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“Why?” he asks.
“You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”
“And that won’t change if you run away again. Do you really have to go?”
I shake my head, torn.
“I’ve wanted you,” he rasps, “from the moment I saw you watching me when I was fixing that fence.”
“You’re lying.”
“Fuck, no, I’m not.” He shifts against me, muscles bulging in his thighs. “You’re so beautiful.”
I lose the battle and a tear breaks free, slipping down my cheek. I lift my hands to his face and cup his jaw, his stubble prickling my palms. Jesus Christ, he’s so gorgeous.
He takes my hands and loops them around his neck. “Why are you crying?”
“I wish…” I swallow hard. “For so much I can’t have.”
“But you can have me. If you like.”
So I do the only thing I can: I kiss him and let the world fade away.
***
He kisses me back, pushing me against the gate. His hands slide down my neck and over my breasts, coming to rest on my waist, and I arch up against him, against his powerful muscles and the cock thickening against my stomach.
He tastes even better today. No wine sparkle to cover his spice, and his lips are salty with clean sweat. Salty and sweet and hot. My tongue tangles with his, and I press myself to him, needing to feel every beautiful inch of him.
Can’t remember right now why I’d better run away. My brain’s taken a hike. I kiss him back, desperate to get more of him. His hand fumbles behind me and the gate swings open. He walks me backward and kicks the gate closed without stopping.
His mouth is nipping at mine, his hands hot through my blouse. He’s moving fast, actually marching me backward, and I stumble.
In one swift motion, he bends, slides his arms under my back and knees and swings me up to his chest.
I squeal and grab at his neck, terrified I’ll fall. He laughs, a delicious, deep sound that vibrates through his chest and into me. He crosses the patio with long strides, bypassing the chaise lounges, and reaches the door.
“In my left pocket,” he says, eyes sparkling down at me. “The key.”
I stare at him, my brain still on lockdown. Finally I release my death grip on the back of his neck with my right hand and reach down. His running shorts are satiny, and I fumble around, trying to find the slit of his pocket. My hand brushes over something long and hard, and he gasps.
He grins down at me, but his eyes are kinda glazed.
“Is there really a key in there?” I move my hand to the side, and a shudder goes through his body. I feel an echo of it between my legs.
“Yeah, there is.”
I finally find the pocket and push my hand inside. I hunt for the key and brush over his hard-on again. He swallows another gasp, his eyes going dark and deep.
“Who cares about the key?” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Or going indoors. Let’s do it right here, on the doorstep.”
“You really are crazy,” I whisper, my fingers closing around the small key and pulling it out of his pocket. “Anyone passing by can see us.”
“Crazy people don’t care,” he whispers back, and I grin in spite of myself. “Just open the damn door.”
He maneuvers me until I can reach the keyhole. I shove the key inside and turn. He puts his hip to it, pushes, and it opens.
“Now,” he says, carrying me into the cool high-ceilinged mansion and striding around the sunken living room. “Where were we?”
