“Right?” Betsy sounds enthusiastic, as much as she’s able when her standard tone is mostly deadpan.
The bell above the door rings out and two women enter. I greet them and Betsy shoves her phone back in her purse so she can help them get a fitting room started. The rest of the morning is busy, which is a great sign of things to come. Between the two weeks leading up to the start of the fall semester and Christmas, we do most of the sales for the whole year. I’m hopeful I can turn this ship around, proving my father wrong, carrying out my mother’s legacy, and earning Betsy her bonus.
My stomach starts growling just before one, so I sneak out and grab some burgers, returning just as three women leave Harp and Hemline with multiple bags full of purchases. I wipe my forehead just inside the doorway and relish the feel of air-conditioning blowing on my overheated skin. Damn, it’s hot as blazes out there. Betsy looks up from the register, giving me a broad grin.
“Dude, they dropped a bag.”
I frown, looking at the wood floor but not seeing anything. Betsy snorts.
“It’s a saying, frat boy.”
Ah. Betsy and her little phrases I’ve never heard of before. That does make me feel middle-aged. I hold up the bag of takeout.
“I bought us lunch.”
Betsy frowns, her fists finding her hips as she steps around the counter.
I sigh. “Don’t fight me on it. It’s just lunch.”
“I don’t want you buying me things, Silas. We’re not dating, remember?”
I put the bag on the counter and try to tamp down my own irritation at her insistence on beating it through my head that we’re not a couple. That ex-boyfriend of hers sure did a number on her, but even so, I don’t appreciate being lumped in the same category as him. Not all of us men are assholes.
“How could I not know when you remind me daily?” I snap.
She lifts an eyebrow at my attitude, but still doesn’t back down. “Then stop buying me lunch. Or coming over for dinner.”
Her nana inviting me over for dinner was not my fault and she knows it. Besides, she didn’t sound the least bit mad I came over when she came all over my dick in her driveway. Her accusation pisses me off enough I point to the storage room. “Get your annoying ass back there.”
Her mouth pops open and I can’t help but focus on her lips. She’s so fucking pretty, especially now that she’s given up on the thick black eyeliner and has taken to wearing a light pink lipgloss on the daily. I would never tell her but I’ve come to love the metal studs climbing up her ear.
She huffs and stomps off, probably thinking I won’t feed her lunch. Oh, I’m going to feed her all right. I follow right after her, looking back at the front of the store. I don’t see anyone outside right now. It’s a risk, what I have in mind, but I think Betsy will love it.
She whirls around when she hears the curtain flop shut behind me, leaving just the two of us in the cramped stockroom. She looks mad, which is dumb, because she’s the one who was arguing I shouldn’t have brought her lunch. Sometimes there’s just no arguing with women.
I stalk toward her, a triumphant smile taking over my face when she takes a step backward. “You keep reminding me we’re just fucking.”
She lifts her nose in the air. “Well, we are.”
I stop right in front of her. “Exactly. So here’s your chance.” I lean down and nip her earlobe with my teeth, her earrings clanking against them.
“Get on your knees and show me how much you want to fuck me, storm cloud,” I whisper.
Normally, I’d never say this to a woman. But Betsy Mae is unlike any other woman I’ve ever met. I pull back to see her reaction. I knew it. Her blue eyes are lit up with a fire that could burn down this whole building if we’re not careful.
Without a single word, she drops to her knees. My eyes close for a moment, taking in the heady knowledge that this spitfire is on her knees for me, right here in my boutique. I’m harder than I have any business being when I’m supposed to be working. My eyelids fling open the second her hands touch my belt buckle.
“Anyone could walk in,” I warn her, making sure she really wants to do this.
Betsy just licks her lips. “Then I better hurry.”
She has my dick out in record time. She smiles up at me, then leans in, and with one long lick, she swipes her tongue from root to tip. Goose bumps line my skin. Her left hand pushes my clothes out of the way and she cups my balls, rolling them around in her palm.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hands diving into her hair before I can pull them back.
She lets me though, too intent on getting my dick in her mouth to argue about me directing her where to go. The wet heat of her mouth is so pleasant I could shoot off right now. I don’t, mostly because I want this to last a little longer. My brain’s having a hard time wrapping around my current situation. Betsy bobs up and down a few times, getting me nice and wet with her spit. Goddamn, she’s good at this.
I have to fist my hands in her hair to keep myself in check. She hums low in her throat and I swear I feel the vibration all the way up my spine.
