He was probably in my shop thirty seconds before he asked me out.

I thought it was the coolest move ever, no bullshit, cocky, confident, and self-assured.

Not to mention he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

So it wasn’t but five seconds later when I said yes (to my counter girls’ disbelief and delight).

I stared at him.

Then it hit me and I blurted, “You think I’m more beautiful than Olivia?”

“Babe,” he muttered, grinned, gave me an arm squeeze but that was it.

Whoa. He thought I was more beautiful than Olivia.

“I think I need to spend some time perusing myself in the mirror,” I told him and his body started shaking with laughter as his arms separated. One went low, one went high so his hand could sift into my hair and pull my face closer to his.

“How ’bout you peruse yourself in the mirror later,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to my lips.

“Later?” I whispered, knowing what his eyes dropping to my lips meant because that had happened before but also the hum in the room changed to warm and close and I knew what was on his mind.

“Yeah.” His eyes came to mine then his hand pushed my head closer to his but veered it to the side, so at my ear, he whispered, “I had maple buttermilk pie at dinner and chocolate cake during football but I still have a taste for somethin’ sweet. And the sweet I wanna eat right now is my Tess.”

I felt tingles at my scalp, along my skin, and about three other places besides.

“Okay,” I whispered, sliding my hands out from between us to wrap my arms around him and press my torso close to his.

His lips slid down my neck and back up, making me roll my hips in his lap involuntarily and, back at my ear, he growled, “Fuckin’ love goin’ down on you, baby.”

I shivered and I did this because I loved it too but almost (not quite) better was him growling it in my ear.

“Brock,” I whispered.

His arm slid up my back, wrapped around tight, and his fingers stroked light as a feather against the side of my breast as he went on. “Never had a sweeter cunt than yours, Tess. Not in my whole fuckin’ life.”

I made a noise in my throat and pressed my lips against his neck right where his hair curled as my hips rolled against his lap again.

“You wet for me?” he murmured against my neck.

Oh yeah. Definitely.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good, then you’re ready.”

He moved his head and mine, crushed my lips down on his, invaded my mouth with his tongue, and surged off the couch, taking me with him.