Page 34 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
It isn’t enough.
The cold of the window against my back shocks me slightly when he presses me against it, but it only seems to fan the fire growing between us. Max braces one hand beside my head, his other tangling into my hair, his grip firm yet achingly gentle. The sensation sends a shudder down my spine, and I press up into him, craving his warmth, his weight, his presence.
The kiss demands more from me than I know how to give—but I give it anyway, my lips moving eagerly against his, answering the wordless hunger in every movement. His scent surrounds me, a mix of coffee, woodsmoke, and cold air, making me dizzy.
Max groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of us as his lips part mine deeper, coaxing, commanding, but with a tenderness that steals the ground out from under me.
My fingers find his neck, brushing the soft, damp hair there before tracing down the hard line of his collar. The smooth fabric of his shirt beneath my fingertips almost feels too delicate for the strength thrumming through him.
The lights flicker violently above us, plunging the shop into a brief, heavy darkness. The backup generator kicks in almost immediately, sending a dim glow over the space, but the momentary shock doesn’t pull us apart.
We break the kiss only when the need for air overrides everything else, our breath mingling as he rests his forehead against mine. His grip on my waist remains firm, his thumb stroking my hip in slow, grounding circles even as his breaths come sharp and uneven.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he murmurs, voice rough and low, his words betraying the unsteadiness sharp in his chest.
"No," I reply, my hands still clutching him tightly, my fingers curling possessively under the collar of his shirt. The heat of hisskin burns against my fingertips, and I can't bring myself to let go. "You shouldn't have."
The hint of a smirk flickers on his lips, dangerous and knowing. His pupils dilate as his gaze drops to my mouth again, darkening his eyes to midnight.
"But I did." His thumb strokes my cheek again, softer now but just as possessive. The callus on his thumb catches slightly on my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
"You did." My voice emerges as barely more than a whisper, the two simple words carrying the weight of surrender.
"I don't regret it, but you need to be careful." His jaw tightens, a muscle there jumping beneath his skin as he fights some internal battle.
"Of what?" I lean back just enough to search his face, my fingers unconsciously tightening on his shirt, pulling him closer even as I create space between us.
He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of my ear as his voice drops to a rough whisper. "Because what I want is to back you against that counter, lift you onto it, and ravage you the way I have every night in my dreams."
His breath catches, warm against my skin. "I want to worship every inch of you until you're singing my name like a prayer." His fingers tighten fractionally at my waist, the tremble in them betraying how tightly he's holding onto his control. "But I should warn you—I'm not good at denying myself what I want. If you say yes..." His voice roughens, breaking slightly on the next words. "I'll take everything you're willing to give. And I've imagined so much."
I feel his words everywhere—heavy, electric, promising things that make my pulse stutter. For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare up at him, breathless, savoring the sharp, wild ache he's kindled inside me. I press my hips a little closer, making sure he feels my answer in the flush of my body against his.
"Yes." The word escapes before I can think better of it, and my voice is unsteady, wrecked with wanting. I swallow hard, then meet his gaze directly. "What exactly have you fantasized about?" My question carries surrender in its edges, an offering.
"Your back against this wall." His eyes darken impossibly further, and his voice roughens. "My hands exploring every inch of you, taking you right here where anyone could walk in." He studies my reaction carefully. "I've imagined you sprawled across this counter, on the desk in your back office, in my shower with steam rising around us." He pauses, gauging me. "And yes, on your knees, looking up at me." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Too much? Or not enough?"
A shiver runs through me, not from fear but anticipation. My breath comes faster, my skin flushing hot beneath his gaze.
"Not enough," I whisper, surprising myself with my boldness.
His grin turns wicked, his hand flexing on my waist. The promise between us, old as the storm outside, is no longer just a maybe. His eyes darken to obsidian as they lock with mine, raw hunger barely contained beneath his careful control. The tension in his shoulders shifts from restraint to purpose, his body coiling like a predator finally given permission to hunt.
When his thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, the callused pad catches slightly, sending lightning down my spine that pools molten in my core.
"Good," he breathes, the single word carrying the weight of every night he's spent wanting this—wanting me. "That was just the prelude." His grip tightens, possessive. "I have desires that would make you blush in places no one can see, appetites that would leave marks on your skin for days." His voice drops to a near-growl. "I want to push you to edges you didn't know existed, then catch you when you fall." His breath caresses my ear. "The question is whether you're brave enough to discoverthem." His challenge hangs between us, a door opening to something both frightening and irresistible.
His other hand slides to the small of my back, pressing me impossibly closer while his fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt to find bare skin. He makes a sound—half groan, half sigh—as though touching me has unlocked something primal within him. His palm splays wide, claiming territory as he bends to recapture my mouth.
Outside, winter rages. Inside, with him, I am already burning.
Before I can respond, my phone rings—the emergency tone I've assigned to official calls. The harsh electronic sound slices through the heated air between us. For a moment, we freeze, connected at every point, neither willing to be the first to break away. The phone rings again, insistent.
Reluctantly, I extract myself from Max's embrace, pulse still racing as I answer. His hands linger until the last possible moment, fingertips trailing across my skin like a promise postponed rather than broken.
"Lily, it's Sheriff Donovan." His voice crackles with static. "Just checking you're safe at home."
"I'm still at the shop." I try to steady my breathing, acutely aware of Max watching me, his eyes still dark with unresolved hunger.
