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“No. I warned you, and you didn’t listen to me. This is your punishment.”
“Being covered in paint isn’t a punishment. It’s a daily occurrence.”
“You’re right. This is backfiring. Can you stop wriggling?”
My mouth formed a tiny ‘o’ as realization struck. My ass was snuggled carefully against his crotch, and I wasn’t the only person strangely turned on by this paint fight. Then… “Let me go.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” I deliberately wriggled my ass against him. “Now, let me go.”
He gritted his teeth and slid the brush down my cheek.
“Ahhh!”
“Stop moving!”
“Let me go!”
He sighed. “We’re at a stalemate, aren’t we?”
“No.” I wriggled again, poking my ass out a little further.
“Stop it.” He painted my cheek again.
I wiped my hand on my shirt and covered my eyes. I would keep this up as long as he kept up his painting. It was already going to end badly, and there was no way I’d be able to look him in the eye after having his cock rub against my ass, so what did it matter?
“Kali…” His voice was lower, almost dangerous in its roughness. “If you don’t stop moving, I’m not going to be responsible for how hard I shove you against the wall and kiss you.”
That almost sounded like a challenge.
“Against the rules. I’m working,” I breathed.
“Given that my cock is twitching against your ass, and it’s your fault, I don’t think you can use that as an excuse.”
“If you’d just let me go…” I dropped my hand from my eyes since he seemed to have given up painting my face for now.
“You wouldn’t be covered in paint.”
“You wouldn’t have a raging hard-on.”
“A raging hard-on, eh?”
“I should stop talking right now.”
He released the paintbrush, finally, and walked around. His hand slid across my stomach as he moved so he was standing in front of me.
“I agree,” he murmured, brushing two fingertips across my temple.
My scalp tingled when he softly pushed hair behind my ear, his eyes following the movement of his hand. I shivered as the pads of his fingers brushed my earlobe, and that movement brought his gaze back to mine.
Indecision. It warred in his eyes, as I was sure it did in mine.
I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted to feel that bliss, that escape from reality for just a few seconds.
At the very same time, I wanted him to let me go. To stop making it hard for me to resist him. To be the aloof guy he was the first couple times we met.
He leaned in.
I did the only thing I could think of doing.
I swiped my paintbrush down his cheek.
“Fuck it!”
I laughed and ducked under his arm as he raised it to wipe the paint. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the brown paper bag with the Coastal’s logo on it.
“No.” He pointed at me. “You don’t hold food hostage.”
“I do hold food hostage.” I carefully considered my next words. “You can have it back if you promise not to kiss me again.”
He blinked at me. Looked at the bag. Met my eyes. Shrugged. “I guess I’m skipping lunch.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“What? You want me to make a promise I can’t keep?” He raised an eyebrow. “The only reason you just got away with the shit you just pulled is because it’s during work hours.”
“Chasing me around your kitchen table doesn’t exactly equal work hours, now, does it?”
“Careful, Kali. You might talk yourself into something you can’t get out of.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I already did that,” I muttered to myself. “Fine. Here you go. But, I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the balls if you try again.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Try me.”
He smirked, taking the bag from me.
Crap. There was me talking myself into something I couldn’t get out of…
Chapter Nineteen
“I heard you stayed late at Brantley’s house,” Mom said, turning on my coffee machine.
She had, very helpfully, let herself in before I’d gotten home from work. After way too many questions about the state of me, still covered in paint, I’d convinced her to let me shower before she went down her line of questioning.
I really needed that spare key back.
I chewed on the end of a Twizzler. “I can’t imagine who told you that.”
She peered at me over her shoulder. “Marcie. I stopped in to get some pastries.”
“Why didn’t you go the bakery?”
“I did. She was there.”
Well, that was clear. “Right. Well, it’s not true. Sorry to disappoint you.”
She pulled her mug from the machine with a roll of her eyes. “Why does she think that if it isn’t true?”
“Because he’s a little shit who’s about to learn that small town rumors will come back to bite him on his very fine ass,” I huffed, still chewing down the Twizzler.
“So, is there truth to it or not? And how does Marcie know?”
