Page 70 of Sterling Touch
Our hearts beating. Our lips savoring. And I’m in real danger of falling in love.
Cort is no longer the fantasy in my head but a real man. One who rebounded after his injury. Raised a child as a single father. Built a business and gives back to his community.
He’s a man who sweeps me off my feet and kisses me like I’m the air he needs to breathe. As our kissing heats, Cort uses his firm hands on my sides to tug me closer to him, holding me against him. I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing him in with every twirl of our tongues.
Beep-beep-beep.
The sudden sound has us breaking apart and glancing toward his kitchen. Cort left the sliding glass door open, and the noise alerts us that the chicken dinner is ready.
Taking my hand again, Cort leads me into his house, and we settle in for another meal together. We sit at his island counter, him seated sideways with his legs spread, locking me in with his knees.
“Why are you sitting like that?” I ask, thinking it must be uncomfortable.
“I want to look at you while I eat.” He winks, like I’m in on some secret, and then he digs into his chicken parmesan.
Once we finish eating and clean up, Cort suggests we sit on his couch. He turns the television on, flipping to a Tennessee Terrors baseball game. He sets the volume low before he reaches for my ankle and tugs off one of my boots.
I gasp, then giggle. “What are you doing?”
He reaches for my other boot and removes it as well, then lifts my legs so they drape over his lap. I shift so I’m seated sideways beside him. He tugs off the low-cut socks I wear and presses his knuckles into the arch of one foot.
“Ew. My feet are all sweaty and probably stink.”
“Ew?” Cort laughs, wrinkling his nose as he mimics me. “You sound like you’re twelve.” He continues to press the hard edge of his fingers into the soft curve of my foot and my leg jolts.
Damn that feels good.
“Well, I am younger than you, old man.”
“Donotremind me,” he chuffs, concentrating on how he uses his knuckles against my foot.
I hope he isn’t thinking what I’m suddenly thinking. This man changed my diapers.
Resting my head on the back cushion, I ask, “Does it bother you? The age thing? Because I feel one hundred some days.”
Cort’s head whips in my direction, never missing a beat as he cups my foot and squeezes, digging his fingertips into the top of my foot. “You’re stunning.”
I give him a pointed look, like I don’t fully believe the compliment.
“Look, I get it that some women worry about aging. Hell, men worry about it, too.”
I snort, taking in the contrasting color combination of hairs on his jaw and the strong length of his nose. His lush lips and dark eyes.Cortis stunning.
“But our bodies are our story. Every freckle and line, every mole and scar.” His brows pinch at the mention and I think back to the stitched line near his shoulder blade. “And without them, we aren’t who we are.”
Cort pauses while plucking at each of my toes, tugging them one at a time.
“I think true beauty lies within and radiates outward.”
I smile softly at the concept.
“Andyouare fucking sunshine.”
Tilting my head to the side, I reach for the side of his neck and stroke my finger along it. “That’s sweet.”
With his lids lowered, staring at my foot in his hand, he swipes his other hand up my calf.
“You’re sweet,” he mutters, watching as he cups the back of my knee.
