His breath hitches. Just for a second. But I feel it.
“Confident,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up my thighs. “I like it.”
“You’re gonna love it.”
He leans in, mouth brushing mine. “You keep talking like that and you’re gonna find yourself on your knees right now.”
“Tempting,” I whisper, lips ghosting his. “But I think I’ll wait until you least expect it.”
He groans, grabbing my hips. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”
I smirk, rocking against him. “That’s the plan.”
My revenge happens two days later.
Will’s sprawled on my couch in a dark gray T-shirt and those goddamn jeans that hug his thighs just right, phone pressed to his ear, his tone all casual charm.
“Yeah, Sam,” he says, chuckling. “Got the order delivered this morning. Kegs are stacked. Barback’s prepped. Don’t worry. Your next album launch is going to be great.”
I crawl onto the couch, slow and silent, straddling his lap.
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t stop talking.
I smirk. Game on.
I lean in, trailing kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. I can feel his breath hitch beneath me, even if his voice stays calm.
“Yeah, I think it’s great to show off why you love Broken Heart Creek” His hand settles on my waist, warning me to stop.
I ignore it.
My lips travel lower, down his throat, over his collarbone. I pull the hem of his shirt up and start kissing my way down his chest.
Will shifts slightly beneath me, clearing his throat.
“Uh-huh,” he says into the phone, though his tone falters. “No—yeah, I’m listening.”
I pop the button on his jeans, watching his jaw clench.
His hand shoots to my wrist. Tight.
He mouths,Don’t you dare.
I smile sweetly and mouth back,Beg.
He glares.
So I move lower.
He’s already half-hard. It takes nothing, just one slow stroke of my hand, and he’s fully there, straining beneath my touch.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, gripping the armrest hard. “Still planning to—uh—finish the back patio this week.”
I take my time. Deliberate. Unhurried. I kiss the skin just above his waistband, then pull him free, slow and teasing. Themoment my mouth slides over him, he curses under his breath and fists the couch cushion.
“Sorry—Sam, what? Yeah, no—I’m just—uh—checking something in the stockroom.”
His voice is strained now. Breathless.
