“Oh my god. Yes!” My cries turn to gibberish, and I come hard. He’s jerking into my hand, his dick still pulsating. Then, with one last pump, a long groan leaves him, and he sags against me while keeping me stable.
I’m holding him, and his fingers are still inside me. We don’t move until the water turns cool, and then cold. Shivers dance over my skin.
He slowly pulls out of me, giving me a kiss, and reaches for the washcloth. Adjusting the spray away from me before he wipes me down, he washes both of us. My teeth are chattering when he flips the water off, but I don’t want to leave the cocoonhe’s made. Then I might have to ask myself what the hell I’m thinking, climbing all over Calder like this.
I’m thinking that, for once, it’s nice to forget about what the future holds.
“Bowen’s going to be pissed there’s no hot water.” He grabs a yellow towel from the hook outside the curtain and wraps it around me.
Alarm dulls my post-orgasmic glow. “Oh no. Do you think he heard us?”
“Not this time. He’s not home yet.”
“Not this time?” Horror washes more cold through me.
Calder chuckles and presses a kiss to my lips. “Let’s get you tucked in. I’ll get a bite to eat, and then I’m coming to bed to feast on you.”
THIRTY-THREE
CALDER
Country music pumps through the brewery, and it’s making me more restless sitting at the desk in Dad’s office. A light rain patters against the windows. It’s supposed to be dreary all day, yet I’m having a hard time staying in my chair.
I get up and pace my office for the second time, dictating another email on my phone. I’ve fielded no less than twenty texts and ignored no more than ten phone calls. I can’t bring myself to tell Meredith to turn the music down. That’s not the distraction.
Meredith’s got a bounce in her step, which she hasn’t had since I first arrived, and the color is back in her cheeks. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s humming along to various songs, no matter the artist. The hip movements she adds to each almost make me lock the damn door. But the trucks showed up to load the pallets. At least it was an excuse to get out of the damn office. The same goes for the money I forked out on a delivery driver to bring us lunch from Williston. He should be here soon.
I’m at the door again, peering between the stills, hoping to catch a glimpse of Meredith as she starts a second brew to fill the fermenter. The taproom is closed all day, so she’s skipped the ugly polo I love to see her in. Instead, she’s wearing an older version of a Jules Creek merch shirt, this one a rustic maroon,with loose linen shorts. Her hair is pulled up in a long ponytail, and I’m propelled back to that shower, her wet hair draped over her shoulders and brushing the tops of her breasts. Then later, in bed, with it fanned over the pillow when I made her come again with my hand over her mouth so Bowen wouldn’t hear. But he probably did.
Not only do I have a craving to be inside her, but I’m also beside myself to hear her cry my name when she’s climaxing. I used to pride myself on my patience, but Meredith is obliterating that. Why can’t I resist her? Is it the time? We’re running out of it, and that makes her more alluring?
She glances up and gives me the sweetest smile, touched with a hint of shyness. Just like she was in the shower last night—already unwrapped for me, but ready to run and leave a trail of water droplets for me to chase. Yet she didn’t run.
“Is the music too loud?” she calls.
I shake my head.
Just then, my phone buzzes, and much as I don’t want to check it, it might be the delivery driver. By the time I’m done looking at my screen—yes, the food’s here—Meredith is working at the mash tank. I jog down the stairs, ditching my monitors and spreadsheets, and meet the delivery guy at the door.
“Hey, man.” The kid looks like he came straight from the skateboard park, with baggy jeans, a loose white T-shirt, and some sort of shoe that lacks arch support, but he’s not old enough to worry about something like that. He hands over a paper bag emblazoned with the logo of a gourmet deli. I pass him another tip, and he leaves with a big smile, offering to run over anything I need anytime.
“Lunch,” I yell loud enough for Meredith to hear, and I drop the bag on a high-top table in the corner.
“Be right there.”
While waiting, I grab two pints of Honey Creek in chilled mugs and set out our food.
Meredith appears at my side and eyes the selection. “It’s been forever since I’ve had their subs.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted soup too.”
“If it’s chicken tortilla, absolutely. You didn’t have to get this,” she says as she slides into the chair. “I could’ve packed leftovers.”
“No, you couldn’t have. I ate half of them, and it looks like Bowen took care of the rest.”
Surprise flits through her expression. “You guys liked it? I wasn’t sure it was your speed.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
