Page 31 of Unbound

Instead of gracefully dismounting Walker’s lap, I end up grinding against him. Specifically in the dick region.

His big hands suddenly come to grip my hips, pinning me in place. “I’m gonna need you to stop moving.”

I freeze. Initially it’s because of how tight he’s holding me and how much I like the feel of his fingers digging into the softness of my flesh. But then I’m holding still for an entirely different reason. A big one.

A big, long one.

I can’t help it. My eyes immediately drop, finding their way straight down to the point where my ass meets his cock.

How in the hell does he fit all that in one place?

I stare, tracking each thread of the fabric being strained to its limits by the biggest dick I’ve ever met. All the air rushes from my lungs, along with a single word.

“Wowza.”

I’ve done a lot of embarrassing shit in the past twenty-four hours. None of it had my face heating as much as hearing myself say wowza in front of Walker.

“Did you just say⁠—”

“Can we just forget this happened?” I plant one hand against his shoulder, using the substantial width of it to find the leverage I was searching for earlier. “I’ll forget about your…” I plop my ass onto the cushion and gesture wildly at the penis I’m still admittedly staring at. “And you can forget what I said.”

Walker angles a brow as I continue scooting across the cushions, putting a safer amount of distance between us. Being close to him is something I guiltily fantasized about, but obviously I’m not capable of being cool about it when the opportunity finally presents itself. And after being targeted, interrogated, and investigated, I’d rather not add humiliated to the pile.

I finally pick a spot to park my ass, ripping my eyes away from Walker’s crotchal area to plant them on the television. I don’t actually even know what I’m looking at, but I stare at that screen like it’s the most important thing I’ve ever looked at.

“I don’t think I will.”

My brain stumbles, tripping over his words and my thoughts. “You don’t think you will, what?”

“Forget about you saying wowza.” He slides down in his seat, kicking off his boots before resting both feet on the coffee table. “I should have counted how many cardigans you have in that suitcase, grandma.”

Is Walker McKinley teasing me right now? I didn’t even know he was capable of such a thing. It’s so unexpected I just stare at him, no clue how to respond.

“I’ve got to place a grocery order in the morning.” He points the remote at the television, switching on a streaming service. “You want me to get you some Werther’s originals?” He scrolls through the menu, switching on an episode of a show that’s over a decade old before turning to me. “Maybe some probiotic yogurt?”

I can handle grumpy Walker. I kinda like bossy Walker. What I find myself completely unprepared for, is joking Walker. I didn’t even know the guy existed, so I feel like I should get a little bit of grace for being so flabbergasted.

“Probiotic yogurt?” It’s not the best or most witty response, but at least it’s something.

I could almost swear Walker winks at me, but since I can only see half his face, it might have been a blink. “To keep you regular.”

“I’m not talking about poop with you.” How has this conversation gone so sideways? This morning, I was worried Walker would find out I’ve been lusting endlessly over him for months. Now he’s bringing up my shit schedule? I’ve never been the best at flirting or seducing men, but this might be an all-time low.

“Everybody poops, grandma.”

“You can’t call me grandma.” I’m willing to suffer through a lot to figure out what happened to my dad, but I’m not sure this man calling me grandma is on that list.

Walker turns to me, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. “You’re right.” He tosses his remote down on the couch. “You look more like a mamaw.”

The gasp I attempt to release is so aggressive, I choke on my spit, sucking way too much of it down my air tube in offense.

Walker straightens, his feet hitting the floor, expression all concern as I fight for my life, attempting to get oxygen into my lungs as I hack and wheeze, trying to keep my own saliva from murdering me. He reaches for me, one hand gripping my arm, the other my thigh, his hold tight but gentle as he drags me closer.

My eyes are watering and I want nothing more than to escape his sight, because I know right now I’m certainly not at my best. But as soon as I’m close enough, he hefts me right back into the lap I just occupied. One big hand comes to rest against my back, smoothing in slow circles. “You’ve got to relax so your muscles stop spasming.”

His voice is so deep, his touch so steady. Reassuring in a way I obviously need, because after just a few seconds of Walker petting me, I manage to pull in a breath. It’s loud and wheezy, but I no longer feel like I might die. Not from suffocation.

From mortification? That option is still on the table.