He led me away from the main brewery floor, down a hallway lined with pipes and gauges. The sound of the public tour starting filtered faintly from the taproom, Maddy's voice audible for a second before fading.
"This is the quality control area," Wyatt said, opening a door. "Where we test batches, check consistency, make sure everything meets standards before it goes to the tanks."
The room was small and warm, filled with equipment I didn't recognize. Wyatt closed the door behind us, and suddenly we were alone in a way we hadn't been all day.
"Is this the impressive part?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"No." He moved closer. "This is."
He backed me against the stainless steel counter and kissed me.
I should've pushed him away. Should've reminded him that Maddy was just down the hall, that this was his place of business, that we were supposed to be keeping things simple.
Instead, I fisted my hands in his shirt and pulled him closer.
"We can't," I gasped when he moved to my neck. "Maddy.”
"Is on a tour that takes forty minutes," Wyatt said against my skin. "And we're on the opposite side of the building."
"Someone could come in.”
"No one's going to interrupt." His hands slid under my shirt. "I've been thinking about touching you since you walked out of the barn the other night, and didn’t look back. Do you have any idea how fucking hot that was?”
"You've been talking about hops for the last twenty minutes and wanting to get me naked?”
He lifted me onto the counter, stepping between my thighs. "Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on beer when all I can think about is getting you alone?"
My head fell back as his mouth found that spot below my ear. "This is a terrible idea."
"All our best ideas seem to be terrible." His hands were on the button of my jeans now. "Tell me to stop."
I didn't.
I should have. This was reckless even by our standards. But the risk of it, Maddy down the hall, the brewery full of people on tours, anyone could walk past the door, only made my pulse race faster.
"Wyatt," I breathed.
"Tell me what you want." His fingers traced the waistband of my jeans. "Say it."
"You know what I want."
"Say it anyway."
I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand lower. "Touch me. Now."
His eyes flashed dark and hungry. "Yes, ma'am."
He popped the button of my jeans and slid the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Then his hand was sliding under my underwear, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
"Jesus," he groaned. "You're already so wet."
"Your fault," I managed, my hips rocking into his touch.
He kissed me hard as his fingers found exactly the right spot, the right rhythm. I clutched at his shoulders, trying to stay quiet, trying not to think about the fact that his daughter was somewhere in this building.
"That's it," he murmured against my mouth. "Let me feel you."
His thumb circled my clit while two fingers slid inside me, and I had to bury my face in his neck to muffle the sound I made.
