His hands settle on either side of me, boxing me in.
“My mom ran into town earlier, and my dad’s out on a grain run.”
I don’t know exactly what that means, but I glance past him anyway, toward the empty driveway.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
The way he says it sends warmth through me, the kind that always shows up when he looks at me like this.
“Well…” I tilt my head, a small smile pulling at my mouth. “I guess that means you have me all to yourself.”
A low sound slips out of him as his hand slides up my leg, settling at my hip.
I lean forward, hooking my finger into the collar of his shirt and tugging him toward me.
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he says, his mouth dipping closer to mine.
“Cooper—” I breathe.
And then he kisses me. Slow at first, like he’s not in any rush. He pulls me closer to the edge of the bench until my legs wrap around his waist.
“You’re nervous,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I shake my head, even as my pulse kicks up. “You’re not worried about us getting caught?”
He glances over his shoulder toward the open barn doors, then back to me.
“Trust me,” he says. “If my mom was anywhere near here, the dogs would’ve let us know. My dad won’t be back for a while.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, but it fades when his hands slide down my sides, his fingers catching lightly at the waistband of my jeans.
“You want me to stop?” he asks.
The question hangs there for half a second before I shake my head. “No.”
That’s all the answer he needs.
He leans away from me as he works the button of my jeans open. My fingers curl around the edge of the workbench, the wood biting into my palms as he lowers my zipper and pushes my jeans over my hips.
“Lift up,” he says, smacking my ass with a grin as he slowly drags my pants the rest of the way off—like he’s doing it on purpose.
It’s quiet around us except for the distant rustle of the animals in their stalls.
When he looks up at me again, it feels like everything narrows down to just the two of us standing here in the middle of the workshop.
The cool air hits my skin, but it doesn’t matter—not when his hands follow in its wake, warming me everywhere he touches.
His hands find my hips again, rougher this time, as though the tension in him has nowhere else to go.
He leans in, pressing his lips just below my ear, then trails them down my neck, over my collarbone, and to my chest. My head tips back, a breath catching in my throat before I can stop it.
“Oh my—” I mutter when he drops to the ground between my legs.
He moves one of my feet onto the workbench and lifts the other to his shoulder, leaving me open to him.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, his voice low, barely above a whisper. Like he knows how easy it would be for someone to hear, if we weren’t alone out here.
