Page 13 of Surrendering to the Grump

His mouth switches to my other breast. Teeth this time. Light scrape across the nipple followed by a hot suck that makes my toes curl. His hands grip my ass, pulling me harder against him, grinding me down on his cock.

"Stand up," he says.

I climb off his lap on shaky legs. He reaches for the button of my jeans. Pops it. Drags the zipper down. Hooks his fingers into my jeans and my underwear together, slides them down my thighs. I kick them off along with my boots.

He looks at me. Standing in front of him in Hank's borrowed lamplight with nothing on. Brown skin, full curves, gold hoops, and the remnants of glitter on my neck. His chest is heaving.

"Get on your knees on this couch."

My stomach flips. I climb onto the leather, knees sinking into the cushion, gripping the backrest. He stands behind me. I hear his belt. The zipper. A condom wrapper tearing.

Then his hand slides between my thighs from behind. Two fingers stroking through my pussy, spreading the wetness he finds there. My forehead drops to the cushion.

"Soaked." His voice is gravel. "Been thinking about me too?"

"Since Tuesday." I push back against his hand. "Since you carried those boxes and your forearms did that thing."

He pushes two fingers inside me. Curls them. Finds the spot that makes my knees slide wider. His thumb finds my clit, circling slow and firm while his fingers pump.

"Rhett, please."

"Please what?"

"Fuck me. Stop teasing and fuck me."

The head of his cock nudges against me. Thick. He pushes in slow, one long stroke that fills me completely. My fingers dig into the leather. He grabs my hip with one hand, the back of my neck with the other, and pulls out slow.

Then slams back in.

I cry out. He does it again. Again. Setting a pace that's deep and rough and makes the couch groan under us. His hand on my neck isn't squeezing. Just holding. Grounding. Each thrust drives my hips into the cushion.

"You feel incredible." His voice is wrecked. "So tight. So fucking wet."

He shifts angle. Pulls my hips up higher. The new position puts him deeper and the next thrust drags directly across my G spot. Stars burst behind my eyes.

"Right there. God, right there, don't stop."

He doesn't stop. One hand grips my hip hard enough to leave marks. The other reaches around to find my clit. His fingers circle fast, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Everything builds. Tightening. Coiling.

"Come for me, Kennedy." Low. Commanding. Against my shoulder where his mouth is pressing hot kisses between his words.

My orgasm hits so hard my arms give out. I collapse forward, face in the cushion, body shaking, clenching around him. He follows three thrusts later, burying himself deep, his groan vibrating through my back.

We stay there. Him draped over me, both of us breathing hard, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades. His thumb strokes my hip where he gripped too tight.

"Okay?" he murmurs.

"If I was more okay I'd be unconscious."

His laugh is quiet, breathless, rumbling against my spine. He eases out. Deals with the condom. Then pulls me down onto the couch with him, my back against his chest, his arms around me, a blanket from somewhere dragged over us.

Through the office window I can see string lights blinking on Maple Lane. The festival is still going. Music drifting. People laughing. The world outside this shop is full of noise and warmth.

But in here it's quiet. His heartbeat against my back. His breath in my hair. His arms around me holding on.

"The burger got cold," I say.

"I'll make you another one."