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“Wait. How would you know?”
Pinching his eyes closed, he sighs like he’s in pain. “Cam?”
“What?”
“Can we talk about this later?”
I can’t help but recall our meet cute when he checked me out in the bathroom. Ha! Someone’s embarrassed and… well, we are in the middle of fucking, and I’d like to get off, too.
I give him a peck on the lips before I twist back around. “Sure.”
I feel him relax against me. He ghosts his breath across the back of my shoulders like he’s inhaling what he calls my Snuggle scent as he aims for my prostate. I don’t care if he’s done dick research or if he’s terrified of mine. He gives me all his secrets and worries, along with his joy and confidence. I think it takes a lot of trust to show someone every side of yourself, the good and the bad. He confessed to me the other night that he used to think he wasn’t a passionate person. My guess is that whomever he shared that with before, he was too afraid to give them all of himself. I might never know why he afforded me that luxury, but I love all of Pete.
I’m so happy it’s sickening. His hips slap against my ass, making my cock bounce up again. A playful thought crosses my mind.
“We can talk about my huge dick whenever you want,” I whisper.
He barks out a laugh that rattles my eardrum. His chest rumbles against my back. Threading my fingers through his on the glass, he silences my chuckling with his mouth and picks up the pace. I hold back for as long as I can, but finally the fire sweeps up my legs, engulfing me. Except, I feel that telltale pulsing inside me and hear him cry out. He’s coming with me this time.
We convulse together, pant together, and then meld to each other’s weight like melting wax figures. The gift of being wrong about someone shouldn’t be so rewarding. Blinking through the fog of my post-sex haze, I find the crappy old closet mirror is marred by my release.
Shit. The agent doesn’t need to see that. It was a feat convincing her to give me the keys so I could surprise Pete in private. Lorraine was right—the woman is nosy.
“Well, we have to rent it now, so Irene doesn’t come back.”
EPILOGUE
Three months later—Pete
“Cameron, how do you like that truck out front?” Bob McClennon calls across the conference room.
Cam looks up from the coffee machine on our side table in the office, a smile alighting on his face as he gazes out the front window at the snowy parking lot of our home office in Wenatchee. “Very nice. That logo isn’t half bad either.”
He flashes me a look that he’s going to regret later… or not. No, definitely not. That man knows how to push all my buttons, the ones that I don’t mind having pushed.
The association members finish packing up from our meeting. The amount of Christmas cookies on platters covering the table is obscene and such a far cry from my meetings at Fairway Foods. Our discussion about the expenses for the building we voted on leasing for the association’s bakery actually finished half an hour ago. All the members are friends and neighbors to each other, though, and turned the tail end of our business into a social hour. It’s another abstract from corporate life that I’m still getting used to—a room full of people who give a damn about each other, openly share ideas, and make compromises for the good of all. I didn’t know it was possible to feel such pride in work.
Come next fall, I’m certain everyone will be in the green from our venture, but I don’t relish numbers the way I used to. Building something that is going to make a difference in this small community has proven far more rewarding than having the highest earning account for a company that supplied the masses.
By the time the orchard growers bundle up to head out into the cold, I’ve had enough socializing for one day. I’m getting better at it, even though I’m sure there are things that will bother me for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s just easier here where people know me. I should probably be embarrassed that Bob’s wife brought a three-pack of Clorox wipes with a Christmas bow on it, but I love those damn things. It might be the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.
Once the door is closed, I let out a sigh of relief. I just have to put everything back in order, and then I can call it a day. When I turn around, however, someone’s beat me to it.
I watch Cam scrutinize his placement of the notepads on the conference table, wondering if I’ve created a monster. He’s already put the pens back in the caddy and judging by the roll of paper towels next to him and sanitizer spray, I’m betting he wiped them down too. Fuck, that’s so hot.
“You don’t have to do that,” I assure him, walking over and adjusting the chairs on my side of the table.
“Mm, no. I do.”
“What? Why?”
His gaze flicks to mine, a smirk playing on his face. “Because you’re looking at me like that, so the sooner we get the office back in order, the sooner I can find out all the filthy things you want to do with me.”
“You’re diabolical,” I warn, kicking the last chair into place with my foot and stalking around the table. “You fucking started it. It’s two in the afternoon. You didn’t need more coffee.”
Laughing, he retreats backward, his hands in a sign of surrender. “I am so sick of making last-minute Christmas card templates, I couldn’t stand to be in my office another minute.”
Gripping his waist, I invade his space until my chest presses against his. “What kind of businessman are you if you shun one of the most profitable holidays?”
