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I close the space myself.

“Kiss me, Bishop.”

He surges forward and slams his mouth down on mine, and I rise onto my toes to meet him. He tastes like coffee and something darker underneath. His tongue strokes against mine and I push into it with an eagerness I know is clumsy, and he groans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

I can’t get enough.

His hands skim down my back to my ass, kneading, pulling me against the hard ridge of him until I can feel exactly what I’m doing to him. My whole body lights up.

“Bishop,” I whimper when his hand snakes under my sweater, palm warm on my ribs. He moves up and strokes my nipple through my bra, and my knees genuinely threaten to go.

“You feel so good, baby.” His breath is coming in pants now, as ragged as mine. “Fuck, I need to taste you.” He yanks my sweater up and his mouth is on my chest, lips finding the peak through the silk, and I cry out at the pull of it—a sound that carries, that bounces off steel and tile and comes back at me.

Anyone could hear that. Anyone walking past the restaurant doors could hear that.

I don’t stop.

He closes his teeth gently around my nipple and I jolt hard against him, and then he soothes the sting with his tongue, and I make another sound I’ll be embarrassed about later. When he comes back up to take my mouth I’m shaking, opening for him before he asks.

“I need…Bishop.”

His hand slides into my pants, under my panties, and I stop breathing entirely.

“Fuuuck.” His middle finger parts me, grazes my clit, and my hips buck. “You’re soaked, sugar. Fuck me, you’re practically dripping.”

I should be mortified. I’m not. He strokes me in slow, steady circles and my head drops against his chest, and every rational thought I own goes out through the vent fan.

“Mm…more,” I moan, rocking against his hand. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t care. “Bishop…it feels…oh, God.”

“Tell me how it feels, sugar.” His finger traces lower, through the slickness, to somewhere no one has ever touched me, and I lock up.

Everything in me clamps down at once.

He stops. Just for a second. And I feel him take note of it, feel the pause land somewhere in his chest before his hand moves back to safer ground.

“Good,” I whimper, because it is, because his thumb has found my clit again and is working it in tight, patient circles that are unmaking me. “Feels so good. I’ve never… No one’s ever…oh, God.”

I’m blabbering. I know I am. I can hear myself, and I can’t stop, but he swallows every broken noise I make, kissing me through it, chasing something in me like it matters more to him than anything happening in his own body.

“Come for me, baby.” His hand speeds up as I start to shake. “Let go.”

I come apart with a cry.

My knees go, and his arm is around my waist before I fall, holding me up, his other hand still working me through my orgasm as wave after wave rolls through me. I claw at his shoulders. I say his name, and then I say it again when the shaking softens to tremors. My whole body sags against his chest.

I have known this man for four days.

I just let him do that to me in the middle of my own kitchen.

And God help me, I want to know what he’ll do next.

Chapter Four

Bishop

I lift my hand to my mouth, and taste her, and my eyes fall shut like a man in church.

She’s still leaning against me, half boneless, her breath coming warm through my shirt. O could put her on that counter right now. She’d let me. That’s the part that’s going to keep me up tonight—she’d let me, and she wouldn’t know enough to ask for anything better.