And how a moment ago I was ready to throw caution to the wind and make out with the man who had kidnapped me.
An aroused shiver rolls through me, and I run my hands down my face.
I want Axel to fuck me.
I know that without a doubt.
But I need coffee before I can even begin to process what any of it means.
Chapter Twelve
AXEL
Fuck.
I was seconds away from drawing Lauren into my chest and sinking my mouth to hers. And going by the heat on her face and the breath caught in her throat, it was exactly what she wanted me to do.
And who knows what would’ve happened after that?
I do. I know exactly what would’ve happened.
I would’ve taken her back to my bed and spent the rest of the day and night worshiping her body with mine. Over and over until we were both too exhausted for anymore.
Fuck.
I wasn’t counting on this when I decided to protect her from an abduction when I stole her from her room at the lodge.
Not in a million fucking years did I think I would find myself in this crazy situation.
Relieved by the distraction of my grocery delivery, I answer the door to see the very first friend I made on the mountain stepping onto my stone porch.
Cooter Briggs has been delivering my groceries since I moved to Mirror Lake.
I don’t really need my groceries delivered. But I met Cooter on my second day here when he came over with a bottle of moonshine and an offer to help me build my cabin. He wasn’t much of a builder, but he could carry more than the average man and had a willingness to help.
He has entrepreneurial blood in his veins, always looking to make a buck here and there. When he decided to start up his grocery delivery business, I was the first to sign up. A lot of people on the mountain followed. Because that’s what the mountain folk do in Mirror Lake. They stand behind each other and keep one another’s secrets.
Cooter’s a good guy. Trustworthy. Even though he looks like he should be on America’s Most Wanted.
He walks in, his arms full of grocery bags, and dumps them on the counter.
His eyes light up when he sees Lauren curled up on the couch, a blanket hiding the fact that she’s wearing nothing but one of my shirts.
“Well, hello there, sweet lady.”
He removes his flannel hunting hat and suddenly looks self-conscious as he wipes a big hand over his greasy hair.
Cooter didn’t spend much time on his appearance. Hell, I’d be surprised if he had a mirror.
“You’re new,” he says.
Lauren’s eyes shoot to mine, then back to Cooter. I see the cogs working in her brain as she comes up with a story.
She relaxes and smiles brightly. “I’m Axel’s cousin. Visiting from the city for Thanksgiving.”
“Cousin?” Cooter looks at me, excitement spreading across his ruddy cheeks. “Well, boy, you never did tell you had such a beautiful cousin.” His eyes twinkle over to Lauren. “You staying long, honey?”
Again, Lauren looks to me, then back to Cooter. “No, just for Thanksgiving.”
“What a shame. I sure make a mean catfish and bean stew that the ladies like.” He grins, showing all three teeth in his mouth. “You like catfish, pretty lady? You see, the trick is to soak the fish in hot water first. You know, to really get rid of the slime. Then you add homemade canned tomatoes and just the right mix of herbs and spices.”
What Cooter lacks in looks, he makes up for in charm and confidence. Even if it is misguided.
“Wow, that sounds… um, delicious. But I’m afraid I’ll be leaving right after Thanksgiving.”
Cooter shrugs it off, but his eyes sparkle. “Oh, well, maybe next time.”
The idea that there won’t be a next time suddenly registers in my brain, and I feel a sudden and unexpected surge of disappointment.
I force it back into the dark recess of my mind as I hand Cooter some money. There are two types of currency on the mountain, bartering or cold hard cash.
Some people on the mountain pay Cooter in weed, fish from the river, or baked goods. Some pay like Wilbur Floyd does, in services like mechanical repairs or laundry washing. Me, I prefer cold hard cash because I don’t like owing anyone anything.
After Cooter leaves, I put away the groceries and fix breakfast, while Lauren collects her clothes from the dryer and redresses. When she walks back into the kitchen, she looks confused.
“Hmmmm, that’s baffling.”
“What?” I ask, adding slices of bacon to the grill.
“Oh, nothing.” She waves it off and sits down at the island bench.
I lean against the counter. “You can’t do that.
“Do what?”
“Say something mysterious and then not tell me what it is.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, if you really must know, I’ve lost my…”
She stalls, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, and it’s distracting as fuck.
Tearing my eyes off her juicy mouth, I prompt her. “Your...?”
Her cheeks are pink, and in this bright morning light I can see the light dusting of freckles across her nose.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake… my panties are missing, okay.”
Two things happen to me in this moment.
One, I think I fall a little in love with her. She’s adorable and feisty at the same time.
Two, my mind goes back to last night and what I did to those panties, and it gets me hard.
Nope.
It gets me harder.
Because this woman has me walking around with a permanent erection.
I turn away so she can’t see the guilt on my face, or what is happening behind my sweatpants, and add eggs to a bowl, beating them with a fork. “I think I saw them in the bathroom.”
She disappears, and then comes back a minute later. “They’re wet.”
Again, I think back to how those panties felt rubbing against my cock, and I fight the urge to readjust my now throbbing erection. The last thing I need is for Lauren to see it. And let’s face it, I’m in sweatpants and I’m not small… so there is no hiding what is going on in there.
While Lauren throws her panties into the dryer, I busy myself cooking the bacon and scrambled eggs, trying desperately not to notice her. Yet, the way the yoga pants cling to her curves as she bends over is driving me to distraction, especially knowing she’s going commando beneath them. I revert my gaze and focus on the food on the stove in front of me, relieved when Lauren stands up and begins to set the table for two.
As I put the food on the plates, she takes two coffee mugs from the cabinets and pours two cups from the pot I put on earlier.
“This looks amazing,” she says when I put the plate in front of her.
She digs in like she hasn’t eaten in months.
It’s refreshing. And surprising. For someone so tiny, she can certainly eat a lot.
And Jesus Christ, the way she slides the bacon between those luscious lips of hers.
I look away and focus on my breakfast.
But there is a giant elephant in the room, and neither of us seems ready to address it.
After some coffee and several mouthfuls of food, I decide to bring it up.
“About before, when we were over at the window—”
“What about it?” She doesn’t look at me, instead she focuses on scooping up scrambled eggs from her plate.