The Feel Good Factor(12)

But a second later, my red-haired beauty appears at the window, leaning over the steel edge, wiping a waffle crumb off her lips, a hint of mischief in her green eyes.

“So sorry, sir. The truck is closed.” Her tone is the definition of coy.

I lift an eyebrow. “What if I’m not here for the waffles?”

“Interesting,” she says, taking her time with the word. “Whatever would you be here for, then?”

“I believe I’m here for the one-fifteen appointment to prove I can make your knees weak.”

A naughty smile is my reward, then she glances down, checking out an invisible schedule. She taps the imaginary page with a finger. “Why, yes. I do see you, right here. But I have one question.”

“Hit me.”

She bends closer in the window, resting her chin in her palm. “Do you like sweet or savory?”

I take a beat before I answer. “I have a healthy appetite for . . . everything. But I especially love to eat sweet things.” I reach for a strand of her hair, twisting it in my fingers. “Sweet red things.”

A gust of breath seems to cross her lips, then she whispers, “I need to warn you. My lips might taste like cucumber and tomatoes.”

“I’d be open to taste-testing.”

“Then I’m open to your appointment.” She leans over the edge of the window, those tits pushing up in her white T-shirt, sending my dick speeding into full-speed arousal. This is when she should give me a ticket—semi to flagpole in less than a second.

This woman is a temptress like I’ve never seen before.

I stare at her, my jaw tight, my desire already stoked high. I exhale sharply. “Open the fucking door to the waffle truck, Perri.”

A little murmur tells me she likes the command, and it also makes me curious if she’s the kind of woman who’s so used to giving orders and telling people what to do all damn day that she likes a few orders in the sack.

“Come around to the back,” she whispers.

I peer inside the window, confirming the truck is empty. Only her. I head to the back, and she’s there holding the door open.

She slides a finger over her lips. “Listen.” Her tone turns serious. “My friend Staci took off for about ten minutes to pick up her regular grocery order from the farmers. No one can see us in here, but we don’t have—”

I drop my head, claim her mouth, and shut her up with a kiss. A hard, punishing, powerful kiss for a woman who seems to want it that way.

“Oh God,” she gasps into my mouth, looping her arms around my neck. We crash against the wall next to the sink, utensils clattering. She yanks me closer, and we claim each other.

There’s no prelude, no buildup. Just kissing at sixty miles an hour. Pure need and adrenaline. Heat jolts down my spine. A wild storm of lust surges in my gut.

I grind against her, letting her feel my length, letting her know I’m so goddamn ready to go.

Push. Grind. Press.

She responds to every move with a tighter grip around my neck, with her fingers lacing around my head, with a sharp tug on the ends of my hair.

She’s so fucking fiery. Maybe I’m wrong about her liking orders. But I want to find out every little detail about what turns this woman on.

Or turns her on even more. Judging from her moans and whimpers, she’s already on a fast track to the pleasure zone.

She breaks the kiss and slides a hand down my shirt, dancing over my abs, setting me alight. Her hand reaches the outline of my dick, cupping me. “That feels way more than decent,” she purrs.

I lean my head back and groan. A feral, filthy groan. Because this woman is going to kill me with lust. She’s in my head and under my skin, and I want her more than I want world peace, and hey, I’d really like world peace.

But I’d also like to fuck Perri and make her come again and again. I’d like this truck to be rocking. “I promise you will feel indecent, incredible, indescribable pleasure when I get you naked and under me, above me, and bent over.”

She squeezes harder. “I see you’ve already picked out a wide selection of positions.”

I drop my mouth to hers and bite the corner of her lips. She yelps, then presses her pelvis against me, the perfect angle for friction. “And I see you’re trying to get a piece of my cock right now,” I growl.

Her lips open in a startled O. “I’m going to have to arrest you for filthy language.”

I shake my head and plant a hard, bruising kiss on her pretty mouth. “I think you like filthy language.”

“I think I like what you’re doing to me,” she murmurs and slides her hands around my hips to my ass, squeezing it.

I bend to her again, capturing those pouty lips once more in a searing kiss. I consume her mouth, sweeping my tongue across hers and savoring the flavor of her kiss. I don’t taste tomatoes and cucumber. I taste salt and desire. I taste the sweetness of a hint of gloss. And I smell her want. I fucking inhale her lust. It’s heady and intoxicating, swirling around me, and it makes me want to drag her back to my—

Fuck. There’s no “my place” to go to.

So I kiss her impossibly harder since this is not a woman who likes slow. The thought makes me laugh.

I chuckle as I kiss her, and she slams her hands against my pecs. “What’s so funny about kissing me, Mr. Speedy?”