Sometimes what you want and what you need are two very different things.
Always relegated to the “friends with benefits” corner of small town River Bend, Jenny Riley is done giving the milk for free. Falling hard for a bad boy? Not in the plan, either.
Sexy, emotionally-wounded Marine Reservist Brody Nelson just needs someone to lend an ear. A friend. Friends to lovers? That’s more than he bargained for.
Neither wants a relationship. A long distance friendship should be enough.
Warning: This books contains a tattooed, pierced hero with a few surprises up his sleeve…and a hella sexy one down his pants.
Ducking out the backdoor with an armful of empty beer bottles, he heard the neighbor’s dog start barking out in the front and he spun around so fast from the recycling bins that he nearly clocked his face on the door, hurrying back inside.
First thing on Monday’s to-do list: Hire a cleaning lady in case Jenny had more of these impromptu visits up her sleeve.
He met her at the front door, a grin on his face that probably made him look like a randy teenager. “Fuck, you look amazing. Hurry up, get in here.”
She laughed as she maneuvered around piles of slushy, melting snow. “I’m trying, I’m trying!”
“God, woman,” he growled when she got close enough for him to grab and pull in tight. She’d swapped out her fluffy parka for a white fleece number that significantly reduced the amount of fabric between her tits and his chest. His cock took notice. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against her neck. “Best part of my entire week.”
“Mine, too.” Her fingers slid up into his hair as she wiggled closer, and he shivered. More of that, please. “But I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” he asked between stealing kisses and ridding her of her jacket.
“I’ve actually been driving around for an hour trying to find you. Tony gave me the wrong address.” She bit at her lip and made the most adorably uncertain face ever. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Well, hell. Words couldn’t do justice to how friggin’ elated that made him. Women had shown up on his doorstep lots of times, flaunting their proverbial trench coat and batting their fuck-me eyes, but not one—not a single goddamn one—had ever shown up late on a Saturday afternoon just because she wanted to see him.
Inch by inch, he backed her toward the wall in his hallway. When her shoulders hit the dark red paint, she gasped and he took great pleasure in covering her sweet lips with his…in swallowing that breathy sound and letting it seep deep into his lungs.
Her hair felt like ribbons of satin between his fingers and her heat like a fire in the middle of a cold, barren Afghani desert. He couldn’t get close enough, needed more of her all around him. And she gave him just that, pushing up onto her toes, so she could fold her arms around his neck and eliminate every possible space between them. All the while, she fed his soul with wet, addictive kisses that soothed him from the inside out. A high like he hadn’t experience in too damn long built fast and heady, better by a million than any whiskey-induced buzz could have ever been.
“I like surprises,” he muttered against her mouth. “Especially when they taste like sugar.”
She laughed and the lush, full-bodied sound echoed off his walls, spilling a little of her essence into his home. He wanted more of that laughter…wanted her to fill up every bit of his space with all the parts of herself she was willing to share. She was the comfort in his otherwise chaotic world. His peace of mind when his head filled up with so much shit, he couldn’t think. And by some strange, nonsensical twist of fate, he suspected he gave her something similar in return.
“We good now?” he asked, slowly and regretfully loosening his hold on her before he got greedy and pushed past her boundaries.
She nodded. “I think so. Though, we might want to double check a little later.”
Molly McLain lives in a tiny little town in Wisconsin with her husband, three kids, and a sassy dog. She loves fountain soda, jellybeans, Luke Bryan and Avenged Sevenfold, thunderstorms, and camping at quiet lakes. She’s been scribbling down love stories since she was old enough to dream about happily ever afters, and now she writes sexy, small town romance for real.
***Molly’s Mailing List***