Dirty Thoughts by Megan Erickson Page A

earth.
    She’d always made him feel like that. That he was worth something. That he mattered.
    The feeling was mutual.
    He should go to his house. Alone. But the thought of going home and seeing that birthday card on his kitchen table—the one from Jill —made his heart clench. He should have thrown it away when he saw her name, like he usually did. How the hell did she get his new address anyway? He suspected Brent had something to do with it, the damn peacemaker.
    With a growl and a flick of his wrist, he roared onto her road and then cut into her driveway. She wanted the out-of-control kid? The impulsive one who couldn’t get enough of her? Well then, fine. He’d be that for a night. Give them both what they craved, and then they’d be free. The plan made total sense in his head, so he didn’t dig deeper into what he was really doing. He didn’t hesitate, because if he did, then he might abandon this whole thing.
    He did feel out of control, but the kicker was, it felt damn good. He liked this pull in his heart, tugging him toward Jenna. It was exhilarating, like a drug. How had he lived without this for ten years?
    He knocked on her front door, shifting his weight back and forth, realizing he hadn’t changed out of these damn fancy clothes.
    A light turned on inside the house; he could see it through the small oval window at the top of the door. He imagined— hoped , because that was safe—she was looking through the peephole at him. So he stared right back.
    There was no sound. Nothing.
    “Jenna,” he said firmly, knowing his deep voice would carry.
    Another pause, then the click of the deadbolt. He lowered his gaze and watched the doorknob turn. Then the door opened, and Jenna was standing in the doorway, light spilling out onto the front porch from behind her. She was wearing a short, thin blue robe. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
    Her face was free of makeup, and she stood with one foot on top of the other.
    She was so fucking beautiful, his chest hurt. He wanted to fall to his knees at her feet and beg forgiveness. He’d take any fucking scraps from her right now, as long as it was something, anything, to put him out of his misery.
    Anything to make him feel, one more time, that he was worth something.
    She licked her lips, and he tracked that pink tongue. “Cal?”
    In one step he was inside the house. With his booted foot, he slammed the door closed behind him, blindly turning the lock. Then he grabbed Jenna’s face in both hands and crashed his lips onto hers.
    Her hands flew up, gripping his biceps, her little nails digging in through the fabric of his shirt. Cal wasn’t messing around as he swiped his tongue over the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. But she kept her lips shut tight.
    He should have known she’d make him work for this. He pressed kisses to the corners of her mouth, to her cheekbones, to that pert nose and her jawline. Then back to her mouth, nibbling her lips. “I’m sorry.”
    “Goddamn you,” she huffed against his lips, and he took that opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.
    She took the offensive now, opening her jaw, pushing against his tongue. She retracted her claws on his biceps and melted into his arms. He relinquished his grip on her face and skimmed his hands down her neck. When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers, panting into her mouth. He turned them around, so her back was against the door. Leaning back a little, he eyed the gap in her robe, where the pale skin of a rounded breast showed.
    He lifted his gaze to hers. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, so each time that robe slipped a little bit more. He wanted to rip it off. He was hard, cock straining against these pants that were too goddamn tight to begin with.
    “Why are you here?” Jenna asked.
    He answered as honestly as he could. “I want you.”
    And maybe that was it. Standing in front her now, Cal wasn’t stupid to think he and