The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil #2)(54)

“I’m heading back to the store from Macy’s to eat the huge-ass roast beef sandwich you made me before hitting my register.”

“Ah.”

“I talked to Michael.”

Pause then, “Yeah?”

“He says he’s had about ten people come in and ask about a holiday job. He gave me the hours because it’s store policy to give overtime to current employees who request it in times like this. But if I don’t want it, he’s good and the store is covered.”

“Lollipop,” he said, low and sweet. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t. But I want to go to The Star with you and make Christmas cookies and find a job that pays about three times as much as I make now, but I’d take double. I can’t get my résumé together, look for jobs, put in applications and explore the option of making some extra dough doing something I dig by starting an Etsy store if I’m working for bupkis at Matlock Mart.”

“A what store?”

“An Etsy store.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s about selling online craft projects, and I’m not sure with you having a penis that I could explain it in terms you understand.”

He burst out laughing.

I grinned and crossed the street.

When he stopped laughing, I shared, “Michael also put up next week’s schedule and I have Monday and Thursday off.”

“Workin’ the weekend,” he muttered.

“I know. Suck. But we could go to The Star Monday or Thursday night. I’ll ask Izzy or Deanna to babysit.”

“I’ll get a reservation.”

“Righteous.”

“You want company tonight?” he asked.

“Do I need to find time to cut up some faux fur blankets to make our cavemen outfits?”

He said through a chuckle, “No. But I’ll find time to hit that sex shop in Grayburg to get us some handcuffs.”

I experienced a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Grayburg is fifty miles away,” I reminded him. “The city’s closer.”

“I got a lead foot and the shop in Grayburg is better than anything they got in the city.”

Hmm . . .

Intriguing.

“You’ve done this research?”

“Babe. Life’s about the adventure.”

It was me who was laughing at that, but I was doing it to hide he was turning me on.

I pushed through the doors to the Mart and head down, phone to my ear, listened to Toby ask, “You got a vibrator?”

Okay, I was a girl who could do anything.

Including, apparently, talk about vibrators in the produce section of a small-town grocery store.

“No, I have a selection of three.”

“Now, that’s righteous, baby,” he growled.

“Don’t turn me on by the package salads.”

Another chuckle before, “You’re off at four?”

“Yup.”

“See you at yours at five thirty.”

“Okay, honey.”

“Later, Lollipop.”

“Later, Talon.”

We disconnected.

I ate my huge-ass roast beef sandwich that Toby made me along with the Ziploc bag of chips and a pudding cup.

I felt over-full for the next hour, standing at my register.

I didn’t care even a little bit.



“Don’t come.”

“Tobe.”

“Do not come, Addie.”

I was fingers curled around the iron headboard, unable to move one hand since I had Toby’s fingers curled over mine.

I was also on my knees.

Toby’s other hand was engaged in pressing one of my vibrators going full vibe to my clit.

And Toby was on his knees behind me, fucking me hard.

His beard was brushing my shoulder, his breaths were heavy in my ear, this mingled with his grunts were an aphrodisiac that was a new definition of the good kind of surreal.

“Baby,” I moaned.

His fingers over mine left so he could plant his palm in the wall and get further leverage on the action.

God.

He started rolling the vibrator.

Gawd.

My head fell to his shoulder, arcing my back into a bow so I could keep my ass tipped to take his cock, this pressing my clit into the vibrator.

Oh . . .

Wow.

I took my free hand from the headboard, reached around, grabbed hold of his ass and started panting.

“Take more,” he grunted.

“I can’t.”

“More, honey.”

I couldn’t reply.

I cried out sharply then fell silent, the orgasm rolling over me, stealing my ability to do anything but feel Toby moving inside.

He dropped the vibrator, shifted his hands to my hips and held me steady, slamming into overdrive.

“Yes, Toby,” I whispered my encouragement.

He slid both hands up, cupping my breasts, the pads of his fingers digging in, shoving his face in my neck, the sounds of our flesh connecting through the power of his thrusts splintering through the room.

“Yeah,” I breathed, floating down, no longer about what I was feeling, what we were doing, now just about him.