Crossroads: Book 1

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Chapter 35

Elena


The kiss is passionate, strong, and heated. I don’t have any experience with kissing, but Mike is a man who seems to take the reins.

Just like last time, he takes charge: he speeds up, slows down, sucks on my bottom lip, gently assaults my mouth with his tongue, and I just do the best I can to keep up with him. With the deep groan in his chest, I know I’m doing an okay job, at least.

My neck is beginning to ache in the position that it’s in, but I don’t want this to stop. I break the kiss briefly to readjust myself on him. Sitting up, I transfer each of my legs on either side of him to straddle his lap. With dark lust in his eyes - he grips my bottom to thrust me closer against him. I let out a little yelp in surprise, which lands as a wicked grin on those lips of his before we lock together again.

I take my time with my hands feeling his hard chest before moving them under his jacket, signaling that I want it off. The jacket is very thick, and I want to feel his muscles better. Granting my wish, he allows me to shimmy it off his shoulders and down his thick arms.

My hands fist his hair. He lets out a growl of approval as he breaks away from my mouth to lazily trail wet kisses down to the base of my ear. He gives my earlobe a gentle nibble causing an involuntary moan of pleasure to seep through the gates. Goosebumps race down the side of my body. A flutter of heat pools to my core from the assault on my ear along with the tight squeezing from his large hands on each butt cheek. He really knows what he’s doing; I thank the heavens that at least one of us does.

His mouth grazes its way down to the base of my neck; I can feel his stubble gently scratching against me - giving my skin a sense of gentle pain with pleasure from his soft lingering lips. I already know that I want more.

Before I know it, I’m nearly rocking on him out of pure instinct. I can feel him through our clothes; heat rises to my cheeks at the knowledge that this man is turned on too. He guides my movements to a slow, rocking pace with his hands at my rear.

His mouth doesn’t go any further than the base of my neck; his hands don’t leave my bottom unless it’s to trace up and down my back. I can’t help but arch my body into him to let him know that I need more. More of what – I don’t know – just more. However, he ignores my silent pleas and finds my mouth again.

“Baby, we need to stop,” he hisses against my lips.

With labored breath, I ask, “Why?”

His hands glide to my thighs to squeeze them, then says with a wicked grin and a raised brow, “Because, kitten, I’m not sure if I can control myself for much longer.”

He may feel like he will lose control, but I know as soon as I ask him to stop - he will. I don’t want him to stop. Not yet. But I oblige to his wish.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I swallow and lick my lips. “We should stop.”

My eyes can’t stop yearning after his lips. Panting, we try to control our breathing, but as soon as our lips find each other again - the idea of stopping goes out the door and down the street - all the way to Timbuctoo.

Scooting his hands back to my rear, he stands up-holding me just enough to lay me down on the couch. He settles himself between my legs. His hand travels along my side trailing its way to hold the back of my head with care - all the while, his lips never waver from mine. His other hand digs into my hip as if he’s holding onto me out of fear that I might vanish from beneath him.

I should be wary about being touched like this since my assault, but I’m not. Maybe it’s because he’s not a taker – he’s gentle with me. Also, I want this to be happening. I want him.

The hand on my hip loosens to slither up the side of my ribcage slowly - it stops just below my breast. He breaks the kiss for a moment to look into my eyes as if asking for permission. I give him a single nod.

Those lips go to plant kisses on my neck - blossoming forth a deep craving for more as he gently cups my breast with his hand. I thank my lucky stars for wanting to wear a thinner sweater so I can relish in how he fondles me over the material. My hands find their way to bury themselves in his hair once more as if I can’t get close enough to him.

A sound of a car pulls into our driveway – headlights beam through the nearly closed blinds.

Mike shoots up and half skips to the window to pry the blinds open with a couple of fingers. I have never seen a man move so fast in my life.

“Shit. It’s your dad,” he says as he turns to face me and rakes a hand through his hair. With my eyes straining, heart picking up a faster speed than it already was, and palms sweating - I quickly sit up.

I run my fingers through my hair, pull my sweater down from being bunched up a little from the repositioning, and try to settle myself on the couch to be as normal as possible. My make-out partner takes a seat at the other end.

“Put up your feet,” he says.

My brows furrow. “What?”

“Trust me. Put your feet up.” Before I can act, he leans down to pick up my feet then places them in his lap as my dad walks through the door. Mike begins to massage the sore arches of my feet.

Dad stops in mid-stride. “What are you two up to?” He eyes us like he knows.

“Just talking about our day, how was yours?” Mike counters smoothly. Suddenly, all my attention is on the foot rub – it feels so good. The massage is draining away my anxiety of almost being caught.

Oh, he is good.

“Fine,” dad says as he narrows his eyes at Mike. “Are you staying for dinner, or?”

Looking between Mike and my dad, I swear there is a whole different conversation being said that I am missing.

A sigh comes out of Mike. “Nah, I need to get going.” As soon as his hands leave my feet, they immediately miss his touch – like the rest of me.

Mike stands up to put on his jacket then leans in to kiss my forehead in front of my dad.

“Have a good night. See you tomorrow.” He winks at me, then as he strides towards the door, he nods at my dad. Mike leaves with my heart not too far behind.

An awkward silence dawdles between my father and me as we stare at each other for what feels like an hour. I hope I don’t look as tousled as I feel from the little make-out session I had. “How was your day, dad?” I ask, deciding to break the ice - hoping I don’t fall through.

“Mike already asked me that...it was fine,” he says.

Shoot. There goes one foot in the icy waters.

His eyes narrow, then he speaks, “Anything I should know?”

Does he know? Is this a trick question?

Shaking my head as if to think about it for a minute, I answer with, “No, nope. All good here.” I smile.

“Mhm.”

“Seriously, nothing happened.” I put on my best poker face - knowing that if he knew what took place on this couch - he’d be furious and possibly kill Mike... I simply can’t let that happen.

He lets out a breath that he was holding in and says, “What do you want for dinner? I can make some hotdogs...” He moves towards the fridge.

“Sounds good to me.” Getting up, I pad my way to the little breakfast bar in front of the stove.

Normally, we would use a grill for something like this. Since we’ve moved, we haven’t used it, and we didn’t want to move with the propane tank. We haven’t thought about getting another one, so he’s using the stove instead.

I watch him as he turns the burner on. He carefully places three hotdogs in the shallow water of a pot, place a lid over it, then he takes some buns out from the fridge.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. I easily could not be here right now – in this kitchen - watching my dad get dinner ready. I could have been taken to God knows where and have God knows what done to me.

A shiver crawls up my spine at the notion that this morning could have been the last time that I saw my father. It could have been the last time that I hug him good-bye...to tell him that I love him.

With his career choice, there was always the possibility that he wouldn’t make it home. I’ve worked so hard to make a point in telling him that I love him and hug him each time he’d walk out the door. It was something I never wanted to take for granted. I never once thought that the roles could be reversed.

With heavy feet, I round the breakfast bar to nestle under my dad’s arm and hold him tight while the hotdogs cook.

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