This was proved when he rumbled, “That looks good,” his voice deeper because it was like his eyes, still a hint sleepy.
“Apple cinnamon streusel coffeecake,” I told him.
“Jesus,” he murmured, sounding slightly stunned, as he would considering the countertop was a mess of bowls, ingredients and coffeecake preparation residue.
Suddenly, I felt tense, nervous and hurried to explain, “It’s not an, um… everyday thing but I kind of felt in the mood for something…”
Oh God! I should never have pulled out the big gun coffeecake that took forever to bake and assembly was seriously fiddly.
What was I thinking?
“Special,” I finished lamely, thinking that said too much too soon.
Raiden wasted no time communicating he didn’t think it said too much, too soon.
One of his arms around my middle let me go only to lift and wrap around my chest. He pulled me deep into his body, and this time he kissed the skin below my ear.
“Haven’t tasted it yet, but already know it’s perfect,” he whispered there, and I relaxed into his hard frame.
He gave me a squeeze before his arms loosened, and I informed him, “Coffee’s made. Cups are in the cupboard over the coffeepot.”
Raiden let me go, but did it sliding his hand across the skin of my chest, the other one across the material of my tank at my midriff before his body disappeared.
He got a mug and was filling it when he asked, “You need a warm up?”
I was smoothing the top layer of batter over the apples when I answered, “Yeah.”
He brought the pot to my mug and topped it up, asking, “See milk, babe. You need more?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I use the creamer in the door of the fridge.”
He went, grabbed the French vanilla-flavored Coffee-Mate and splashed some in my cup.
I spread the streusel on top of the batter thinking this was fabulous. Me cooking. Raiden topping up my coffee. Couple stuff that felt natural and right, even though we’d only had two dates.
Maybe Raiden’s brand of slow was good.
He leaned a hip against the counter as I slid the cake in the oven and went to wash my hands at the sink.
“Your day?” he asked as I dried my hands.
I moved to stand in front of him, grab my mug and leaned against the counter, too.
I took a sip and told him, “Grams to mah jongg then me to my place in town, if the cops will let me get in. I need to see what Heather got up to, if I’m caught up, orders filled, get back on top of that.”
“You need me to talk to Joe to make sure you have access, I’ll give him a call,” Raiden offered and I smiled.
“I think I’m good, but I’ll let you know.”
“All right, honey.”
I repeated his question, “Your day?”
He took a sip and dropped the mug to the counter. “Hardware store, back here, installing new locks for you. Then I gotta go into Denver and see to some shit.”
Two sentences, a huge amount to go over.
“New locks for me?” I asked.
“Your lock sucks,” he answered.
“But—”
“And, Hanna, it’s good we’re on this because you answered the door to me last night and I didn’t hear the lock go.”
My brows drew together in bewilderment.
“But… I was home,” I told him something he knew.
“You were a woman at home alone. You should lock your doors.”
“Raiden—”
“No,” he cut me off. “I’m tryin’ to ignore the thought of you takin’ a nap without your doors locked. Bad enough they’re not locked when you’re awake.”
“I live in the boonies,” I reminded him. “No one comes out here. No one even knows there’s a here to come to. But the ones who do, I can hear them coming.”
“Don’t give a fuck. Just a guess, you don’t have a gun. Your lock is total shit and wouldn’t keep anyone out who knows rudimentary lock picking or has the power to land a solid kick to your door. You gotta have a new lock. I’ll check this one,” he jerked his head to my backdoor, “and you might get two. But when you’re home, you lock both.”
“This is the house I grew up in, Raiden. I’ve lived here all my life. I know that it’s—”
I shut up when his hand curled around the side of my neck and slid right up into my hair, pulling up so I went on my toes even as he bent into me, and I saw his face was not sleepy-ish handsome anymore. His eyes were hard and sharp and his jaw was tight.
“Lock. Your. Doors,” he commanded.
“Okay,” I whispered instantly, and he let me go.
I rolled back to my feet and hid my discomfiture at his extreme authoritarianism and easy ability to underline that by getting physical.
“Hanna,” he called.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled into my mug.
“Honey, give me your eyes.”
I lifted my eyes to him.
“I know the threat that lurks out there. What I want is to know that threat won’t threaten you. If shit can happen, it will. Odds are, no threat is gonna wander down that lane and stop at your house. But if it does, I want you to have five minutes to call 911 and get yourself safe so you don’t learn exactly what a threat is. I get thinkin’ about it for the second it takes every time you flip a lock is unpleasant. Livin’ a lifetime with the consequences of not doin’ it would be far fuckin’ worse.”
This made sense.
It was even sweet he was worried about me and wanted to protect me.
However.
“You could have explained that instead of grabbing me and going all drill sergeant,” I told him.
“Did I get your attention?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered then hesitantly added, “in a way I didn’t like very much.”
“Then next time, don’t backtalk,” he returned.
I blinked.
He took a sip of his coffee before he asked, “How long’s that cake take?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again to reply, “About an hour.”
Raiden looked at the clock on my microwave then pulled my mug out of my hand, put it on the counter, tagged my hand and dragged me toward the doorway, muttering, “Then I gotta eat you now before the cake.”
My nipples started tingling and I missed a step but Raiden didn’t notice.
He pulled me behind him up the stairs and to my bedroom, and before I could get my thoughts together, I was on my back in my bed. My panties and pajama shorts were gone, Raiden’s mouth was between my legs and I had no thoughts at all except how unbelievably good he was with his mouth.
He had me before cake.
And I had an orgasm before cake.
* * * * *
Early evening, the same day…
My cell rang and I grabbed it. The display said, “Raiden Calling”, and I was undecided about answering it.
I knew why this was.
I didn’t like how things turned so drastically in my kitchen that morning. I also didn’t like that Raiden didn’t give me the chance to address it or that I’d allowed him to take my mind off it. Not to mention the fact that after, there wasn’t enough time to go back to it, but more, I didn’t have the guts to do it.
But the bottom line was what Raiden did was uncool. I didn’t like to think of him as uncool. I really didn’t like to think of myself as a woman who would put up with uncool because she was hanging onto the man of her dreams. A man who gave her a scary indication that she shouldn’t live with (on top of other scary indications she was telling herself she could) that he wasn’t cool.
And I figured I needed time to sort through all this.
Nevertheless, being an idiot (though, this was Raiden Miller), I took the call and put my phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey, baby,” he greeted back, and my insides melted.
There it was again. He did something dreamy and that somethin
g dreamy was simply calling me “baby”, and I forgot he could be not-so-dreamy.
“Where are you?” he went on.
“At home,” I answered.
“Things cool in town?” he asked.
“Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, seeing as she had two jobs to do and she was getting paid for both; Heather was totally on top of things. It’s going to stink, having to put together my shipments again, but I’m not behind.”
“Excellent,” he muttered then continued. “I’m just headin’ outta Denver. Be home in about forty. I’ll pick you up. We’ll go to Rache’s for dinner.”
“Uh… I already put a chicken in the oven.”
“Right, then be there in forty.”
I didn’t exactly ask him to dinner but it seemed he didn’t exactly care.
“Raid—” I began, but he interrupted me.
“See you soon.”
Then he was gone.
I stared at my phone.
Okay then, I’d talk to him at dinner, and I promised myself I would talk to him at dinner.
I dealt with things in the kitchen. After I did that, I opened a bottle of white wine, poured myself a glass, got my wool and headed out to the front porch.
I was swaying sideways on my swing, one leg bent, my foot in the seat. The outside of my leg was resting against the back of the swing. The other leg was down, tips of my toes swaying me. The makings of an afghan were in my lap and Carole King was coming soft through the windows of my living room when the Jeep pulled up.
I watched it, steeling myself to do what I promised, and I kept steeling myself as Raiden unfolded his body encased in tan cargo pants, tight hunter green tee and boots out of the Jeep. I continued steeling myself as he slowly walked up the steps, eyes on me and stopped at the post by the stairs.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey,” he said back in a way that that one word glided across the space and wrapped warm and snug around me like one of my afghans.
I quit steeling.
But I did make to move, saying, “You want a—?”
“Don’t move.”
I settled because there was a command to his voice, but it was different. It was like the way he said “hey” except more. A lot more. I stayed where I was, eyes glued to him, feeling funny in a way so good, it was absofuckingmazing good.
When he just stood there, his eyes moving over me, I asked softly, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
His eyes came to mine. His body slanted to the side so his shoulder was resting against the post and he replied, “You, just like that, any man would fight and die for the privilege of comin’ home to that every day.”
My breath left me in a soft, audible “oof”, like Spot had jumped up on my chest.
Raiden wasn’t done.
“Better, she accepts you just as you are, then makes a special coffeecake with apples and doesn’t skimp on the streusel, which is the best part. All that to celebrate you givin’ her your trust and her givin’ hers right back to you.”
Tears crawled up my throat and started clawing the backs of my eyes, so my voice was husky when I whispered, “Raiden.”
“And you know, she learned at the hand of Miss Mildred, the chicken in the oven is gonna rock your world.”
It totally was. Grams taught me everything she knew, but my Mom was also no slouch in the kitchen.
“Please stop talking,” I begged.
He didn’t.
“Fight and die for that privilege, Hanna.”
I swallowed back tears then warned, “If you don’t shut up, you’re going to make me cry.”
Raiden shut up, but didn’t move. He just stood there staring at me.
So I asked what I was going to ask before, “Honey, do you want a beer?”
“I’ll get it.”
“Okay.”
He pushed away from the post and walked into the house.
I did not find the courage to talk to him about my concerns about our morning conversation.
No, the truth was that sharing my concerns didn’t once enter my mind.
* * * * *
That night…
Raiden was back on his calves, his hips powering up. I was straddling him, back to his front, his arms around me, his hands moving everywhere.
I was unraveling.
His hand slid down then glided across my belly, and not even thinking about it, my hand covered his and slid it up.
Taking mine with it, his slid back down to my belly.
I slid it up.
His hand stilled then glided to my side, down and in. My hand still over his, I felt his middle finger press in, circle. His hips surged up, he filled me, my head flew back, a moan drifted up my throat and I shot to pieces.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later…
Naked in Raiden’s arms, I cuddled closer, my eyes drooping, sleep close.
“What was that?” his voice rumbled into me.
“Sorry?” I murmured.
“With your belly, baby.”
I blinked into the dark, suddenly not sleepy in the slightest. “Uh… sorry?”
“Want all-access, Hanna. You got some issues with me touchin’ your stomach?”
Oh God.
“Um…” I mumbled then said no more.
Raiden’s body tensed then pressed into mine so I was on my back and his shadow was looming over me.
Then he grunted, “Fuck.”
“What?”
“Do not wanna ask this shit, but did some fuckwad do somethin’ fucked with your stomach?”
I was baffled by this question so I repeated, “What?”
“Babe, you don’t want it, we won’t do it, but like I said, I want all-access and that might include me comin’ on you. Is that gonna be an issue for you?”
I didn’t answer. My mind was filled with Raiden coming on me, and how if he did that I’d get to watch, and how I kind of wanted to do that immediately.
“Hanna,” he called.
“What?” I answered distractedly.
His hand came up and cupped my jaw. “Honey, talk to me,” he urged gently.
God, he was being sweet and he totally had the wrong end of the stick.
So I found myself blurting, “I have a pouch.”
I watched the shadow of his head twitch and he asked, “You have a what?”
This was not fun in any way.
But I couldn’t have him thinking some “fuckwad” did something “fucked” to my stomach.
“I, um… well, am not exactly toned there like you’re, well… toned… or more like cut, well… everywhere.”
“So?”
I blinked into the dark.
“So?” I repeated.
“Yeah, so?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to do with that question so I remained silent.
Raiden didn’t.
He asked strangely, “Are you shitting me?”
I didn’t know what do to do with that question either. What I did know was I wasn’t shitting him, though I also didn’t know what he thought I was shitting him about.
“Well, no,” I answered, and suddenly his shadow was gone and the bed swayed because his big body landed on its back beside mine.
“Jesus, women are so fuckin’ whacked,” he informed the ceiling.
I pulled the covers up to my chest, lifted up on an elbow and twisted his way.
“Sorry?”
I felt his eyes on me in the dark. “Babe, guys like pussy,” he declared.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“A woman’s gotta smell good and she needs to take care of herself. By that I mean, she’s gotta wash her hair, shave her legs and work it, whatever it is she’s workin’. Her clothes, the way she does up her face, the way she moves, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. She does that and has a sweet pussy, a guy does not give a fuck and gets off on whatever wraps that package.”
I wasn’t sure that made me feel better and I communicated this by saying a dis
believing, “All right.”
Raiden got up on his elbow to face me, his arm moving to wrap around my waist and haul my lower body against his.
“That’s not entirely true,” he carried on. “Some guys like big tits, some guys don’t give a shit about tits and like a round ass. Some want long legs. Some want short women they can protect or feel like they can dominate. But brass tacks, it’s about the pussy.”
I was sure this didn’t make me feel better, therefore I asked, “So essentially, if it’s female, a man will sleep with it?”
“No, essentially a man won’t fuck anything he doesn’t want and women have got to get it in their heads that if he’s givin’ her his dick, he likes what he’s burying his dick inside.”
Well, that was certainly clear, if crude, and something that again left me with no response.
“Hanna, baby,” his voice had gentled and his arm pulled me closer, “what I’m sayin’ is, we like what we like, we’re drawn to what we’re drawn to and I wouldn’t be fuckin’ you if I didn’t want what you’re givin’ me. All of what you’re givin’ me. You’re pretty. You smell good. You’re legs are fuckin’ amazing. You’ve got great tits. You’re toned and in shape but soft in great fuckin’ places and I like it like that. Add you bein’ cute, dorky, sweet and fuckin’ hilarious, it’s perfect. All of it.”
Okay, that made me feel better.
I thought, for the first time in a long time, about the woman I saw him with, petite and skinny-minnie.
“So, you, uh… like tall and curvy, not short and skinny?” I asked.
“No, I like tits and hair, however those come, but what they gotta come with, what turns me on most, are smells and personality. You might think that’s bullshit, but it’s true. You got all that, but add your legs and I don’t have to court a backache in order to take your mouth, major bonus.”
That absolutely made me feel better so I smiled.
Raiden must have seen it in the dark because he leaned into me, taking me to my back and again loomed over me.
“So, you gonna stop that shit with your stomach?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“All-access?” he pushed.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I promised.
“How about you give that to me now,” he suggested and a pulse pounded between my legs.
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Spread for me, Hanna.”