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"I told you to leave that for me," he growls.
His voice goes through me like an electric current. My heart races. My thighs clench in an involuntary spasm.
But I finish what I'm doing before turning to face him. "Who do you think does it when you're not around?"
There's something wild in his eyes. Intent, like a predator.
An atavistic shiver goes through me.
He grabs the last two crates and brings them over, stacking them neatly in the spaces left empty by my dwindling supply.
"I am here now." Sliding his hand under my hair, he grips my nape. "Do you need anything else before?"
"Before what?"
His eyes smolder at me. "Going upstairs and using your bed instead of bending you over these boxes."
He waves toward my whiskey inventory, which happens to be stacked three boxes wide and waist high. My waist.
The wetness between my legs becomes a veritable flood.
There's still lots to do before opening the club tonight, but my body isn't listening to my brain. My core clenches and releases over and over again, wanting to be filled. My nipples tighten, aching for his mouth. I lick my lips, not because they are dry, but because they crave stimulation.
"If I bend over here, how fast can you get me off?" I challenge.
Unable to believe the words that came out of my mouth, I barely breathe as I wait for his reply.
He yanks me toward him and mashes his lips to mine, kissing me until I'm rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
His mouth breaks away from mine to find that spot on my neck that sends me into the stratosphere. "Here it is then."
Wanting bare skin, I tug his black t-shirt up his rock solid abs. He helps by grabbing the back of the neck and yanking it off over his head.
I rub up his torso with both hands, mapping his bulging muscles and then tunneling my fingers in his silky chest hair.
"I love that you don't shave this," I tell him.
"Why would I?" he asks.
"I don't know, but some men do."
"Who?" he asks in that gravelly voice that makes my ovaries want to explode. "Who have you seen without his shirt?"
I should roll my eyes, but my body is going haywire again. His possessiveness should not turn me on, but it does. So, so much.
"Men take off their shirts to dance." I don't mention my dead husband.
I never understood why Tino waxed his chest. I guess he thought it was sexy. He never asked me what I thought. He was too macho to need my opinion. About anything.
I loved him, but if he'd lived, I'm not sure I still would. I am a different woman at twenty-eight than I was at twenty-three. Even without losing him and going into self-imposed exile, the years would have changed me. Matured me.
The truth is, that those last two years of my marriage, the cord tethering my love to him had grown pretty taught.
"Not anymore, they don't."
"It's cute that you think you can stop them." I sound sarcastic, but my vagina is yelling,gimme, gimme, gimme.
He doesn't reply, but shoves up my shirt and unhooks my bra, tugging it up too so my breasts spill out.
