without being yielding, insistent with being overbearing.

By mutual accord, the moment ends and time resumes around us. A dozen thoughts — no, a dozen dozen — crash into my mind. Suddenly I’m incredibly self-conscious, acutely aware of the fact that I’m soaked with old whiskey and stale beer.

His face is unreadable. His dark eyes give away none of what he's thinking. The rest of his anatomy isn’t playing coy. I can feel him pressing against my stomach, even through the many layers of clothing. For a moment my thoughts are scattered to the wind again as I tug on his shirt and pull his mouth back down to my lips.

This one lasts.

Time doesn’t freeze like it did the first time. Just slows to a crawl. The brush of his mouth on mine is leisurely and I instinctively match his pace. I savor the strength of him, feeling the whipcord tension of his muscles as my hands roam across the broad expanse of his chest. The image of his fist impacting the face of the thug who had dared to set fire to my bar fills my mind.

One of my hands slowly travels across his chest. I explore, brushing across the smooth cotton of his tee.

In contrast to my own dress, it’s spotless, immaculate. Even after everything, there isn’t so much as a wrinkle or stain that I can see. There’s something profoundly striking about that. It’s incredibly attractive; someone so good at this that he didn’t even get smudged.

Violence isn’t exactly new to me, but I’ve never been aroused by it before.

I slide one hand down, feeling the play of muscle beneath the thin fabric. My fingertips explore the ridged lines of his abs, following the trail down to the V lines peeking out above the waist of his jeans.

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