A red-hot spike of pleasure shoots down my spine. Then I get it together so I can focus on her. I grab the back of her thigh, holding on tightly, gripping her there. I ease out, then back in, then out. Her breath catches.
I stay like that, teasing her for a few long seconds.
She whimpers. Whines. Stares at me with the most petulant look.
My lips quirk into a grin. “Wait for it,” I say in a low rasp.
She lifts her chest, pushing out her pretty tits and making it impossible for me to wait any longer. I slam back into her.
“Oh, god,” she shouts.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groan.
Her hands dart out, grabbing my biceps, nails digging into my skin, holding on for dear life.
I swivel my hips, thrust back in, letting her feel the absence, then letting her feel all of me. My muscles tighten. I curl my hand tighter around her thigh. Drive deeper. Rope my free hand through her hair and tug it. Another gasp.
My brain is scrambled. I can barely think.
I dip my face toward her neck, burying it in the crook of it as I layer kisses along her sweaty skin, murmuring until I reach her ear and whisper, “Knew you’d like that. Want to know how?”
“Tell me.”
I pull back. “When I braided your hair that day?”
“I was pretty turned on,” she says, with a smile that tells me she likes being known.
“Yeah, I knew you’d like this,” I say, then I pull her hair again.
She lets out the sexiest cry. I drop my hand from her hair, my palm skating down the side of her neck to the hollow of her throat. She shudders, legs squeezing me tighter as I curl my hand around her neck, pressing lightly, squeezing her.
Hot breath gusts across my hand. I grip a little harder. Another sexy gasp that ends when she grabs my hand and shoves it between her thighs.
She’s a woman who knows her mind. I’m so far gone for her.
But not so lost that I can’t give her everything she needs.
I stroke her needy clit. Faster and faster still. Seconds later, she’s shaking, chanting, alerting the whole town to her orgasm, then coming hard on the dressing room table in the back of our bakery in the little town of Cozy Valley.
Lust plows through my entire body as I thrust hard, groan, then spill into the condom. My brain blurs. My chest heaves. My soul quiets.
I want to just stay here and breathe her in. So I quickly ease out, dispose of the condom in a tissue and place it on a table, and pull up my jeans. Then I inhale the sweet vanilla scent of her hair. “Mabel?”
“Yeah?”
I raise my face, run a hand through her hair. “There’s something I want to know.”
Her eyes widen with curiosity. “What is it?”
“What color is your hair?”
28
NIGHT AND DAY
MABEL
I could say chestnut with honey blonde streaks. But that won’t help.
