Chapter Eleven
Paige
I keep my eyes on the wall in front of me, like if I focus hard enough on the perfect placement of this next strip of tape, I can erase the fact that I just touched him, practically pressed myself into him.
God, why did I do that? Why did my hand have to land on his shoulder?
I could’ve just pointed. Or stood two feet back like a normal person.
But no, apparently I needed to get close enough to feel the heat coming off him, close enough to smell the faint scent of soap and the hops from the bar clinging to his shirt.
I measure the gap between two strips, press the tape to the baseboard, and smooth it upward with my palm, making sure it’s straight. My fingers are steady, but my mind isn’t.
Of course he didn’t say anything about it. He just looked at me with that half-grin, the one that makes me feel like he’s in on a joke I don’t know. And then I froze like an idiot—because apparently physical proximity short-circuits my brain when it comes to Ben Hoffman.
I tear off the next piece of tape with a little more force than necessary, lining it up against the ruler. The adhesive snaps in the quiet, and I smooth it up the wall, forcing myself to keep the spacing exact.
From across the room, I can hear him doing the same—rip, press, smooth. The rhythm of it settles me a bit as we work in silence, but every so often I catch myself glancing over without meaning to.
And then I whip my attention back to the wall, muttering under my breath. I’m here to work. To make this bakery perfect. Not to get caught up in the way he looks under bright light with his sleeves pushed up and his head bent in concentration.
Focus, Paige. Just focus.
I smooth the last strip into place, my palm running up the wall one final time. The edge is sharp, the spacing perfect—exactly the way I want it.
Across the room, there’s a soft thump as Ben drops the roll of tape on the ground, and when I glance over, he’s straightening, rolling his shoulders like he’s been hunched too long.
“All done,” he says, stepping back to survey his wall.
“Me too.” I peel the tape from my fingers and drop the scraps into the trash bag beside me.
For a second, we just stand there, each of us looking at our respective walls like we’re pretending not to notice each other. The space feels strangely small now, the quiet more distracting than ever without the constant rip and press of tape.
He tilts his head toward my wall. “Looks good.”
I nod toward his. “Yours too. Straight enough that I won’t have to redo it, so…you passed.”
That pulls a smirk from him. “Guess I’ll take that as high praise.”
I busy myself gathering the roll of tape and the ruler, because if I hold his gaze any longer, I’ll start thinking about the heat in his eyes—or worse, about the way I nearly pressed myself into him earlier.
When I turn back, he’s already crossed the room, meeting me in the middle where our freshly taped walls meet at the corner. For a moment, we both glance at the seam, the perfect lines running from floor to ceiling.
“Good teamwork,” he says, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I manage, though it comes out softer than I intend.
Neither of us moves right away.
Then he glances up, and my breath catches.
It feels like he can see right through me, the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. I should look away, should turn toward the wall and pretend to double-check the seam, but I don’t. Can't. He doesn’t seem able to, either.
His throat works.
I should step back. I should put some distance between us, but my feet are rooted in place.
My body is on fire.
We stare at each other, the air heady and thick between us.
Slowly, he lifts his hand. My eyes dart to the movement, my lungs catching as his fingers graze the skin just below the curve of my cheek. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering, fingertips grazing the edge of my jaw.
The gesture is simple, innocent, but it feels like anything but.
Heat rushes through me, desire so intense that I sway.
He must feel it, must see the effect his touch has on me, because his lips part. His fingers slide lower, down the curve of my neck, until his thumb grazes the edge of my chin, tracing the shape of my lower lip.
I make a sound.
It feels involuntary, instinctual. A soft, desperate sound that comes from somewhere deep inside, and for a second, I can't believe it was me.
But it is.
Because that touch—
God, that touch.
He leans closer, his eyes darkening, pupils wide.
He wants me.
Just as badly as I want him.
I can feel it, the heat between us like a palpable thing. It wraps around us, pulls us together, and then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are hot and firm and hungry. My hands fist his shirt, drawing him closer, and his other arm slides around my waist, pulling me tight against him.
God, he feels good.
He smells good.
I part my lips and his tongue brushes mine, slow and deep, and I melt.
Everywhere.
The kiss is a little rough, frantic.
His fingers fist in my hair, mine dragging up his back, his hips pressing me back into the wall, and the kiss goes wild.
His lips leave mine, trailing over my jaw, down my throat, and then he bites, and a soft moan escapes my lips.
He kisses a path back up my throat, over my jaw, his teeth catching my earlobe, and then his lips are on mine again.
He kisses me like he's starving, and I've never felt anything so good.
I can feel him, the length of his erection hard against my belly, and I can't stop myself.
I roll my hips against his.
He groans, a low, guttural sound before gripping my thighs and hauling me up. I wrap my legs around his hips as he presses me against the wall, his lips devouring mine.
I want him.
So badly.
More than I've ever wanted anything.
His fingers tighten in my hair, his free hand gripping the outside of my thigh, and when he thrusts his hips against me, his cock rubs in just the right spot.
I groan, my fingers fisting in his hair, and he does it again.
It feels amazing.
But we can't do this.
We shouldn't.
But why not?
With his lips on my throat, I can't quite remember.
And God, whatever he's doing with his tongue feels so damn good.
Too good to stop.
And then his fingers slip under the hem of my T-shirt.
The bare skin of his wrist brushes the sensitive skin of my belly, and the touch feels like an electric shock.
I want him to go higher.
Or lower.
I don't care which.
All I know is that I want him.
He nips my earlobe, and I grind against him.
"God, you're hot." His voice is low, gruff.
I don't answer, too busy fisting his shirt and yanking it apart, sending buttons scattering across the floor.
He lets out a rough laugh, then I'm kissing him again. His mouth, his jaw, the hollow of his throat, and he groans.
His hands are under my shirt, sliding higher, under my sports bra. His thumbs drag over my nipples, and it's so good, too good, and I never want it to stop.
My skin is on fire, my core tight, aching, desperate for him.
Desperate for more.
For everything.
"Ben."
His name is a plea.
A desperate sound, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
His teeth rake the skin below my ear, his thumb rubbing a slow circle around my nipple.
I grip the hem of my shirt and yank it above my head, pulling the bra off at the same time.
The cool air of the room feels shockingly good against my hot skin.
His hand closes around the bare skin of my breast, and I groan, arching into his touch.
"Jesus, you're fucking beautiful." His lips brush my collarbone, his fingers kneading my breasts, and I roll my hips against him.
His free hand grips the outside of my thigh, and I lean in to catch his earlobe between my teeth.
He groans, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
God, this is too much.
This is everything.
His lips close around my nipple, his tongue flicking against the taut peak, and my head drops back, cracking against the wall.
Yes. Yes.
His mouth.
His fingers.
God, I want this.
I want him.
Inside me.
My fingers fumble with the fly of his jeans, and he swears, the word muffled against my skin.
He releases my nipple, the night air cold against the wet skin, and I whimper, my fingers working his button and fly.
His mouth finds mine again, and we kiss, frantic and deep. He sets me on my feet only long enough to yank my pants down in one quick motion before he hikes me up again.
"Hold onto me," he says, his voice low, gruff.
I loop an arm around his neck, gripping his hair, and the other tightens on his shoulder.
His palm closes around my ass, and then I feel his fingers.
They brush the inside of my thigh, his knuckle just barely grazing my center, and I whimper.
God, yes.
I need his fingers.
Need him to fill me.
To make me come.
My thighs tighten around his hips, and his hand slides higher, cupping my aching pussy, his fingers slipping between my folds.
He groans, the sound raw.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, and he slides a finger inside me.
"Fuck," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're so wet."
He curls his finger, stroking the spot, and a whimper escapes my lips.
"Like this?" His voice is rough, but the touch is gentle.
"Yes. God, yes."
"You're so tight," he says, his lips brushing the hollow of my throat.
His free hand is fumbling with his fly.
I reach down, batting his fingers away, and unzip him.
He lets out a low, guttural groan as I close my fingers around his cock, the skin velvet smooth.
He's so hard, so hot.
My fingers close around his shaft, and his hips buck.
I stroke him once, twice, and he groans.
His thumb strokes my clit, and a cry escapes my lips.
"Oh God, yes."
He's still stroking, his finger curling, his thumb brushing, and the world narrows.
All I can think about is his touch.
All I can focus on is the pleasure, the building release.
I rock against him, stroking him harder, and he groans.
I stroke his shaft, his cock throbbing in my palm, and he pumps his hips, thrusting into my hand.
"Jesus, fuck. Just like that."
The sound of his voice, low and gruff, does things to me.
I pump him faster.
Faster.
His teeth sink into my neck, and his finger crooks inside me, and then I'm coming.
Hard.
My muscles spasm around his finger, his thumb rubbing my clit, and I cry out, the orgasm shuddering through me, white-hot and electric.
"Jesus, yes," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "Christ, you feel good."
His thumb stops stroking, but his finger keeps pumping.
It's too much.
But I can't stop.
"Don't stop," I breathe. "Don't stop. Please."
His forehead drops to my shoulder.
"God, you feel good. So hot. So tight."
"Keep talking."
His voice is all I can think about, the pleasure of his touch, his words, all I can focus on.
"You like that, don't you? When I talk to you. Tell you how much I want you. How bad. Christ, I want to fuck you so bad."
He slides a second finger inside me, and I groan.
"That's it, baby. That's it."
His thumb starts to circle my clit again, his fingers sliding in and out of me.
My thighs start to shake.
"Don't stop. Don't stop."
"God, you're so beautiful. The sounds you're making. Fuck, I love your sounds."
"More," I breathe.
"The way you move. Your scent. The feel of your pussy squeezing my fingers."
My breath is coming faster, the tension in my body building.
"God, I want you. I want to feel you squeeze my cock. The sounds you'd make when I make you come."
His thumb strokes faster.
Harder.
“Ben, don't stop."
“Never.”
"Yes. Yes. Yes."
I'm gasping now, his fingers pumping, his thumb stroking, and I'm so close.
So, so close.
"You're gonna come, aren't you? So hot, so sexy."
"Yes," I breathe, clinging to him. "God, yes."
"Do it. Do it. Come for me."
I cry out, the orgasm ripping through me, pleasure so intense that I see stars.
"Fuck. Fuck."
Ben swears, his fingers digging into the flesh of my ass as I tighten my legs around his waist.
He rocks his hips against me, stroking himself against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I cling to him.
I've never felt anything like that.
Never.
And the look on his face is everything.
Pleasure. Need.
Lust.
His eyes are wild, his pupils wide, the blue almost black.
I slide my hand between us, grasping his cock.
He swears, his hips rocking forward, his eyes closing as his forehead drops to my shoulder.
"You're so hard," I say.
"You're killing me." His voice is raw, harsh.
I slide my thumb over the head of his cock, and he swears again.
"I want you inside me," I breathe, guiding the head of his thick cock to my entrance.