And she closes the distance and kisses me.
For a second, I'm too shocked to react. Then every instinct I've been suppressing since she walked into my store roars to life.
I cup her face with both hands, kissing her back like I'm starving and she's the only sustenance I'll ever need. She makes a sound in the back of her throat—needy and desperate—and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer.
I help her down from the stool, pulling her against me, never breaking the kiss. She comes willingly, melting against me, and god, she fits perfectly. Like she was made for this. Made for me.
Her taste is sweet, intoxicating. Her scent blooms around us, hot and aroused, and my instincts are screaming mine mine mine.
I walk her backward until she hits the counter. Lift her onto it without thinking. She gasps against my mouth, wraps her legs around my waist, and pulls me between her thighs.
"Fuck," I groan, rocking against her. "Bea?—"
"Don't stop." Her hands are in my hair, tugging, demanding. "Please don't stop."
I kiss her harder, deeper, one hand tangling in her dark hair while the other grips her hip. She tastes like coffee and something uniquely her, and I never want to stop tasting her.
My hand slides from her hip to her waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her sweater. She arches into the touch, moaning, and I'm so hard it's painful.
"You're so responsive," I murmur against her throat. "So perfect."
She's making these little desperate sounds, grinding against me, and I'm so hard it hurts. My scent is everywhere now—pine and sawdust mixing with her sweetness until the whole store smells like sex and arousal and mine mine mine.
I thumb her nipple through the fabric and she gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
"We should stop." I don't mean it. Can't mean it. Not when she feels like this in my arms.
"Don't you dare." Her hand slides between us, palming me through my jeans, and I see stars. "Don't you dare stop."
Fuck. Fuck.
I kiss her again—hard and claiming and desperate. My hand slides from her breast down her side, her hip, around to grip her ass and pull her harder against me. She makes this perfect keening sound and I want to hear it again. Want to make her come apart in my arms.
Her hand is still on me, rubbing through the denim, and it's too much and not enough and?—
"Bea." Her name comes out strangled. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to?—"
"Good." She squeezes gently and I have to grab the counter to stay upright. "I want you to."
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her gasp as I rock into her hand. She's so warm, so eager, and the scent of her arousal is driving me insane. I can smell how wet she is, even through her jeans. My mouth waters thinking about getting my face between her thighs, making her scream my name.
My hand slides to the button of her jeans?—
The clock on the wall behind us chimes. Five o'clock.
We both freeze.
Bea pulls back first, eyes wide and wild. "Oh my god." She's panting, flushed from her chest to her hairline. "Oh my god, I need to—I have to go."
I can barely think past the blood pounding in my ears. "Bea?—"
"I'm sorry. I just—" She scrambles to get her legs unwrapped from my waist. "I need to go. Now."
Reality crashes back in like a bucket of ice water.
She's scrambling off the counter, smoothing down her sweater, trying to fix her hair. I step back to give her space, trying to get my body under control. Trying to think about literally anything other than how she felt in my arms.
"You want a ride?" The words come out before I can stop them. "I can drive you?—"
