His lips meet mine, eager. We’re both starving.
“Take me on a date,” I gasp.
“The best café in town isn’t good enough for you?” he asks, but his voice is raw.
I laugh against his lips. “The service is very”—I roll against his cock, kissing the moan from his lips—“attentive. I foresee a generous tip coming.”
He groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Fuck, Paige, you’re killing me.” He grips my hips tight enough that I’ll be feeling them tomorrow. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t.” I slide my hand into his hair, rocking faster. “I want you to come.”
“Fuck,” he growls, and it doesn’t take much after that.
His grip is bruising, our lips crashing into each other, again and again. Each breath is a grunt or gasp or moan, and then he thrusts up, hard, until his hips stutter and still, and I watch as he tumbles over the edge.
I’m still staring as he collapses back against the wall with a groan. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
“I forgive you,” I whisper against his lips. “And I want us to work.”
He gives his gratitude in a series of gentle, chaste kisses. “Thank you,” he says. “Can we start by getting out of this damn house?”
Chapter Seventeen
PAIGE
Gripping the edge of the drawer under the register, I pull as hard as I can, but it’s just as stuck as it’s been all morning. I don’t know why it happens, but inevitably, every summer, it does this.
“Come on! You’re not allowed to break.” I squat down, trying to make out what is keeping it in place.
I can’t even ask for Skye’s help because she’s at the post office with a week’s worth of orders. Her crush, Bianca, is working, so I know it’ll be an hour before she’s back, if not more.
“The council’s heard your complaints, and we understand the issue, but we’ve decided. No breaking.”
“A wise decision.”
I start, clutching my heart as I turn to face Benji, who is wearing a smile I want to soak in.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I let go of the drawer and step back, relieved. “Thank you for this,” I say, spotting the tools he brought with him. “At this point, I don’t even care if you have to break it open. We can’t sell anything while the POS reader is stuck in there.”
He walks around the counter until he is caging me in. He left his flannel at the shop, leaving him in blue jeans and a pale green T-shirt that makes his eyes sing. Today must be a front-of-shop day. With his cap swung backwards, I can see his hair, dark and damp. He’s freshly showered, and all I want to do is bury my nose into his chest and breathe in.
“I like the skirt,” he says, reaching down and playing with the edge of the hem.
Goose bumps flood my thighs. All the air leaves my lungs.
“It’s hot.”
“Yes.” His eyes dip down to my legs for a long time, then slowly creep up. “It is.”
“What are you doing?”
He steps closer, gripping my waist. “Saying hello.”
“Someone could walk in.”
The shop is open, even though I haven’t had a customer for twenty or so minutes.
