The Unidentified Redhead (1) by Alice Clayton Page B

he invited.
    You are going to let him touch your boobies, aren't you?
    Maybe. Probably.
    “OK, I'm going for my run and then I'll be by with your coffee. Did you need a muffin, too? Or am I just your java wench for now?” I sassed back.
    “Haha! Just the coffee, but skip the run. I'm lonely.”
    “No, I need to run. Besides, that will give you time to clean up your place,” I pushed.
    “How do you know if I need to clean up my place or not? You've never been here,” he asked.
    “You're twenty-four right? Let's see, twenty-four. I am going to guess that your boxers are on the coffee table, there are pizza boxes on the floor, and the bong is on the back of the toilet. Yes?”
    He was quiet for a minute and then he burst out laughing. “Go for your run, I'll see you soon. And the bong isn't in the bathroom,” he chided.
    “Kitchen?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Has it ever been in the bathroom?” I pressed.
    “Dammit, yes.”
    “I am the master! Text me your order and your address and I'll be along soon. I'm warning you, though. I will be all hot and sweaty from my run. You may not want to kiss me.”
    “Not possible. I'm looking forward to the hot and sweaty. And Grace?”
    “Yes?”
    “Run fast,” he said darkly.
    “No problem. See you soon,” I promised.
    I ran like my ass was on fire.
    ***
    I made it to his apartment in less than 60 minutes, forgoing my usual longer run in favor of a more Jack-friendly workout. I had picked up his coffee, Grande Espresso, and my Iced Mocha as well. I climbed the stairs to his door and knocked carefully, balancing the two cups.
    When he opened the door, my breath drew in with a hiss. He was wearing a white t-shirt, low slung jeans and was barefoot. The hair was curly perfection and he hadn't shaved for a few days. The roughness of his beard accented his jawbones, making him look both virile and angelic at the same time. He was smiling at me while looking devilish. I said hello to him, walked past him into the hallway, and continued into what I assumed was the living room. He said nothing, just followed me in. I could hear the soft slap of his bare feet on the wood floors. I turned around to hand him his coffee and he was right behind me. He took both cups and set them on the table.
    “I got it with two sugars, just the way you…” I was silenced by his stare. He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me into him. His green eyes were blazing, his jaw set as his fingers touched the skin between my tank top and my track pants.
    “Sorry, I told you I was going to be sweaty, do you want me to—”
    “Grace?” he interrupted.
    “Yes?”
    “Shut the fuck up and enjoy this,” he whispered, as he bent his head to mine.
    He's right, Grace, shut the fuck up.
    His lips touched mine, and though yesterday's kiss was sweet and amazing, he was serious today. His mouth moved over mine urgently, incessantly. I had been dying to touch his hair since the first day I saw it, and now I dug in. I felt the silk and the soft of every strand as I wound my fingers throughout, drawing him closer to me. I sucked lightly on that damn lower lip, and when his tongue met mine I…thought…I…would explode.
    His hands were rough on my hips, tugging me closer, and I could feel each fingerprint pressing into my skin. My senses were so heightened in that moment that I could even feel slight calluses on his left hand as they dragged toward my belly. I moaned into his mouth, feeling my skin pebble and shiver. He pulled back for a nanosecond and inhaled, gazing at me through heavy eyes and then leaned in for more.
    His lips trailed down my jaw towards my neck and I turned my head to give it all to him. It was my sweet spot, the one that made my toes point…yep, they were pointing. He used his tongue to tickle his way from my collarbone up to my ear, stopping only to nibble and nip here and there. I pulled my right hand away from his hair and began running my fingertips up and down his back, feeling his