Page 94 of Only and Forever
Tearing my gaze away, I face Nat and plaster on my widest smile. “Right this way.”
—
I lock the dead bolt on the shop’s front door, flip the sign fromOpentoClosed. When I turn around, Tallulah’s standing in the middle of the store, her dress starting to slip off one shoulder, heels dangling by their straps from her fingertips. I stare at her, my pulse pounding.
She stares right back.
Reaching for the light switch, I hold her eyes. Then I flick it off. Darkness fills the store, leaving only soft pockets of light from the dim, warm lights mounted at the tops of the bookshelves.
“So.” Tallulah’s voice is soft, smoky at the edges, hoarse from talking. Talking to so many people that weren’t me, people like that patron I had to barely restrain myself from booting out by the ass when I announced we were closing, half an hour past the end of official store hours.
“So,” I reply, slipping my hands into my pockets. They’re tight fists. My fingers ache with the need to touch her.
“That went well, I think,” she says, shifting her weight onto one hip, shoes swaying.
“I think so, too.”
Our eyes hold, a stare down so intense, it feels like electricity arcing in the air.
“Thanks for all your hard work tonight,” I tell her. “You did great with the customers. One in particular. How many coffee drinks did they order? Three? They’ll be up all night.”
The light is a faint yellow glow in the store, but my eyes have adjusted, so I don’t miss it, that arched eyebrow, the small tip of her mouth. “He ordered decaf. And I might say the same to you. You and Nat really hit it off in the historical romance section.”
My hands flex in my pockets. Tallulah’s grip tightens on her shoes.
Her gaze dips to my mouth. Mine dips to hers. I can’t stand the distance one more second.
I take a step toward her. She takes a step toward me.
My hands leave my pockets. Her shoes clatter to the floor. We rush at each other, collide fierce and fast, my hands dragging her by the waist against me, splaying wide as they skate up her back. Tallulah sinks her hands into my hair and tugs my head down. Our mouths crash against each other’s, rough, hungry. Tongues battling, teeth bumping, openmouthed, panting, so fucking desperate.
A groan of relief rumbles in my throat as she presses her soft body into mine, wedging my rapidly thickening cock right between her thighs. “I wanted to grab that fucker by the scruff,” I mutter between kisses, “and throw his ass out of the store.”
“I wanted to take that Barbie by the hair”—she gasps as I bend and bite her neck, chasing it with a hot lick of my tongue—“and drag her out the way she came.”
“Fuck, Lula.” I shudder as she sinks her teeth into my shirt right over my pec and bites. Hard.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t you dare apologize.” I grab her hair in a fistful and kiss her neck, lick my way up her ear. She moans. “I loved it. I want you to do it again.”
She smiles, head back, throat exposed to me. I kiss my way down it, over the swell of her breast. “Wait!”
I pull back, breathing heavily, staring down at her. “Lula?”
“We promised.” She sighs miserably. “We promised we’d take it slow.”
I nod, swallowing roughly. “You’re right.”
Her hands slide up my chest. She clasps me by the jaw, her thumb tracing my lips. “But I want you so fucking bad.”
“I want you, too.”
She bites her lip, her eyes drifting down my body. “We could... play with semantics.”
I arch an eyebrow, my hands wrapping tight around her waist, over her big, lush ass. “I’m listening.”
“You could... touch yourself.” She peers up at me beneath her lashes. “I could touch myself. We could do that... together.”