“Right. So I’ll see you at seven.”
Seeing my reaction wasn’t the one he expected, Holst immediately met me at the front door. I had my back to him, finding the store key buried in my pocket so I could lock the door behind me.
“Katherine,” he said, right against the exposed skin of my neck. “I know how you heard that, but it’s not how I meant it. I should’ve thought before I spoke. In no way did I mean to imply….”
“It’s okay,” I said to the glass only an inch from my face. “Really. I’m just—”
But he didn’t let me finish. He pressed his body closer to my own, pushing me against the door with his weight, his power. “Turn around, Katherine.”
“No,” I whispered.
“Turn around.”
“No,” I said again.
“I’m requesting, but if you don’t, I will eventually make you turn around.”
“Don’t talk to me like that.” God, I sounded like a brat.
“I respect you, so don’t mistake my words as me trying to control you. But it’s taking all my willpower not to taste you again. I’ve worked beside you all day, each of us falling into a natural rhythm, always anticipating what the other needs. You feel it; I know you do, so I’m asking that you please turn around.”
Then, quietly, I admitted with a shake of my head, “I’m not ready for this.”
“You are. You’re just scared, and I want to know why.”
I didn’t answer.
“Turn around,” he asked again, his breath against my skin like fire. Anyone who walked past the shop would see me pressed against the door. They would also see the long fingers of Holst splayed across my belly, moving lower…and lower, to the point I had no choice but to turn in his arms, and when I did, he moved us in front of the window where the shades were pulled.
“Please don’t do this.”
I didn’t give him my eyes or dare lift my head to look at him. He’d kiss me again, and God, I wanted that kiss, but fuck, I couldn’t, I didn’t…I didn’t know what I wanted.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and there was something about the way he asked. Something that made me want to comply. And the last time I’d felt that way…
“You’ll break me,” I admitted.
“I’ll fix you,” he immediately returned.
“It’s risky…the shop…I can’t fail.”
“You won’t. We won’t,” he assured, and I knew, he meant more than the business.
I needed space. I needed not to be so close to him. “I changed my mind. Seven-thirty is better. Shebang Meringue sells this dessert, lemon and pistachio, it’s my favorite.”
“Katherine,” he asked, his finger and thumb so gentle on my chin, coaxing me to look at him.
That’s when my frustration grew, and, even pressed against his body, I let my hands fly as I finally looked at him. “This isn’t me. I’m not like this. I’m only like this with you, and it’s freaking me out, so I need a couple hours to regroup and—”
But I couldn’t finish because he was kissing me. That beautiful mouth of his was on mine, his tongue slipped inside with ease and welcome familiarity—and possibly a moan on my part—that kiss was probing, discovering, and so fucking hot, I felt everything in my body pulse at the same time. I was wet, I was aching, and I wanted him. God, I wanted him, and feeling that beauty of a cock pressed right against my pelvis, I wanted nothing more than to pull down my shorts and let him fuck me in the middle of the shop.
He slowed the kiss, teasing and touching my lips with his tongue. He took my hand, which was still holding the key, and pried it from my fingers, letting it drop to the floor. Then my empty hand was placed over the length of him, straining against his jeans.
His gruff voice asked, “I would hazard a guess that you are as wet as I am hard. Am I wrong, Katherine?”
My heart was pounding in my chest as I let out a long, shuddering breath. “No…you are not wrong.”
“Then tonight, I’ll tell you my story, and when you’re ready, you’ll tell me yours…then, I think it’s about time we fuck. Don’t you?”
I nodded, because I was insane.
He bent down and picked up the key from the floor, reached to his right and turned the lock. There was no thought behind my next actions; I just gripped my hand over his cock, and squeezed without a word.
He smiled down at me. “I guess that answers my question then.”
Holst
Katherine left, and I locked the door behind her. I knew what the implications were of us exploring our attraction to each other, and I also did not care. If things went bad, I would offer to buy her out, remain a silent partner, or leave. But I knew that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a partner, or the faux-independent Katherine would not have gone into business with me, a man she’d made such an effort to push away.
And all her actions did was intrigue me to know more.
It was obvious she was holding on to something from her past. All I had to do was prove I would not fuck her over.
And I intended to make that perfectly clear.
When I was younger, I envisioned being the man of the house. Going to work, coming home to my beautiful wife and children, a meal on the table, and, in turn, giving her everything her heart desired. In the last few months, not once did those thoughts ever occur with Katherine in mind. Before her, my nature with a woman was to be somewhat dominant, so Katherine presented a challenge, or did, until I had her pressed against my cock, barely able to speak, let alone breathe. With her, I felt equal; I felt balanced.
But I would never stop calling her Katherine.
In the three hours since we’d parted, I went to my apartment, showered, shaved, and threw a change of clothes into a duffle bag. I went to the bakery for the dessert she mentioned, and, finally, to the grocery store, where I bought champagne to celebrate the opening of our place. Last, but not least, I also purchased a box of condoms, because, even if it didn’t happen tonight, it was going to happen.
With over an hour left to kill, I decided to surprise her. I enjoyed Katherine irritated, and had the distinct feeling it would serve as a sort of foreplay going forward. I was grinning when I knocked at quarter to seven, forty-five minutes early.
She opened the door to my smile. I gazed upon her scowl.
“I haven’t…I’m not…you’re early!”
“I’m pretty good around a kitchen,” I replied and pushed my way through the door.
She stood there, her long hair pulled back in a loose braid, a vintage tank top with barely legible letters that said Jethro Tull worn over jean shorts, and nothing but long, brown legs, bare feet, and bright pink toenails.
“Nice color,” I complimented.
“Uh, do you want something to drink?”
“Is something in the oven?” I asked as we stood there in her entry, the living room to the right, her kitchen and dining table to the left, and us in between.
“I made you a roast chicken. I only put it in about half an hour ago. Everything else is done, but—”
“Lock the door,” I commanded, interrupting her.
“Excuse me?”
“Lock the door, Katherine.”
“Listen, you can’t just come in here, boss me around in my apartment, tell me…”
I locked the door, went into her kitchen and set the dessert on her table, threw my duffle on her couch and stood before her.
“What’s with the bag?”
“You know exactly why I brought a bag.”
“I think we need to talk about some shit. This,” she jabbed a finger at me, then at herself, “is not happening.”
As soon as she moved her hand away, I caught her finger and held her wrist tightly in my hand.