Page 65 of Last on the List
Her face instantly brightens. “Oh…I found these great pieces of driftwood down by the creek this week so I’m prepping them to scatter in a square mold and fill the gaps with epoxy. Everly picked out this great teal pigment that will look amazing.”
“Have you worked with epoxy before?” I ask, mildly impressed. She acts like she doesn’t have ambition, but it’s total bullshit. This woman has hard work ingrained in her.
“The magic of YouTube is very helpful for DIYers.” She waggles her eyebrows excitedly and moves over to the counter, where several other pieces sit next to a metal chisel. “I have to gouge out the old bark from the pits first or the sealer won’t adhere.” She holds the chisel out to me. “You should try it. It’s freakishly satisfying.”
“Okay.” I laugh and step forward, taking the tool from her hands and pushing the edge down into the hole.
“Try going at it from this angle.” She presses her tits against my arm as she reaches around me to demonstrate. The scent of coconut lotion, perfume, whatever the fuck she wears mixed with sawdust has my eyes closing involuntarily.
Fuuuck, she smells incredible.
She holds my hand as she shows me how to work the bark out, and I realize we’re having a bit of a Patrick Swayze and Demi MooreGhostmoment. I turn my head toward her and shoot her a smirk. “Most men would be emasculated by this. But considering my ex left me for another woman, it’s safe to say I have no problem with this role reversal.”
Her breasts move against me with her soft laughter—a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’d take it either way.”
My cock grows hard at the wickedness in her words. It’s not a direct come on. It’s somewhere in the gray area. Then again, so was my comment. There are a lot of blurred lines here, and I’m getting kind of tired of not seeing clearly with Cassandra. And the silence that descends after her comment feels crystal fucking clear.
I realize belatedly that my breasts are pressed firmly against my boss’s arm. That sculpted arm that I can feel the muscles of through his thin T-shirt. The quietness in the room is deafening as Max pauses work on the driftwood and stares at my lips.
The heat in his eyes makes my stomach tighten, and my yoga shorts suddenly feel too snug, while my breasts practically grow a whole cup size inside my thin gray camisole. I’m not dressed properly for Max Fletcher to be looking at me likethat.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to swallow, hoping it will somehow eliminate the need pulsating between my legs. It’s inappropriate. Everly is awake inside. She could come out here any minute, and she doesn’t need to see me looking at her dad like this.
Or her dad looking at me like that.
Because he’s the one who started this. Whatever this is.
Max sets down the wood chisel and licks his lips, dragging his lower lip through his teeth before releasing it. His eyes do that color shift thing again, darkening as if revealing the direction of his thoughts. He turns so he’s facing me, one hand splayed out on the counter as he invades my personal space with that stupid mafia man scent of his.
He reaches out a finger and wipes at something on my face. Maybe dust, maybe dirt. Could be sweat. Honestly, I’ve been out here for a while, and I’m a hot mess.
He pauses for a moment before the back of his finger glides along my jawline and down my neck to trace the ridge of my collarbone. Goose bumps erupt over my body, causing my nipples to tighten under my thin bralette. The way his nostrils flare as he watches my chest heave is damn near carnal. Warmth rushes in my chest as his hand glides down over the swell of my breast. The mark on my chest is gone now and I swear I see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes as he notices that fact.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he rasps, his fingertips hovering over my flesh like he wants to pull away but can’t find the strength.
“What do you mean?” My voice is breathy and embarrassing, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
His Adam’s apple slides down his throat as he forms his hand over my breast and squeezes gently. “I can’t seem to control myself around you.” His eyes are devastating when he looks back up at me.
I arch into his touch, damn near panting for him to grip harder. To press into me, to bend me over this sawhorse and fuck me from behind.
I have spent the past week replaying what his body feels like against mine, and I am unwell from it. He has haunted all my waking moments, and the only thing that could make this ache in my body go away is for him to finish what he’s starting.
My pulse quickens as he towers over me, his eyes gripping mine in a chokehold I don’t want to be released from. The loud inhale and exhale of our breaths is all the soundtrack I need to reply, “What are you going to do about it?”
His head jerks at my response, his jaw muscle twitching violently as he turns away and debates. Finally, I hear him moan, “Fuck,” under his breath before he grabs my face and seals his lips over mine.
The heat of his tongue swirls into my mouth and is like a salve to a wound that was aching all over my body as I wrap my arms around his hips and hold on for dear life.
How long have I wanted to kiss this man again? Days? Weeks? Since the first moment I stepped into that boardroom for my interview? It has to be longer than this moment because the ecstasy of relief I feel flush against him again is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
He shifts to pin my back against the worktable, and I hear the clatter of tools fall to the floor beside us as his grip leaves my face and slides down to my waist. He steels his hands under the fabric of my top to my breasts, squeezing them harshly in his large hands. It’s a punishing grip, his body clearly overcome by the sexual frustration just like mine.
The delicious pain of his assault causes me to whimper into his lips as slickness grows between my legs. My tongue fights to keep up with his as he consumes me, swallowing up every moan, groan, and gasp that slips out of me.
“Fuck,” he grunts again, breaking our kiss to turn me around. He presses my front up against the worktable and folds over me to grind the ridge of his hard cock into my ass. My hands spread out to brace myself as our bodies roll into one another, my fantasy very nearly becoming a reality.
My clit throbs as I feel my panties grow wetter with every thrust of his hips. This isn’t enough. I want him in me, I want him on me, I want him tasting me. I want to taste him. I want to break myself into multiple pieces so that every fucking part of this can be happening to me all at the same exact second.
