Page 56 of My Best Friend's Dad

His eyes trace the counter, measuring distance and probably doing some amazing and complicated mental math mixed with physics.

And then he unbuckles my overalls one buckle at a time. The overalls pool at my waist since the top is so loose. He leaves them for a minute, his big, strong, gorgeous hands slipping under my shirt and stroking my skin such that my head falls back. He makes a noise that sounds half tortured, half delirious.

His hands continue to explore under my shirt, pushing it up inch by inch. “Are you sure?”

I nod, kissing his chin and running my lips and cheek over his sandpapery cheek until I blindly find his mouth.

He makes me feel all the emotions, but mostly, he makes me feel like this is right. I’ve never felt like it was truly safe to be me with anyone I’ve ever been romantically involved with. Theynever wanted the real me. I didn’t even really know who that was. I’m a people pleaser, and I lost sight of myself.

I’m still learning, but with Rowleigh, I feel like I have a safe space to do that.

It’s too soon, he’s too old for me, he’s my best friend's dad, he’s wildly rich, and he doesn’t like tacos. All those things are true, but it doesn’t change how much I want him. For the first time ever, I don’t feel like I have to change who I am to be worthy or treasured.

No man has ever looked at me the way he’s looking at me now.

No one has ever touched me so softly and reverently.

No man has ever taken the time to listen to what I have to say.

No man would ever dash out in a rainstorm to save me or go through a dusty barn just for the fun of it. He sat through tea after and enjoyed it. He went all the way to Europe because he cared about someone else’s happiness. He can look at his life, see all his failings clearly, and admit to them, but it’s not the end for him. He wants more. He’s okay with change. I hardly know him, but I do know he’s patient and kind. He’s smart and sweet. And he has a big heart.

We might not work out, but we also just might. If we don’t, then we’ll move on, and we’ll be okay. But I’m pretty sure we’d have some great times to remember.

“Areyousure?” I ask right before his hand slides my bra up, and his thumb caresses my hard nipple.

“Sure of you, yes. Sure of me? I’ll work hard to earn the right to say yes to that.”

With his hand still on my breast, he leans in and kisses my neck, his lips and breath hot against my skin. There’s zero doubt in my mind that my neck is my new favorite erogenous zone.

“I’m sure I want more rainstorms. More laughter. More adventure. More calm. More sweet. More of you. Always.”

It’s amazing.

Truly.

Romance books paint all men as knowing the right thing to say and saying it and being all amazing and tender and hunky, but the hard truth is that real men are just flawed people, and that’s okay. But if you asked a regular guy what they want more of, the answer would probably be naked time. Humping, blowjobs, morning sex, night sex, day sex…just sex.

I have dated all the wrong guys. That would be their answer.

I’m sorry to all the good men out there. There probably are at least a few who would never respond withhumping.

Rowleigh’s words are sexier than anything.Anything.

He sucks my neck softly, not hard enough to leave a mark. His teeth scrape against my skin, and then he pulls away just long enough to pull my shirt off. My bra is rucked up, but together, we shed it.

He groans, but even though that noise is all hunger, he’s a gentleman. He kisses my collarbones and guides me back onto the counter gently. My legs are hanging off, and in a few minutes, my back will protest, but watching him reach for his mug of tea, now cooled enough to be safe for this, I forget all about potential back aches and leg numbness.

Even more so, I forget everything when he moves the mug over my chest and then tips it so that just a trickle spills down my breasts.

I shiver at the sensation of the warm liquid, but the shiver turns into a full-body spasm when his tongue laps up the spilled tea between the valley of my breasts. He licks it all before trailing a hot path to my left nipple. He pours a little more tea over it while his mouth is right there, ready to catch it. That might be cheating, but I’m not going to call him on it.

“Mmm,” he hums. “This is the best way to drink swamp water tea. You make it so good that I could lose my ever-loving mind for it.”

His tongue strokes my right breast, finding my nipple and suckling it even though there’s no tea there.

Then, he gets bolder, tipping the cup over my belly and making a mess of me. The tea runs off my stomach and over the counter.

“Oops.” He chuckles darkly.