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Like he knew her body, he worked her slow at first with a masterful touch, easing her into the orgasm she knew he was after. She shivered when he pulled aside the fabric more and finger fucked her faster, harder.
Her head fell back against the wall and her legs tightened around him. “Whiskey, don’t stop.”
“No, baby, but give me what I want.”
She rocked her hips, fucking his fingers like she was riding his cock. Her juices spilled over his hand and wet them both, making a mess as her climax shattered through her.
“Give me everything, baby,” he growled stroking her clit with his thumb. “You’ve got more for me and I want it.” He didn’t stop, didn’t let up so she could catch her breath. Several more thrusts of his fingers and her velvety walls clamped around his fingers and he shoved her into another orgasm on the cusp of her last.
“Please, fuck me,” she begged, anchoring herself to him. She wanted nothing more than to throw him on the floor right now, strip off his clothes and fuck him like a wild child of the flowers.
“Now, Whiskey, or so help me?—”
His chest vibrated with the rough, deep chuckle. “I want to, sweetheart. God, I want to rip off those pretty little shorts and sink my cock into your tight hole, but you might not like that as much as you think in a few minutes.”
“What does that mean?”
He drew his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. Holding her gaze, he licked them clean and gave a deep, throat masculine groan. “Now that’s the dessert I really crave.”
Fuck that was sexy as hell.
“So not flowers, huh?” Her voice sounded hoarse. She cleared her throat, wrapping her arms around his neck before trying again. “Flowers, you didn’t come here for flowers, did you? And why wouldn’t I want you to throw me on a bed of flowers and make me cum?”
Leaning them against the wall, he stroked a thumb across her cheek and his features turned from lover to cold businessman faster than she could blink. “I’d buy the whole god damn store and use them all as a bed for you, sweetheart, if it would make what I have to do just go the fuck away.”
Her brows pinched. That didn’t sound good. Every time she’d heard a line like that someone was lined up for a bad day. In this case, that someone sounded like it would be her.
He held her tight as she got her feet back under her.
“What’s this about, Whiskey?”
He gathered her hand and walked around the counter to stand in front of her. Every ounce of this interaction was the boardroom version of Whiskey. Cold and calculating.
She’d come across a few of those types when writing business pieces covering the financial landscape of larger cities.
Genevieve sighed. This day had such great potential.
“Well?” she asked with a notch of impatience, straightening her bra with a little more vigor than intended.
His expression grew heavy and she could tell he still had half a mind to do as he mentioned and take her on a pile of flowers. Or, it seemed that way to her with how he kept a hand wrapped around her neck, his thumb stroking small circles, as though he couldn’t stop touching her. The bulge in his pants backed up her theory.
With his other hand, he produced an envelope from an unseen pocket inside his suit jacket.
“What’s this?” she asked cautiously, peeling back the flap.
It took reading over the letter three times before the words sank in and with each pass her heart grew heavier until her chest hurt.
“What kind of game is this, Whiskey? An eviction notice?” The handful of blissful hours she’d been back in Pinegrove wilted.Over three decades of her family’s life were summed up in a couple of typed paragraphs and a date.
“Whiskey, answer me dammit. What is all this about?” Her heart sank lower with every second he didn’t speak. Instead of opening his mouth, he stood there, one hand shoved into his pocket, and the other still on her neck. She batted it away while he tried to play a staring contest.
“I wish like hell I didn’t have to do this, Genevieve. There’s just no other way. It’s out of my hands.” His gaze came back to hers. That perfect cleft in his chin dipped with each word and her hand itched to smack it off him.
She swiped the pastry from where he’d left it on the countertop. Dream snatchers didn’t get cherry poppers, or her.
“That’s not a good enough answer.” People made the mistake of thinking her small-town laid-back vibes couldn’t morph into big city knuckle cracking, but that was their mistake. New York ate you up for breakfast if you stayed small potatoes for long. A few hard lessons taught her that.
“My company will be demolishing this crumbling building in two weeks’ time. I’m sorry you, nor your parents received a notice sooner. When it was brought to my attention, I took on the responsibility myself. Some things are just unavoidable.”
