Tuesday, June 21, 2016
“Hi there, handsome.”
“Well, hello, love.”
“You know,” I say as I lock the door behind him, then walk to my counter to close out the till and get ready to leave. “I’ve discovered that since you’ve been here, you’re very bad for my productivity.”
“How is that?” He leans on the counter and braces his chin on his fist, watching me.
“I’m closing the shop early, for one.”
“I do believe the sign in the window says you close at six.” He checks his watch. “And look at that, it’s six.”
“I haven’t actually closed at six since…well, I don’t remember. I usually chat with customers, redesign displays, shop for new stock. But most of that has been set aside because I seem to be spending most of my time with a certain sexy Brit. It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
He raises a brow and stands to full height, taking my breath away. His ink is on display again in a simple black T-shirt, stretched over wide, muscular shoulders.
Where did my knees go again?
“Cute, am I?”
His accent gets even thicker when he’s turned on, and it’s on full blast now.
He slowly circles around the counter and leans into me, pinning my hips against it. His lips are inches from mine.
“I don’t think a man is supposed to be cute.”
“No?” Oh, God, I can’t breathe right when he’s this close to me. His hands are on my hips now, his fingers under the hem of my blouse, and then gliding up my skin and over my bra to cup my breasts.
“We shouldn’t do this here.” Is that my voice? I sound breathy and turned on, which is pretty accurate.
“No one is here,” he says and brushes feather-soft kisses over my cheek to my ear. My body is one giant shiver. Thank God for the giant display I built today that blocks us from outside traffic.
As if by their own volition, my hands make their way down the back of his jeans to cup his very fine ass just as he nips my neck, making me gasp.
“How cute am I now?” he whispers, never taking his lips from my skin.
“You’re just precious,” I reply, hearing my own accent thicken along with his cock pressed to my belly.
“You make me laugh,” he says, smiling against my neck. “You make me so hard it hurts. And I’m grateful that you’re wearing a skirt.”
“Why is that?”
He reaches down and balls the material in his fists, raising it above my waist.
“You’re not wearing panties,” he says with surprise, his blue eyes pinned to mine.