Page 109 of Score
You don’t forgive easily when you love.
“He didn’t love your mom the way she deserved,” Verity goes on, “but it sounds like he loves you a lot. You aren’t betraying her or condoning what he did if you find a way to have a relationship with him.”
“I know that,” I say, my brows lowering into a frown.
“And forgiveness isn’t always for the person who wronged us. I would argue it’smorefor you. What you’re holding ontocould be holding youback. Your relationship with him doesn’t have to be perfect, but it can keep getting better.”
I let her words sink in and manage a slit of a smile. “You on some Yoda sage shit, huh?”
The comment does what I hoped it would, lightening the atmosphere in the kitchen and prompting her to offer a sly smile of her own.
“Lots of therapy.” She rests her chin in her hand and widens her eyes innocently. “But working in Hollywood, I do have a ton of experience with perfectionists.”
“I amnota perfectionist.”
“Are you kidding? The only person I’ve met who is more of a perfectionist than you is Canon Holt, and y’all are kinda neck and neck.”
“I’mma need you to take that back.”
I cross around to her side and stand between her knees, spreading her legs slightly. Her breath catches and she leans back, elbows propped on the counter behind her. The deep brown bourbon swirled in her dark eyes is intoxicating. I get drunk just looking at her.
“Make me, Monk.”
I grab her chin and tilt her face up to capture her lips in a kiss. It’s supposed to be light and quick, but as soon as our mouths meld, that same fire that always seems barely banked, explodes. The kiss extends, turning desperate and ravenous. She sucks my tongue and I nip at her lips. Gripping my neck, she brings me closer, and the feel of her unravels a little more of my resolve. I shove her dress up and grip her thigh with one hand and her ass with the other.
“Monk,” she gasps, spreading her legs wider, pressing her breasts into my chest.
“I got you, baby.” I trace up her inner thigh to the apex, stroking and pinching her through her damp underwear. “That’s good?”
I can’t believe how deceptively steady my hands and my words are when it feels like my insides are collapsing. Like every wall I’ve raised to keep this woman out is falling at the first touch.
“So good.” She rolls her hips, needy whimpers slipping past her lips and into my mouth. “Touch me, Monk.”
“Iamtouching you.” I grin into the kiss and pass my index finger over the silk again. “See?”
“Fuck you,” she growls, and reaches between us to pull her panties back so I’m touching herthere. Flesh on flesh with nothing separating us. She’s hot and slick and my mouth waters at the memory of her taste. On my deathbed, I’ll manage one last hard-on thinking of how wet and sweet she was for me.
I lift her onto the counter and guide the dress over her head in one frantic move, leaving her in nothing but pink lace.
“I should fuck you right here in my kitchen,” I groan at the curve of her throat.
“What’s stopping you?”
She undoes the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts spill free, bounce a little, the brown nipples piqued and velvety. I lower my head, ready to take my fill, when the oven timer goes off, blaring and shattering the moment.
“Dammit.” I drop my forehead to hers. “Food’s done.”
I send her a frustrated look and she giggles, biting her lip to cut off the sound.
“Sorry,” she says, sobering with lips still trying to twitch. “It’s just… funny.”
“Funny? I’m ’bout to bust, and you laughing.”
“Feed me first?” Her smile is much too sweet, considering she’s sitting on my counter with her titties out.
I retrieve the dress from where I tossed it and hand it to her. “Okay, but you gotta put some clothes on if you expect me to wait.”
When I march over to the oven to silence the timer, she doesn’t bother snapping the bra back into place, but lets the straps glide down her arms and fall to the counter behind her. Her breasts sit high and proud and bare until she ruins it by pulling the dress over her head to cover the glowing brown skin.
