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“Are you okay?” he asks, pausing with his hammer ready to strike the next nail.
“Fine. Just had a chill.” The words come out strained, but I can’t help it. When his hip touched mine, it must’ve hit the button on the remote in his pocket. It’s faint and not audible at all—probably the lowest setting—but oh, it feels amazing. It’s everything I can do to keep my hands in place on the wall until he hammers two more nails and steps back. The vibration stops a second later.
Whew. The relief is short lived when we move on to the next one. One of the buttons on the remote must need to be held down to activate it because as soon as he’s reaching above me again and his hip presses to mine, it starts back up. The same low buzz right against my clit. I don’t jump this time, but my head drops while I close my eyes, willing my hands not to move from the wall. His body is a cage of flexing muscle around me. Why does he smell good? Sweaty men do not smell good. I’m being sabotaged by pheromones.
The hammering pauses and he says, “Your cheeks are flushed. Are you okay?”
“Yes, just nail me—nail it.” The vibration is enough to drive me crazy, keep me on the edge, but not enough to make me come.
“Does this help?” The vibration changes to a pattern without growing more intense and before I can react or say anything, he goes back to hammering in the final nail. My knees weaken while heat washes over me.
Damn him. He knows. He’s doing it on purpose. “Asshole!” His body prevents me from turning around as he crowds me, pinning both of my hands to the wall with one of his. “Give it to me!”
“I am,” he chuckles, changing it to another setting that pulses steadily. Oh fuck, that one might do the job.
“The remote,” I gasp. “Give…fuck!” I’m losing control. Months of celibacy, the scent of him, the relentless stimulation that can’t be escaped.
His voice is in my ear. “Tell me to let you go, and I will.” The faintest brush of his lips feathers my neck, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. “Do you want me to stop it?”
My mouth opens to tell him yes. To order him to let me go, get the fuck away from me, but I can’t manage it. It’s too good. I’m too close. Too desperate. “No,” I breathe.
The word is scarcely out of my mouth when I’m spun around to face him. There’s no smirk or smartass look on his face now. All I see is hunger and lust. Any semblance of control I had is overpowered by a strange mix of emotions I’ve never felt before. Pure need battles with outrage.
“I hate you,” I snap, and slam my mouth to his. My back hits the wall, and he pins me with a scorching kiss. My hands have a mind of their own, one grasping his hair and the other clutching at his ass.
He breaks the kiss for a moment and growls in my ear. “I’m going to watch you come.” The vibration jumps up another level, pulsing, relentless. My legs turn to rubber as the best orgasm I’ve had in years rips through me. His mouth covers mine again, swallowing my cries and he supports my body against the wall.
Reality at what just happened leaks in as the spasms begin to fade. What the hell did I do? He lets go of me and retreats a step when I give him a weak push. His pupils are dilated and a tiny dot of blood rests on the corner of his mouth. Christ, I bit his lip.
Mortification and rage churn my blood, and my face feels like a lit match. Words fail me as a small smile starts to creep across his face. He’s pleased with himself. Fury overwhelms me. That’s the only excuse I have for abruptly stomping on his foot then stalking out of the room. Not my proudest moment. In fact, it’d be great if I could just wake up now and this whole day never happened.
The frigid air that greets me when I step out onto the porch feels like heaven and Rita picks the best time to pull into her driveway. My heartbeat is still thumping in my ears and all I want is to get out of here. The sound of hammering resumes from inside. Guess I didn’t hurt him. Did I really stomp his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum? Despite my roiling emotions, the thought makes me laugh. The way his mouth popped open reminded me of one of those trash cans with a pedal for the lid.
He deserved it, and the bleeding lip too.
“I said you could turn the heat down, girl,” Rita says, coming up the steps. “Your face is as pink as a piglet.”
Wonderful.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
COOPER
I’m relieved to see Maren at her desk in the office when I get to work. It was past five o’clock when I finished Rita’s floor yesterday and Maren had already closed the office and left. Worry has been whittling at the back of my mind that she may be angry or embarrassed enough to quit, but I thought giving her a night to cool off might be the best way to go.
Maybe what I did wasn’t a smart move but when I saw the remote and realized what it meant, my only intention was to tease her a little. I figured she’d curse me out like she usually does when I annoy her and go take the toy off. Her reaction was so much more than I anticipated. Watching her try to pretend nothing was happening and fight the urge to give in to it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She surprised me by telling me not to stop. Then the way she grabbed me and kissed me, I had to make her come.
Next time, I want to hear that noise she made with my cock buried inside her.
Dylan enters the office with me, and she spares us a glance before looking back at her computer. “The electrician left a message that he’ll meet you at nine-thirty and the washers and dryers will be delivered at ten,” she says, without the preamble of a hello.
“Good morning to you too,” I reply and set the coffee I got her on her desk.
She eyes it with suspicion. “What’s that?”
“Cold brew, black. That’s what you drink isn’t it?”
