Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lane
My hands are flat on the glass, and I ride out the rest of my climax. Emerson’s legs are wrapped around me, and her back is against the window. Those sexy-as-hell overalls are on my desk, where I had her spread for my consumption. The rest of her clothing is piled on top. Mine too.
Her hot breaths caress my neck from where she’s buried her face. “I should’ve asked earlier, but you’re sure no one can see us?”
The security lights in the parking lot glow into my office, but that’s all that will get in. “No prying eyes can see inside. Otherwise you would’ve seen me staring at you when you first arrived.”
“You were just doing your research.”
“I’d already done that. It was time to collect my reward for being so patient.” I grab under her legs. “Hold on.”
She hugs me hard. “You can put me down.”
My dick slips out as I walk, but I stop at the desk. I put her feet down and hand her the overalls. “Just those.”
“I’m going to start thinking you have an obsession.”
“I do. Have you bought more?”
She doesn’t answer, and her smile fades a little.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I step into my underwear. I’ll give her my entire fortune for a clear view into her brain. She shut down like this on the plane. My brain wasn’t getting the blood supply it needed, yet I still noticed.
She let me take her, but she’s not all mine.
“I’m thinking you scrambled my brains.” She gives me a kiss and finishes buckling her shoulder flaps. They barely cover her tits. She catches me looking and smirks.
“I’ll get a drink. Have a seat.” Will she talk to me when she’s ready? I gesture to the couch and cross to the wet bar stocked with various brands of whiskey.
“Why isn’t there only Foster House?”
“Gotta do my research.”
“Sneaky.” She drops into the corner of the couch and kicks her legs up.
“Dedicated.” Will she read more into that? Should I tack on that I’m loyal and committed? Or is that too blatant?
“What can you tell me?” She wiggles a finger in the direction of the whiskey lineup.
“Ask, and you shall get an information dump.”
“Nerd out on me, Mr. Foster.”
I line up several tasting glasses of popular brands and Foster House. When I set them on the coffee table, she drops her legs. I sit next to her and lift her legs back onto my lap. I reach over her shins and pick up two glasses.
I hand her one. “Try this first. It’s a popular cinnamon whiskey.”
“I hear that disdain.” She takes a sip and rolls it around on her tongue. “It’s cinnamon.”
“It’s cinnamon flavoring. Now try this. We use real Ceylon cinnamon.”
Interest lights her eyes and she tries it. Her eyes flare as she savors it.
Smug pride fills me. I’m not responsible for the formulation, but I’ve helped Myles raise the quality. “Good, right?”
“It’s like Christmas dancing in my mouth. That’s like a cocktail right there. The flavor is unreal.”
“Yep.” I take a drink of my own and walk her through a few more tastings, but don’t tell her which is which. She guesses correctly most of the time.
“I like this one better,” she says of the last one.
“That . . . is not one of ours.”
She gasps and holds the cup out like it might burn her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, laughing. “I can admit that there are better products out there, and everyone has their preference.”
Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. She stares at it for a while. Right when I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, she downs the rest of the whiskey in her cup. She flashes me the screen.
Prescott: I’m having a bachelorette something next weekend. Can you make it? It’ll be at Bootleg, during the day, done by the time the bar opens, and won’t include strippers.
I make a regretful noise. “Without the strippers, I just don’t see the point.”
She laughs and reads the message again. “Why’s she inviting me?”
“You must’ve made an impression on her.”
“I haven’t talked to her since the night we were there.”
“She’s fairly new to town too, and . . . you’re one of us.”
The emotions that ripple over her features tear my world down. I said something so simple, and her struggle to process it is taking place in full view. “That’s not— I’m not . . . We’re not friends.”
“That’s how you make friends.” I hold my glass up and make a half circle. “I got none of this on my own. You say I’m responsible, but I’m trying to keep earning what I have. This job? My house? The tools my dad stole so I could become a mechanic? Nothing would’ve happened without knowing someone.”
“It’s not that.” The lightness from the last few minutes is gone.
“You’re scared?”
“I’m leaving in less than a month.”
Goddammit, no she’s not. But she’ll figure that out. Eventually. “Just go. Have fun. You’re not the one marrying Prescott.”
The corner of her mouth tips up. “I’m being dramatic. You’d think I’ve never been invited to a party.”
“I think you haven’t had enough genuine people in your life. You don’t trust anyone.”
Her brows crash together.
She’s getting in her head, and this weekend isn’t about that. It’s about us, and how well we go together. How good this is between us. She’s not tied to Huckleberry Springs just because she’s with me.
“Do you have the list of chicken facts your niece sent you?” She told me about them when we were back in our seats for the landing.
Her frown turns to a scowl. “I don’t need facts right now.”
She’s shutting down harder. I pick my phone off the end table and do a search. “Did you know the typical female orgasm can last two to eight times longer than a male orgasm?”
She smashes her lips together, fighting a smile. “Stop it. I’m not getting too emotional.”
“You’re still worrying about the bachelorette party, so I’ll spout facts until you respond.”
“What if I say no?”
She’d only give that answer out of fear. “Did you know that both external and internal orgasms result from clitoral stimulation?”
Laughter sputters from her. “You have got to stop it, or I’m going to hear you recite that while I’m coming.”
“Meditation can help a woman reach orgasm.”
She presses her lips together and glares at me, but there’s no hostility in her eyes. She sits up, crosses her legs, and puts her forearms on her knees. Closing her eyes, she hums.
“See? That’s increased your chances of coming again tonight one hundred percent.”
Peals of laughter leave her, and I grin. Her joy is contagious. I just hope the way I feel about her is catching too.
“You gonna say yes?”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile stays in place. “Fine.” She taps out a message and shows me.
Emerson: I’d love to join you.
“That’s my girl.” I scoot closer and unhook her overalls. In a few seconds, she’s topless, her teardrop tits begging for my mouth.
I take one of the Foster House whiskeys and pour a couple of drops right above her nipple. Then I lick them off and swirl my tongue around the peaked tip. She draws in a shuddering breath. I do the same to the other side.
Her chest rises and falls under my mouth. “I can’t believe you’re right.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific. I’m right about a lot.”
She stuffs her hands into my hair. “I am a hundred percent going to come again tonight.”