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He lurched backward and whipped off his shirt, wiping his eyes with the saturated shirt, and said, “I can’t believe you just did that.”
I had my hand over my heart as if it would help stop it from beating out of my chest.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed as I looked at him. “What the hell? Why would you just come up behind me like that? You’re lucky I didn’t have a shovel!”
His eyes narrowed. “You would’ve hit me with it?”
I shrugged and tossed the water hose down, then moved to the wall where I quickly shut the water off.
“I would’ve. It would’ve been on pure instinct, though. Ask Dillan what happened the last time she snuck up on me and I had my curling iron in my hand,” I said as I turned back around, my hands on my hips.
His eyes took me in, and I realized what I must look like.
I’d been working the dogs all afternoon in the heat.
I was wearing what could be considered Daisy Dukes.
My once blue jeans that were now considered way too short to wear anywhere but at home were riding up high on my thighs. My white wifebeater tank top was shucked up on my belly, exposing my stretch marks, and I had a red and white bandana in my hair holding it all in place.
I was a hot, sweaty mess and the last person in the world I wanted looking at me right now in this state was Bourne Pena.
Yet, there he was.
Looking hot as hell in his jeans, work boots, and shirtless.
Rawr.
I licked my lips and tried to keep my eyes focused on his face, but I had very little self-control when it came to Bourne Pena.
Like, nil if I was being honest.
“I’ll do that,” he murmured, his eyes raking over me.
They dilated, and I swallowed hard, wondering if this was how it was going to be for us from now on.
I knew what he felt like inside of me, and all I could think about right then was having him back where I wanted him most.
He must’ve read the thoughts on my face because he cleared his throat and said, “You have something around the side of the house you need help with?”
“Umm,” I hesitated. “No?”
He looked over his shoulder and I could see his sister, Priscilla, in the yard.
She was flipping through a magazine as she walked back toward her front door, obviously just having gotten her mail.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think you need help.”
I frowned at him as he gestured for me to precede him around the house.
The moment we got there, he had me pressed up against the rough brick wall, and his mouth was on mine.
“Watched you for fifteen minutes picking out weeds,” he growled against my lips, shoving my shirt up to expose my breasts. “Weeds, dammit. You’d water the flowers, see a weed, and bend over. Rinse and repeat. For fifteen minutes. Ask me what color thong you’re wearing.”
I licked my lips, which happened to be very close to his, meaning I licked his, too.
He growled and shoved my shirt and bra up around my throat, exposing my breasts to his hands.
“What color?” I asked breathlessly.
He dropped his mouth so that he could run his tongue around my nipple.
“Pink,” he growled. “Hot. Fucking. Pink.”
He was right.
After the incident—as I now liked to call it—I’d started wearing much sexier under clothes.
Which was why, right now, I was wearing a hot pink thong with a matching hot pink bra.
You could see it through the white tank top.
I thought it was kind of cute.
Apparently, it turned Booth on.
Go figure.
I latched onto his hair, holding him close, and mewled.
“I have ten minutes until I have to leave to go get Asa off the school bus,” I gasped. “If you’re going to do this, you better hurry.”
He grinned wickedly, twisted me around, and bent me over the outdoor couch that I had in my back yard.
Seconds later, he was yanking my shorts down without unbuttoning them and slamming home inside of me.
I moaned at the feel of his hot, hard cock inside of me.
My hands clenched onto the wicker arm, and I held on for dear life as he fucked the hell out of me.
This. This was what I wanted out of our first encounter.
Him out of control. Me, taking him hard.
Unable to do anything but feel.
“God, Bourne,” I cried. “Yes.”
He clenched his hands onto my ass, and I could practically feel the burn of his eyes as they traveled over where we were connected. I wished I could see what he saw.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he said desperately, his voice strained.
I heard his breathing change and knew he was close.
Which was a good thing, because in another two strokes, I was going off like I hadn’t had an orgasm only hours earlier as I thought about him.
