Call Your Name by Ayden K. Morgen |
“Holy crap,” Noah Maxwell whispered, coming to a
dead stop in the middle of the street when Ava Cameron wandered into his
line of sight through her window. Faint light trickled through the glass,
illuminating her as she paced back and forth across her living room. She
had her dark hair pinned up in a way that made his fingers ache to
search out each little pin and toss them aside, just so he could see
those dark waves cascade freely down her back. The waves ended at her
waist, accentuating her soft body in all the right ways. Her curves
drove him crazy. In the four months since Ava had moved in across
the street from him, he’d dreamed more than once about running his lips
all over those curves. He’d had the same dreams about her legs. The
woman was a siren. Not rail thin, but 50’s pin-up model perfect.
Something he damn sure wouldn’t find in the dregs of humanity his job
forced him to deal with daily. The prostitutes and crack addicts he rubbed elbows
with would never dream of licking frosting from a spoon with such
relish, the way she did each night. Cocaine residue, maybe. Hell,
probably even a few other things. Neither lot cared much for the simple
things in life though. They lived for the next fix or a quick buck.
Never anything as innocent as frosting from a Duncan Hines container, or
maintaining control of the remote like Ava did during that ridiculous
dancing show she loved. As far as Noah was concerned, there wasn’t anyone
else in the world like Ava. She found so much joy in the smallest
things: like watching fireflies in her garden at night, arguing with him
over books and current events, or her standing coffee date with their
elderly neighbor. He loved that about her, loved the way she threw
herself wholeheartedly into everything she did. He loved her compassion,
her spirit, and how she always had a kind word for everyone, even those
who didn’t deserve it. “Don’t blow it,” he muttered to himself, running
his hands through his wild hair for the sixth time in as many minutes
before hurrying across the street. He’d never been this nervous about a
date before. Hell, he’d never been this nervous about spending time with
Ava before. But tonight…well, Noah hoped tonight would be a whole hell
of a lot different than eating takeout in front of her television, or
fighting over the last eggroll in his pathetic excuse for a functional
kitchen. Tonight, he didn’t want to walk the eighty seven
steps to his front door while Ava waved goodnight from her porch. He
wanted to strip her bare and make love to her on the old chaise tucked
into the corner of her living room. The one that looked like it’d been
through a paintball war, but she adamantly refused to throw out. It had character, she liked to tell him, her green
eyes flashing with fire, her little chin turned up, and her hands
planted on her hips like she was about to light into him. He always lost that particular argument. Not that he really ever made a real effort to win,
anyway. He only goaded her about that damned chaise to rile her up. The
woman was fierce, and didn’t take any shit from him. She gave as good as
she got, and Jesus Christ, he wanted to give it to her until her curvy
little body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and she couldn’t take
anymore. “Do not blow it,” he muttered to himself again,
jogging up the steps to her porch, and trying like hell to calm his
racing heart and get his dick under control. Just the thought of
watching her writhe above him on that ugly chaise had him rock hard. His
self-control lay in tatters, scattered across her living room floor like
shredded paper. Annihilated by the little pair of boxers she’d been
wearing when he knocked on her door last night. They’d barely covered
her round ass. Noah raised his hand and rapped sharply on the
door, refusing to think about those damn boxers. Ava flung the door open in a matter of seconds. Her
eyes lit up when she saw him, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom
lip. She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Hey, stranger.” “Hey, yourself,” he said, finishing the same
exchange of greetings they gave every time he knocked on her door or she
appeared at his. He looked her over, damn near groaning aloud.
Apparently those boxers weren’t the only criminal item of clothing she
owned. He hadn’t been able to see it from the window, but
her dress, a deep purple that did sinful things to her creamy
complexion, ended at mid-thigh, the back flaring out like some new twist
on the old flapper elegance. The dark fabric hugged her curves in all
the right places, making her look downright decadent. The
V between her breasts gave a hint of
cleavage, just enough to make his mouth water. How had he managed to keep himself from ravaging
her for four months? He was beyond tired of the release his own hand
afforded, or the endless cold showers he forced himself to endure after
waking up from dreams of taking Ava over the back of his sofa, or on top
of his kitchen table, or tied to his bed.... He had a never-ending list
of ways he fantasized about making love to her. Even in the kinkiest,
dirtiest of those fantasies, he made love to her. Never just fucked her. Yeah, he had it bad for the girl. He just hoped to hell she felt the same way about
him. “What do you think?” she asked, giving a little
spin with her arms outspread. She grinned over her shoulder at him, her
green eyes bright and that dimple of hers flashing. He cleared his throat roughly before giving her an
answering grin. “Not bad, Cameron. Not bad at all.” She stuck her tongue out at his teasing response
before giving him the once over. Her mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.
Noah Maxwell owns a suit?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He smirked, sliding his hand
into his pocket to grab a slip of paper, holding it out to her with a
flourish. “I brought you a present.” She flashed him another happy grin, reaching for
the paper. She glanced down at it, and then laughed loudly. “A coupon?
Really, Noah?” “Not just any coupon.” He tapped the slip of paper
with a finger. “This little puppy right here entitles you to one free
fifteen-ounce container of coconut pecan frosting from the masters at
Duncan Hines.” “Well, then,” she said, lifting up on her tiptoes
to kiss him quickly on the cheek before dropping back down to her heels
again, “that certainly changes things.” Reaching behind her to grab her
handbag, she slid the coupon inside. “It’s a good thing my date tonight
is armed. I may need the extra protection for that golden ticket.” “Damn straight you will,” he laughed. “You ready to
go?” She stepped out, pulling her front door closed
behind her. “Are we taking your car or mine?” Noah cocked a brow at her. The woman drove a Fiat.
He could barely fit in the damn thing without folding himself into
unnatural shapes. If he pushed hard enough of the gas pedal, he was
pretty fucking certain his foot would go through the floorboard and he’d
be Flintstone pedaling her car. “Right. Bumblebee.” Her nickname for his Camaro, not his. “Bumblebee,” he agreed, offering her his arm like a
gentleman. She flashed him another killer smile, sending his
heart into overdrive again. Do not blow it, Maxwell,
he warned himself again, praying like hell that at some point tonight
he’d figured out how to tell her he’d fallen for her. |
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