My mouth remained shut because I was afraid if I said something, I would reprimand her like one of my soldiers. And she wouldn’t understand that my anger was born from fear. So I stepped past her, reached the top of the shutter without stretching, and started painting the last few inches she hadn’t been able to reach.
I could feel her staring at my back. Her voice was awash with stubbornness and abused pride when she grumbled, “I was almost finished.”
“No.” I filled the top edge with smooth strokes to keep myself calm. “You were almost on your ass.”
She glared at me and folded her arms. “I was perfectly safe.”
I glanced toward the ladder, then at the long crack running up one leg. Arching a brow, I waited while she followed my gaze.
“Oh.” Her voice was chagrinned, then picked up a tiny thread of sass when she huffed, “Okay. I may have been moderately safe.”
I gave her a look.
“Fine,” she admitted. “Poorly safe.”
“Try unsafe.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“So does falling off a ladder.”
She huffed again, but a smile tugged at her mouth.
I finished painting the shutter, the last strip at my eye level.
She looked from it to me with an expression that said she found the entire situation profoundly unfair. “You are annoyingly tall.”
“Makes it easier to put you where I want you when you’re determined to use a death trap.”
It was late afternoon by the time the brothers had cleared out. She muttered something about perfectly serviceable ladders while rinsing paint from her hands at the kitchen sink, and I leaned against the counter, watching the pink in her cheeks deepen because she knew I’d heard every word.
“You have thoughts?” I asked.
“I have several.” She dried her hands with a dish towel. “Most involve you carrying me around and deciding what I’m allowed to climb.”
“Think I already mentioned that I like putting you where I want you,” I murmured, stepping close enough that her back met the counter and her hands landed against my chest.
Her blush spread fast, down her throat and into the collar of her shirt, but she didn’t look away. The shy softness in her eyes turned heavier, and my cock answered so hard it bordered on painful.
“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as her fingers curled into my shirt. “When we, um, kissed.”
I settled one hand at her waist and the other around her nape, tilting her face up until her mouth was where I wanted it. “Good.”
The first brush of my lips over hers pulled a soft sound from her, and I felt it move through my entire body. I kissed her slowly, giving her time to open for me, then deeper when her hands slid up my chest, and her body melted into mine. Every stroke of my tongue over hers made my grip tighten.
I lifted her onto the counter without breaking the kiss, and her legs parted around my hips as I pulled her to the edge, fitting my erection directly against the heat between her thighs. She gasped into my mouth at the feeling of my shaft grinding against her heated center, and the sound went straight to my dick.
“Brogan,” she breathed, her fingers sliding into my hair.
“Fuck, baby.” I dragged my lips down her throat, scraping my teeth lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her skin. “Love it when you say my name like that.”
Her hips rolled against me, and I nearly lost my last piece of restraint. I slid one hand beneath her shirt, palming the warm skin of her waist before climbing higher to the underside of her breast. Glancing down at her shirt, I could see her nipples tighten before I’d even touched them. When my thumb swept over one of the peaks through the thin cup of her bra, she arched with a broken little moan that made my cock throb.
I took her mouth again while my other hand worked open the button of her jeans. She froze for half a breath, then softened, her thighs widening around me as if her body had been waiting for my touch. My hand slid under the soft cotton of her panties and found her sweet little pussy slick enough to coat my fingers.
“Fucking soaked,” I groaned against her mouth.
Her head fell back against the cabinet when I circled her opening with tight movements that had her fingers digging into my shoulders. I watched every expression cross her face—the shock, pleasure, and embarrassed attempt to stay quiet that didn’t stand a chance once I slid a finger inside her. She was tight, hot, and so drenched my vision turned hazy from the need battering my control.
