“I know you’re not,” I snap back—sharper than I mean to. Shit. Softer,“I know.”
She looks so damn beautiful right now. Hair catching the dying light, glowing like fire. Those brown eyes turning almost amber in the sunset, wide and vulnerable. My chest squeezes.
“I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time,” she blurts. “This is about the closest thing in years that’s come to it.”
“I understand, Layla. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“Good because I really like you, Cole, but I love doing what I do. My writing. I’m an author. I can’t just stay here and not do that. It would break me. My agent is in Seattle. I mean I haven’t even discussed any of this with her. I don’t—”
I cut off her rambling by backing her gently against the fence, hands cupping her face. My thumb traces slow down the center of her cleavage—light, teasing—watching her breath hitch, lips part. Then I kiss her. Slow. Gentle. Just enough to shut off the spiral in her head. I don’t want to take her from hercareer or make her feel like she has to stay. So I won’t tell her how I really feel, she will have to make that decision on her own.
I can feel her breathing change, quicker, shallower. God, I love teasing her. I love watching her melt.
“We’re having fun like you said. Right?” I whisper against her mouth.
“Yes,” she whispers back, looking up at me all innocent and wide-eyed. It’s lethal.
I pull away, start walking again, leaving her stunned against the fence. I glance back, motion with my head. Come on.
She catches up quickly, shoving my arm playfully. “Ya know it’s messed up to tease me like that.”
I smirk, keep walking until we’re inside the barn. The familiar smell hits—hay, leather, wood. Dim golden light filters through the high windows. There’s the old workbench along the wall, smooth from years of use.
I grab her quickly, lift her in one smooth motion, plop her ass right on the table. She squeals, half-laugh, half-gasp.
“I know you wore this dress for me tonight,” I whisper in her ear, voice low and rough.
She moans softly, giggles, turns her head shyly away. Fuck, that shy thing she does? Kills me every time.
“What are you doing?” she asks, flirty, already knowing.
“I’m going to taste you.”
I have to. I need to. I bunch her dress up around her hips—black lacy thong underneath, pussy already slick and perfect. I’ve seen it before, buried myself in it, but not like this. Not in the barn’s warm glow, panties pulled aside, waiting for my mouth.
I drop to the bench, settle between her thighs. “This is my dessert.”
“We’re going to get caught, Cole,” she says, but her voice is breathy, thighs already trembling.
“So?”
My tongue finds her clit, flat, slow lick first, then I suck. She lets out a loud, broken moan, thick thighs clamping around my head like a vice.
She leans back on her forearms, arching. “Oh my fucking god. That feels so damn good, baby.”
Baby.
The word hits like whiskey straight to the veins. My cock throbs hard against my jeans. Baby? Fuck. I groan into her, lick faster, suck harder, tasting how wet she is for me. She’s dripping, sweet, addictive. I could live here.
“Yes!” she yells, hips bucking.
I smile against her, keep going until she’s shaking.
Then I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and start unbuttoning my jeans.
“Sit on the bench,” she says, eyes dark.
I drop down. She slides off the table, drops to her knees in the dirt —city girl’s not even flinching at the dust. Makes me want her more. She bites her lip, looks up at me like sin, unzips me slowly. Rubs me through the fabric first—teasing—then pulls me out. Tongue along the shaft, long and wet, before she takes me deep.
