Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(31)

“Yeah? And you’re entirely too fuckable,” I murmured. “So if you wanna eat something besides my come, you better stop tryin’ to get into my pants, baby.”

She squeezed my ass.

I swatted hers.

She squealed, and I snatched one of her wandering hands, leading her to the kitchen before I decided to lay her out on the floor then fuck her right across it.

“I made a lowcountry favorite,” I said after setting two beers on the table along with a stack of paper napkins.

“It smells divine.” Shy inspected her beer bottle after I pulled out her chair for her. “But why aren’t we drinking your label?”

“Saving the best for later.” I winked and began foraging through a giant plastic bag on the counter, pulling out Styrofoam containers.

“You made dinner?” She watched, chuckling.

“Okay, made a trip to Melvin’s. And bought dinner.” Grinning at her, I began plating up.

Ribs, cornbread, thick cut fries, and collard greens.

We ate the whole meal holding hands. Kind of awkward with barbeque, but not impossible, and totally worth it.

Especially when Shy got red sauce smeared all over her lips, and I licked the extra tasty treat off her mouth before she could grab a napkin.

She giggled, a sound I’d grown addicted to as much as the sight of the light pink flush painting her cheeks.

She smacked me on the chest to push me away when I started kissing a trail down her neck.

“I’m eating!”

“Can’t help it.” I nipped at the crest of her tit through her dress. “You’re more succulent than the food.”

Her laughter dissolved into a low moan when my hand skimmed up the inside of her thigh.

“What color panties you wearing tonight, Shy?” My fingers brushing the front of the garment, feeling her liquid heat building inside. “Are they sweet and white?”

She grabbed my wrist, halting my progress. “You’ll have to wait until later, Max.”

“You’re evil. I’m being on my best behavior here. If you only knew much I wanna drive my cock inside you right now.”

Getting her own tease on, she leaned forward, and her fingertips glanced across the thick-formed hard-on in my jeans.

“Just means it’ll feel even better later when I spread myself open for you.”

I grunted, shifting in my seat. “Tease.”

She drank a sip of beer. “An easy tease.”

“Only for me.”

“Still jealous?” she asked, dipping a fingertip into the cornbread crumbs to gather them.

I squeezed her thigh one last time. “Nope. ’Cause you’re mine.”

After devouring the food, we made short work of cleaning up, rinsing plates, loading the dishwasher. I was only guilty of trying for a wet T-shirt type of deal once when I splashed water at her from the running faucet.

“Max!” She looked down at the damp top of her dress.

Still wasn’t sheer enough to show her goods.

“You can’t blame a guy for trying.” I grinned at her, and she pinned me against the counter.

With her hand curling into the long hair at my neck, she brought her moist lips to within kissing distance of mine.

I closed my eyes, parted my mouth, suddenly freakin’ dizzy as all blood traveled to my groin.

“You ready to show me your set-up yet?” Shy whispered, so close I felt her warm breath wash across my hungry lips.

I cranked her hips against mine. “Actually, I’m ready to show you my bedroom.”

No fucking lie there.

Cock on demand. That was my dick around her.

“You do that, and we’ll probably never get down to business.”

“Funny.” I rocked against her. “Getting down to business is exactly what I had in mind.”

“Handsome,” she admonished, gliding back from me.

“Shit. Already riding my ass and we’re not even married yet.”

****

“Welcome to operations.” I joked, guiding Shy into the well-ventilated shed at the back of my property.

The place was nothing special, consisting of walls I’d knocked up, a roof I’d tried not to half-ass, and a couple windows. But it was kitted out with top-of-the-line brewing equipment on a small scale. Blichmann fermenters, brew kettles, hydrometers, siphons, bottles, caps . . . the whole friggin’ shebang, everything sterilized.

In addition, I stored the usual ingredients for an A-grade IPA here—malt, hops, yeast—plus a few secret weapons of my own.

Shy whistled low. “Not bad at all.”

“Nothing like your shop though.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She walked her fingers down the center of my chest. Her fingers dug into the low-riding waist of my jeans, and she tugged me against her. “Don’t sell yourself short.

“Of course”—she turned me free—“I can’t judge until I taste the wares.”

“You’ll do well in business, lady. Already a hardass.”

“No, no, no. You’re the one with the hard ass.” She ogled me when I turned toward the old humming Frigidaire, letting loose with another low whistle.

And when I bent over to retrieve two handfuls of beer?

“Ungh. That’s what I’m talking about,” Shy sultrily remarked.