I blinked. “You think this is helping? You’ve just gone up 2 percent.”
He held his hands up, backing away slowly. “Until tomorrow, Rumpelstiltskin.” I bit back a smile, watching as he reached the door before turning back around, his expression sheepish. “So, I actually need some flowers.”
I shot him an unimpressed look, tutting my tongue. “Buying flowers for another woman already? Shocking.”
Braxton propped his hands on his hips. “If you disapprove of me buying my mother flowers, we might have a problem after all.”
I couldn’t stop the smile then, and it didn’t fade as I helped him pick out an arrangement for his mother’s dining table. I still refused to give him my number…but he was persistent.
He came in several times a week for over a month. I spent each day holding my breath, wondering when he would walk through the door. It didn’t take long for me to start missing him on the days he didn’t make it in.
Five weeks after our first meeting, Braxton looked at me and asked, “What’s my percentage now?”
When I answered, “45.7 percent.” He shot me thewidest grin, dimples flickering at me, and I knew I was sunk.
I never stood a chance.
He pulls me out of my thoughts now as he brushes his lips against mine, his green eyes full of affection and love as he stares down at me. I sigh softly, leaning against him. “You can keep me,” I murmur. “As long as you don’t mind being stuck too.”
Something flashes across Braxton’s expression, too fast for me to catch, and then it’s gone. “I fucking love being stuck with you,” he whispers, and I can’t stop the laugh that escapes.
“So romantic,” I tease. He lifts a shoulder, pressing another kiss to my lips. One of his hands lowers to grip my hip, his fingers dragging the hem of my sundress up my thighs. “Did the realtor get back to you?” I ask before he can distract me.
Braxton goes still, his muscles tightening almost imperceptibly. “Yep.” He pulls my dress up further, his other hand sliding back around my neck, his thumb stroking the column of my throat. I shiver, a wave of desire rushing through me. “Marjorie said the Colonial on Oak Street is officially on the market.”
I melt against him, his fingers skimming against the sensitive skin of my thigh. “Ohh, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” I say breathlessly, and he chuckles. “When can we see it?”
He bumps his nose against mine, his fingers sliding under the edge of my panties. “Don’t get too excited,” he murmurs. “She’s out of office until after Thanksgiving.” I pout, deflating, but Braxton pushes his fingers between my legs, lightly grazing my clit, and every thought rushes from my head. “She did tell me something else, though.”
I drag my eyes open, not even sure when I closed them. “What?” I rasp.
“Marjorie’s friends with my mother, so she’s doing us a favor. She said she won’t take anyone else through the house until after we see it.” Braxton’s jaw tenses, like he’s clenching it before he forcibly relaxes. I frown, but then he’s pressing forward, the counter behind me digging into my back as his chest crushes against my breasts. “Let’s talk about it later.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
Braxton pulls back just enough to smirk at me, right before he sinks to his knees, firmly shoving my dress up past my hips. “I can think of something.” He hooks his fingers in my panties, yanking the fabric unceremoniously down my legs.
“This doesn’t feel like talking,” I point out weakly, but I don’t resist as he lifts my knee, resting my leg on his shoulder. “In fact?—”
The rest of my words are stolen when he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my pussy, pressing the flat of his tongue over my swollen bundle of nerves.
“What was that, Rumpel?” he asks, voice muffled. My dress falls over his head as his hands go to my ass, gripping me firmly, grinding me against his face.
I don’t say a word, throwing my head back on a cry as he sucks firmly, my stomach going taut as my orgasm builds—too quickly, too intense. Braxton moves one of his hands, spearing two fingers inside me without a word, a groan leaving both of us at the same time.
“Fuck,” he curses. “So goddamn wet. You want me, baby?” His arm brushes against my inner thighs as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside me, his teeth grazing my clit.
“Yes,” I gasp out. “I want you.” I reach down, shoving my dress out of the way, trying to drag him up to me, but he resists.
“Not until you come all over my face,” he growls, thevibration of his voice sending shockwaves rippling through me.
One of my hands tangles in his dark hair, and I tug on the strands ruthlessly, writhing my hips against him. “Make me come then,” I demand. “Stop playing around.”
Braxton chuckles, and then a third finger is pressing in alongside the others. A frisson of pain slides through me as it stretches me open, but it fades as fast as it comes. White spots flicker across my vision when he nips my clit, my orgasm overtaking me as a cry is ripped from my throat, the sound echoing around the kitchen.
He doesn’t let up. If anything, he presses himself closer, drinking my arousal down, the rough skin of his jaw scraping against my thighs. I collapse against the counter, halfheartedly pushing him away.
“Too much,” I say weakly.
