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“It’s the least I can do,” she said with complete sincerity.
Rafe bowed his head. “You’re very generous.”
“Thank you,” she said, tipping her head in kind. “But if you want more than that—kissing, for example—you’ll have to earn it. And you want to kiss me, don’t you, Rafael?”
Muscles ticked along his jaw, in his cheeks, and his smile slipped as she threw his own words back at him. “And how exactly do I earn your kisses?”
“Easy. You just have to stop asking me to marry you.”
Lips twisted in irritation, Rafe said, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Then I guess the only lips you’ll be kissing are these,” Jane said, letting her legs fall open. The flare of his nostrils and instant look of hunger in his eyes was extremely gratifying.
Rafe’s smile was slow to return, but seductive, almost smug. “I said I’d only eat your pussy at night-time.”
Turning to look out the window, she shrugged and said, “It’s still dark outside. It counts.”
“You know this means war, right?” He chuckled as he slid her panties off and positioned himself between her legs.
She snorted. “I reckon I can hold out longer than you can.”
His answer was a slow lick along the length of her sex with the flat of his tongue, followed by a hard suck on her clit. A shock of sensation lit through her and she sucked in a lungful of air. The second pass of his tongue made her leg twitch and her resolve stumble.
Rafe chuckled again. “We’ll see.”
Rafe dropped Jane at the patisserie just as her mother, Mary, was flicking on the lights. Straight To The Hips Café and Patisserie was founded by Mary’s grandmother in 1950 and was one of the few buildings in town that didn’t have the name “Melville” stamped on it somewhere.
It was a fantastic old building made from rough-cut sandstone blocks with big storybook windows and a glass-pane door.
Every birthday, graduation or special occasion—which in the Bennett household could simply mean it was a Tuesday—Ulysses would bring Rafe and his brothers and sister here for milkshakes and cake.
And it was here in this shop that Rafe first noticed Jane—or more to the point, she’d made her presence known to him.
He’d known her since she was born, of course—in a town of less than one thousand people, everyone knew everyone—but it was around the age of three that Jane apparently decided an eight-year-old Rafe looked like he’d be fun to climb and steal cake from.
He’d always figured it was because he was the shortest of the younger Bennett boys and looked less intimidating than Charlie, Toby and Oliver. Or it could have been the fact he wasn’t as rowdy as Charlie and Oliver, and wasn’t as terrifyingly silent as Toby.
Either way, Rafe seemed to fall inside her Goldilocks Zone, and she took every opportunity to make sure he knew it.
Later in life, she’d become a right pain in his arse, teasing him about girls, about his height, about his own annoying habit of correcting people all the time, because unerring accuracy was apparently something to be ashamed of.
But then one day chicken soup and Shakespeare happened and changed his life forever.
“Are you coming inside?”
He smiled at the huskiness of her voice. He’d made her come hard and fast—twice—before letting her out of bed, using his teeth, tongue, lips and fingers to wring her pleasure from her.
Yeah, he’d won that battle.
But not the war.
He slid his arms around her and pulled her close, the light spilling from inside the shop not enough to illuminate their faces, and the shroud of night still dark enough they needn’t fear being seen.
“I really want to kiss you,” he murmured against her soft hair.
“I really want to fuck you,” she whispered back. “Too bad you keep asking me to marry you.”
Rafe grinned. “You do realise the quickest way to make me stop asking you to marry me, and therefore get laid, is to actually, you know, marry me?”
