Junk Mail(18)

I curl my fingers inside her and her jaw drops open, a breathy moan pouring out of her as she comes undone. She squeezes her eyes tight, trying to hold herself together, but her muscles clench and pulse until she finally lets out a soft sigh.

It’s so damn hot.

I’m not even worried about anyone hearing Peyton’s moans. Let them hear. I’d wear Peyton’s orgasm as a medal of honor, given the chance.

Well, I take that back. Not under these circumstances. But in a less professional setting? Definitely.

Once I’ve eased my fingers out of her, Peyton’s grip on my shoulders loosens and she finds her own balance again. It may be dark, but I can still see the new stain of pink on her cheeks. It pairs well with the fresh off an orgasm glow.

“Wow,” she whispers as one hand grips the back of her neck, then floats down so her fingers can intertwine with mine. “I, um . . . I think that was the best orgasm of my life.”

There’s no stopping the proud smile that spreads across my face. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that compliment, but somehow, it means more coming from her. And it’s been so long since I’ve shared pleasure like this with a woman. It’s good to hear that I haven’t lost my touch.

In the momentary silence between us, I can just barely hear the band announce that this will be their last song of the evening. Shit. We’ve been gone way longer than I thought.

“We should get back,” we both say in almost perfect unison, then laugh. We’ve known each other less than a week, and apparently, we can already read each other’s minds.

After we’ve smoothed out our clothes and gathered ourselves, Peyton looks over at me, her gaze drifting to the front of my pants that still sport an obvious bulge.

Her lips part. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

I pull in a long, slow breath and nod. The concern in her eyes as she takes me in is equal parts adorable and hilarious. She looks genuinely worried.

“I’ll be fine.” I’ll probably have to jerk off twice later just to get to sleep, but I’ll live.

After discreetly adjusting myself, I crack open the door. The coast is clear, and moments later, we’re walking down the hotel hallway, chatting as though nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

But ordinary is the last word I’d use to describe what just went down between the two of us. Not unless you tack an extra in front of it. Because, goddamn, Peyton is extraordinary in every possible way.

Back in the hotel lobby, it takes us all of a microsecond to spot Peyton’s grandmother. She’s one of the only people left on the dance floor. Well, her and the CEO of Byron County Whiskey. I still can’t believe she’s dancing with him.

When the song ends, the band gestures to Gram, and the few remaining partiers left in the lobby all applaud. I guess her dancing has caught everyone’s attention. Even the caterers set down their trays and clap. The applause dies down, and after a polite curtsy, Gram shakes her dance partner’s hand before making her way back to us.

“You missed some damn good songs!” Gram exclaims, laying a hand on her heart as she catches her breath. “What were you two up to?”

“Just work stuff,” Peyton says quickly before I have a chance to get a word in.

I nod in agreement, trying to suppress the chuckle building in my chest. Work stuff, eh? Is that what that was, because damn, I’ll become a workaholic effective immediately.

Gram must know Peyton pretty well, because the mischievous smirk on her face says she can see right through that lie. “Work stuff? At a party like this?” She snickers. “Whatever you say, dearie.”

Peyton is blushing again, but Gram doesn’t notice. She’s already directed her attention toward me.

“So, Mr. Josh.” Gram plants her hands firmly on her hips, her voice suddenly stern. “My granddaughter here keeps hitting me with all this business mumbo jumbo. I need your professional opinion. Do you think she works too hard?”

Peyton groans, but I can’t help but laugh.

“Well, I haven’t known your granddaughter nearly as long as you have, of course. But I can tell you that her hard work has gotten her pretty far. The partnership we’re building between our two companies is, for lack of a better phrase, a pretty big deal.”

I pause to assess Gram’s skeptical reaction. I guess grandmothers aren’t easily won over with the corporate stuff. At least, this one isn’t.

“How about I make you an even bigger deal?” I say, and Gram scrunches her eyebrows, urging me to go on. “If you’re willing to listen to the aforementioned business mumbo jumbo, I’m willing to make sure your granddaughter loosens up a little and has some fun while we’re working. Sound fair?”

An enormous, toothy smile splits Gram’s face. She puts her soft, pale hand in my rough calloused one, and we shake on it. “We have a deal.” She laughs, then turns to Peyton and adds, “I knew I liked this one.”

We say our good-byes, and Peyton thanks me profusely for the invite and the town car and “everything else.”

It doesn’t take a genius to decipher what she’s referring to. When my phone buzzes with a text from the driver that their town car is ready outside, I walk them out, letting Gram grip my arm for balance as she navigates down the steep hotel steps and into the back seat.