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She whimpered with need. He stroked her again, teasing the barely perceptible bud of her clit this time while kissing the long line of her throat. He licked and nipped the tender skin ravenously.
Desperate to taste her pussy, he began to push down her pants.
She grabbed his wrist.
“Stop. Please.” Her cheeks and throat were flushed. Wisps of sweat-darkened hair had escaped her cap and clung to her temples and cheeks. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Shit,” he groaned. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Neither could his poor deprived cock. He wanted her so badly he could hardly think straight.
She grinned at him, an unexpectedly wicked glint in her cornflower-blue eyes. “I’m the boss, remember? The boss wants you, but she needs a shower first. Ireek.” She took a deep, ostentatious sniff. “And so do you.”
A shower meant that they’d both be getting naked. Preferably together.
“Fine,” Brock growled. “Your place or mine?”
“Are youkiddingme?” she asked.
The lust of fog momentarily parted, and he remembered that she was staying out at the ranch. With her parents, sister, and nephew in the house.
“Yeah, bad joke,” he said, backpedaling like crazy. “My place, of course. I’ve got clean towels. And condoms.” He only hoped they hadn’t expired during his long dry spell. “Let’s go and get naked and clean before we get naked and dirty, Ms. Fancy Pants.”
Oh please, oh God, don’t let her change her mind on the drive over to my place.
Chapter Fifteen – Summer
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Summer said, squeezed back to front against Brock’s hard chest as warm water poured over them both.
The hard ridge of flesh poking her lower back reminded her why his nickname was The Cock. He washuge. The thought of taking him inside her made her knees go weak.
After a brief but heated make-out session at his front door, they’d left a trail of clothing leading from the living room of his cottage to his bathroom. Stumbling and laughing between kisses and frantic caresses, they peeled out of their sweaty, food-stained clothing.
All the smells from dinner service—seared meat, garlic, onions, and vanilla—revived in the clouds of steam billowing around their naked bodies. The heat felt good, loosening the tension and easing the fatigue from a long day on her feet, first powering through the mountain of prep and then cooking on the line.
They’d all worked their butts off tonight, pleased a crowd by feeding them good food, and earned a nice profit to boot.
Even better, a decade after the hopeless crush that never quite went away, Brock wasfinallytreating her like a desirable woman. Happiness fizzed like Champagne bubbles through Summer’s chest.
“Hey, you’re the one who dropped the soap,” Brock pointed out. “But I’m willing to work around that.”
His shower was old, built into his clean but dated bathroom like a tiny closet. It was barely big enough for one person to move without bumping elbows against the vintage mint green tiles.
“How?” she challenged.
Two people crammed here could barely move, much less bend over. She bent her head and studied the bar of soap now resting against the side of her foot. So close, yet so far out of reach. The whole situation was ridiculous.
But so much fun.
“Like this.” Brock’s arms came around her, and his sinewy hands, white with suds, cupped her breasts.
His thumbs swept boldly over her nipples.
Summer gasped as pleasure ran like an electric current straight down to the place between her legs already swollen and aching with desire.
“You are so fucking gorgeous, Ms. Fancy Pants.” Brock’s teeth nipped lightly, branding a path down the side of her neck. His hands continued to work magic on her breasts, his touch firm but slippery. “I’m gonna touch and taste every inch of you tonight. I’m gonna lick your pussy until you’re screaming my name.”
Dirty talk wasn’t normally Summer’s thing—one of the men she’d dated briefly in San Francisco had accused her of being a prude after a failed attempt at sexting, and promptly ghosted her.
But it felt different whenBrocktalked to her like this.
