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“Ready to put you to work, A.” He winks, stepping up and pressing his lips to my ear. “Let’s see what those muscles can do.”
I know I look like someone who thrives in the outdoors, with the sun beating down and gravel digging into my back. Add in dirt in places dirt shouldn’t be. I’m the guy most suburban moms would probably pay to mow their lawn hoping I take my shirt off.
But I would one hundred percent rather be in the air conditioned building of The Creamery mixing up coffees and baking brownies any day of the week than spend five more minutes out here getting fucking sawdust in my eyes and splinters in my hand.
Still, every time I feel like throwing my ass on the ground and bitching about how tired I am, I look over and see Blair working just as hard, dirt and dust smeared on his hairline because he can’t keep it out of the way.
Should we be the ones building this damn porch? No. But can either of us afford to pay someone to do it? Also no.
So, I suck it up and keep going.
After what feels like forever but is likely no more than two hours, something cold and wet touches my neck, and I nearly swing the hammer at Blair on instinct before I hear his breathy laugh.
“Hard work giving you the spooks?”
I toss the hammer down and take the offered water bottle, pointing it at him. “No, a cute little Chapstick hoarder is giving me the spooks.”
He throws his head back and laughs, readjusting the elastic that will last him all of five minutes before he’s blowing hair out of his face again. “You saw that?”
“Got any on you?”
He smiles, tilts his head. “I might.”
“Might have to call that a work hazard.”
“Oh?” Arms crossed, he leans on one of the porch support legs. “Why’s that?”
Anyone who doesn’t see how attractive Blair is has to be out of their minds. He’s a mess of sweat and dirt, and his chest is practically glistening with it. Each breath heaves out of him as his eyes take me in, as he licks his lips and arches his brow in what has to be the most seductive pose I could imagine on a man.
My own smile is lopsided as I step toward him, sliding my hand to his hip and drawing his attention with a finger under his chin. Pinpricks burst alive under my skin when our eyes meet.
“Maybe your boyfriend—” I drop my voice on the word, “—will be too distracted wondering what it tastes like.”
“Hm. Is that so?”
Strong hands grip my biceps, Blair pressing forward so his chest bumps mine, eyes shining with a mischievous desire. “Wanna taste me, A?”
His hand finds the back of my neck and tugs me down, our lips millimeters from touching as he tips his head back. I slide my hand to grip his hair, dragging a gasp out of him, and then I let my other hand fall to barely graze the ass of his jeans.
Is this how people flirt? Are they supposed to want to explore the other person’s body with every little touch?
“Is that permission?”
I feel his smile, feel the way he pushes back so his ass fills my hand, and he doesn’t say a word before closing the distance.
We’ve kissed a few times. All of them have been sweet, with sensual strokes of tongues and lips pressing pillow soft together, but this immediately feels like more.
Blair’s mouth is open to mine, breathing me in as I run my tongue over his lips, only flicking inside once I’ve gotten a good taste of them.
Honey. Blair tastes like honey.
I press him back, plunging in deep and working my fingers over the back of his jeans to feel the vibration of his moan between us. His nails dig into my shoulder, sink into my neck like a demand to stay, to keep my body on his.
Kissing Blair is like running out of oxygen with no desire to catch your breath. Staying right here where his hands, his mouth, his body all have access to mine is the only real thing there is.
My fingers slip around the elastic in his hair and pull it loose, sinking into the long strands as they fall to his shoulders.
“You’re so hot,” I mutter against his mouth as he chuckles, dragging his nails down my back in such a rough sweep that I gasp. It’s hot as fuck out here, but that kind of touch has my nipples pebbling and a bolt of arousal shooting to my groin. “Fuck, do that again.”
