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I look around us. “Don’t you need to pee?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, now I do. Why’d you have to ask? You know I’m suggestible.” She walks toward one of the stalls, disappearing behind the door.
“You brought me to the bathroom. What else would I think you planned to do in here?”
“Gossip, obviously,” she huffs.
After washing and drying our hands, we make our way back to the table. Dan and Brody are talking comfortably, but I realize disappointedly that his plate is missing.
They stand as Emily and I sit, and then Brody’s arm goes around the back of my chair once again. His inky brow lifts as he points at my plate with his chin.
Two small, crunchy onion rings sit on top of my fries, the almost-overdone ones I love. He saved them for me.
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
This man is everything I never knew I wanted, everything I never knew I needed.
Chapter 23
Brody
“Does it make me sound like a pussy if I say I’m gonna miss you?” Even as I admit it, I don’t really care about the answer. Okay, maybe a little, so I shove half a drowned-in-hot-sauce taco in my mouth in one go as if that’ll prove my manhood.
Erica grins, sucking queso off her index finger. Tacos for our last lunch before I leave for the market auction seems like one of my more brilliant ideas right about now. “Nah, I’m definitely missable.” My eyes track her tongue, which has snaked out to lick off any last bits of cheesy goodness. “Besides, pussies are inherently tough as a mother, hence the expression, and designed to take a pounding. You might be balls . . . all sensitive and fragile.” Her voice has gone soft and sad as she teases me.
“I’ll show you sensitive and fragile,” I growl, grabbing at her. She laughs riotously, acting like she’s going to move around the breakroom table to dodge my hands, but I know she doesn’t move far enough away on purpose. She lets me catch her and pull her into my lap sideways. My cock, which is resting against her hip, decides to take notice and thicken in my work jeans.
A naughty smile plays at the corners of Erica’s lips before she leans in, kissing along my neck. “I’d rather you show me a pounding,” she murmurs against my skin.
“Fuck, Lil Bit. What are you doing to me?” I groan, not really complaining as she readjusts so that she’s straddling me. Unable to rip her coveralls off, my fingers dig into the flesh of her hips as hers pull at the strands of hair at the nape of my neck.
“Anything I want,” she moans back between nibbles. She takes my hat off, putting it on her own head backward the way I do when I eat her pussy out.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, meaning every word. Her hair is in haphazard low braids, like she couldn’t be bothered to do more than a couple of twists on each side, and now it’s topped with my dirty hat. Her face is bare of makeup, as always, but it’s also free of any façade. She’s wide open—no walls, no distance, no shutters to keep me at bay from her true self. Her dark eyes are full of heated lust, but also sweetness and hope. And these coveralls are so loose, I could just slip inside to cup her breast. I know she’s got a tank top on underneath, but I can make quick work of that.
I grab the braids with one hand, pulling gently as I use my other hand to push her chin up. The exposed length of her neck begs for a mark, and I kiss and suck, testing her. “Can I?”
Her moan of agreement turns my cock to steel against her pussy. She pulls at the collar of her coveralls, sliding her tank top over too. “Not visible. It’s unprofessional.”
“Fuck professional,” I snarl, already licking my way down to where her neck meets her shoulder.
I kiss and nibble and suck, swallowing the taste of her skin. Her hips grind against me, her hands grabbing at my chest for leverage. Her short nails dig into my skin, marking me too, and I know that tonight, when I’m sharing a hotel room with Mark before the biggest day of our ranching year, I’ll appreciate the half-moons of her claim.
Suddenly, the door opens. “Hey Rix, Mr. Turner wants—Shit.” Reed freezes in the doorway of the breakroom, the horror on his face quickly morphing to fury.
Erica’s back goes straight and stiff, her walls erecting from one instant to the next as she climbs out of my lap. Standing tall, she glares at Reed, who’s moved on to grinding his teeth, not saying a word.
Erica snaps her fingers, prompting, “Mr. Turner wants . . .”
