Page 18 of Sweetly Yours

His mouth crashes into mine, and the world tilts on its axis. His kiss is deep and consuming, filled with a possessiveness that leaves me breathless. His hands slide down my sides, tracing every curve, and then he grips my ass, lifting me effortlessly.

“Jesus,” I gasp against his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair as he presses me closer.

His hard body pins me against the door, his cock pressing against my center with a heat that makes me forget my own name. The thin fabric of my leggings does nothing to dull the sensation, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.

His kisses are maddening, deliberate, and relentless, making me dizzy with need. I can feel the strength in his hold, the sheer power in the way he handles me, and it sends a thrill straight through me.

But just as quickly as it starts, he slows it down. His lips soften against mine, trailing a path to my cheek, then my jaw, until finally, he presses his forehead against mine.

Our breathing is ragged, our bodies still pressed together, but there’s a tenderness in the way he traces the tip of his nose against mine.

“You need to get to sleep,” he whispers, his voice low and gruff.

“You could stay,” I offer, my voice barely audible.

He shakes his head, pulling back slightly to look into my eyes. His hand moves to cup the back of my head, his thumb brushing along my temple.

“No, baby,” he says, his tone thick with restraint. “As much as I want to stay, it’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” I ask, my chest tightening as I search his face.

“Because when I finally get inside you, I’m going to want to live there,” he says, his voice raw and honest. “I’m going to need hours, maybe days, to devour every inch of you. And we don’t have time for that right now.”

His words leave me speechless, a fire igniting low in my belly. He’s not just saying it to tease me—he means it, every single word.

I nod, swallowing hard, and he presses one last lingering kiss to my lips before setting me gently back on my feet.

“Goodnight, Willow,” he says, his hand brushing my cheek one final time before he steps out into the cool night air.

“Goodnight,” I manage, watching as he heads to his truck.

The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean back against it, my fingers pressed to my lips, my entire body still buzzing.

Sleep is going to be impossible tonight.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BROCK

It’s been a couple of days since I kissed Willow against her door, and I still can’t get the feel of her out of my head. The way her body fit perfectly against mine, the way she gasped my name, the way her eyes looked at me like I was the only thing in her world—it’s burned into my brain.

I’ve been keeping myself busy in the workshop, trying to channel the energy she stirs in me into something productive. But every time my phone buzzes with her name, I’m useless.

Today’s been quiet, though. Too quiet. I haven’t heard from her since this morning, and it’s gnawing at me. I know she’s busy running Sweetly Yours, probably up to her elbows in flour and sugar, but I still feel the pull to check in.

I grab my phone and send her a quick text.

Me: How’s my favorite baker doing?

The reply doesn’t come right away, and I try to focus on the coffee table I’m building, sanding down the edges until they’resmooth as silk. But it’s no use. My mind keeps drifting to her, to the way she laughed during dinner, to the softness of her lips, to the way she whispered, “You could stay.”

I didn’t stay. I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wanted her too much. If I’d stayed, there wouldn’t have been any going back. And as much as I crave her, I want to do this right. I want her to know she’s not just a fleeting thought in my mind. She’s it.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Willow: Exhausted. But I think I finally got the frosting on Mrs. Carter’s cake to behave. How about you?

Me: Just finished sanding a table. Now I’m trying to resist the urge to drive over there and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

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