Her eyes fluttered shut and her smirk transformed into a joyful smile. "Mmm. Yes. This one." Nodding, she took the fruit from my palm and added it to her cart.
What a treat it would be to please this woman as much as a ripe peach.
"So," I started, clearing my throat, "why all the peaches?"
Annette bobbed her head from side to side as she reached for another peach. "I'm working on some new recipes. Scones, tarts, a few other things. I haven't been able to nail them but I think that's because stone fruit wasn't in peak season when I tried. Since the entire market smells like ripe peaches, I figured this was the time to try again."
"Need any help?" I asked.
She glanced up at me, surprised. "With what? Baking?"
"Yeah," I said. "Or anything you want. Put my hands to work."
She laughed but leaned closer to whisper, "Your hands will probably find their way under my skirt and away from the dough."
It was my turn to laugh. "Is that how it is, Annette? I can't be trusted?" She jerked a shoulder up in vague agreement as she continued inspecting the fruit. "I'll remind you that I've never had the pleasure of stripping your panties off you. Maybe I'm not the one who can't be trusted."
She'd always beaten me to it, one way or another.
"Believe me," she murmured, shooting me a side-eye glance. "I've considered that angle."
She abandoned the peach display and I was hot on her heels. It occurred to me that following Annette around the town market at this hour was bound to catch the attention of the locals. I was torn between slowing my steps and forgoing all concern for the rumor mill. In that split second, I settled on the best of both. I allowed her the space to walk without me hovering over her but accepted that anyone watching would be able to read my intentions from a mile away.
"You can't survive on scones alone. Let me cook dinner for you," I said when I caught up to Annette in the dairy case. She was loading butter into her cart. "Then you can teach me about baking."
She started to object, her lips already pursed and her curls rustling against her shoulders as she shook her head, but then she stopped herself. "How big is your oven?" she asked.
I replied with the type of conviction reserved for horsepower and dick size. "Huge."
Annette metme back at my house and piled her groceries and baking tools on my kitchen island. Once I had my firearm stowed, I stood to the side, my hands clasped behind my back, and allowed her a minute to unpack her bags and organize her goods. That seemed to be an adequate amount of time to wait before getting my hands on her.
When her materials and ingredients were sorted, I caught her around the waist. "You're coming with me," I growled, backing her up against the refrigerator.
My lips brushed hers and all the tension I'd been carrying the past few days vaporized.Poof.It was gone and in its place was a heavy cloud of desire. Her hands fisted in my tan uniform shirt as I kissed her, tugging me closer. I kicked her feet apart and pressed myself to the notch between her legs. There was no denying the immediate reaction I had to her kiss, her body, her presence in my home, and she deserved to know how she affected me. When we finally came up for air, she was breathless and trembling in my arms, her eyes unfocused and her lips swollen. I wasn't much better.
"What was that for?" she asked, tilting her head to look up at me.
"Do I need a reason?" I asked, still rocking against her. She felt like a dream, even through these layers.
"I guess not but we really have to stop going at each other with questions. Someone has to answer at some point," Annette said, dropping her head to the side. It offered me the space to savor her there and it wasn't long before my fingers were itching to feel her skin.
I tugged her skirt up, fisting the fabric at her hips. I was dangerously close to her panties. This wasn't what I had in mind. I figured I'd kiss her and quench my body's need to have her close. But it wasn't enough. I'd had her kisses, her embraces. I wanted more. That led me to an obvious conclusion. I wasn't walking away from this refrigerator until I'd MacGyvered an orgasm out of her.
No touching the undies, no problem.
"Here's a question you can answer," I said, groaning as I pressed into her heat. No longer was this a simple matter of friction. I was rutting on her now. We were so close, separated only by thin layers of fabric. Her panties, my trousers. Nothing else. If it was possible, this was more indecent than the moment we shared in my office. "Is this all right? Do you want me to stop?"
She shook her head and her hair cascaded around her, covering her face. "Don't stop."
"But is this all right?"
"Mmhmm" was her only response. That, and she dragged her nails up my back and over my shoulders. My shirt should've muted her touch but much like everything else between us, it heightened the sensations. The fabric teased my skin in the wake of her fingers and a hot, dizzy feeling plowed through me like a head rush.
"You're such a tiny thing," I whispered, stroking her thighs as my hips bucked against her center.
"Not really," she replied, her words low and husky, as if she'd just woken up. "I'm nowhere near tiny."
"Ah, but you're tiny to me," I said, my lips at the crossroads between her neck and shoulder. "I told you the other night, you're fragile."
