Page 62 of Lemon Crush

“At this age, who has the time?”

“I’d like us to,” he answered my rhetorical question. “I learned more about you the other night than I had in decades, but it wasn’t enough. I think we should start there. I want to spend time with you, August. Days. Weeks. More if you’re willing. And not only working on the house or seeing you at the office. I’d like to take my time getting to know all the things you like. Give you the attention you deserve instead of rushing into anything. But like I said, I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

We were. I was. I couldn’t remember being morethere, even in my twenties but… “Again, so we’re on the same page…youaretalking about having sex with me, right? Because spending time and taking time and giving me attention could all be euphem?—”

He cut me off with a kiss.

If my mind needed a moment to adjust becauseWadeHudson was kissing me, my body was already turned up to eleven, stuck in fast forward and on fire.

His mouth was firm and commanding, and the fingers on my chin spread to cup my jaw, holding me where he wanted me and parting my lips for his invasion. His tongue sought mine, drawing me into a dance of barely leashed hunger that made me whimper.

Was this the elusive chemistry I’d always read about? The kind I’d never experienced with my ex, who’d perfected his technical kissing skills for the camera but never lost himself in the moment? The volatile, incendiary kind of connection I never imagined I’d be exploring for the first time in my forties, in broad daylight, with half the neighborhood right across the street?

I was so lost in the moment, that I was only half aware of what I was doing as I grabbed his wrist and urged his hand into my panties, silently begging for more of his touch.

“Damn it, August,” he swore against my mouth, stroking the backs of his knuckles lightly over me. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not? You’re the boss, the door is closed, and I thought you wanted us to spend time together.”

I tilted my hips forward invitingly.Touch me.

He bit my lower lip hard enough to sting and looked into my eyes, his rough fingertips grazing my clit and slipping through my wet, aching sex.

“Yes.”

“August.”

We both groaned at the evidence of my arousal. His broad chest heaved as he fought for the control I didn’t want him to have.

“Just this,” he rasped out, sounding pained. “Just this for now.”

He silenced my denial, angling his head for a deeper kiss while pressing one thick digit deep inside me. Slow enough for me to stop him if I wanted to.

My grip on his wrist tightened, letting him know that stopping was not an option for me.

Things got serious once his finger found what I assumed was my G-spot, since no one else had ever bothered to look for it and I’d never felt anything likethatbefore.

I cried out against his mouth and went wild in his arms, needing to touch him. I let go of his wrist, both hands burrowing beneath his shirt to get at his big, beautiful chest. I let my fingers spear through the warm springs of hair I found there, my nails scraping lightly over his muscular pecs.

I wanted him naked. I wanted him to toss me on his desk and take me until I begged him to stop.

“The first time I take you won’t be on that rickety desk and you won’t want me to stop.” His gritty promise vibrated along my jawline, making me realize I’d said that out loud.

He added a second finger to the first, working them inside me in a rhythm that was robbing me of all coherent thought. “Show me how to get you there, August. Don’t hold back.”

I couldn’t if I wanted to, which was a miracle in itself. It had always taken more foreplay to get my motor running. A lot more. There had been Yelp complaints about how high maintenance my vagina was. But Wade knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re really good at this,” I informed him in between gasps for air. “In case you were feeling insecure about your performance or anything.”

He buried his face in my neck for a heartbeat. “So cute.”

“Sexy.” I reached for him in retaliation, one hand cupping his erection through his jeans. Or trying to. Holy bananas, he was huge. “Cute gets head pats. Sexy gets some of this.”

“It’s yours.” He swore before kissing me again, fucking me with his fingers, driving me to the edge so swiftly I wanted to scream.

“Don’t stop.”

“Not until you come,” he promised, lifting his mouth and watching his fingers disappear between my legs. “Afterthis, if you want more,anytimeyou want more, you’ll know exactly who can give it to you.”

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