Page 18 of Deja Brew

“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly.

I jerk back. “For what?”

“For running instead of talking to you.” She brushes a finger across my cheek.

“I think that’s a reasonable reaction after everything. I should be apologising to you.”

“You could apologise for avoiding me for days instead of talking to me.”

I haul her closer and press our foreheads together. “I’m sorry. I was trying to give you space, but I couldn’t drag myself away. Couldn’t leave you.”

“Good,” she breathes against my lips.

“Let me make it up to you.” My hand sneaks down her chest, brushing against her nipple, which causes her to tense, and settles on the button of her jeans.

“Sex is not a way to apologise.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But it’s a way to make you feel good.” Our eyes lock and she licks her lips. “Let me make you feel good before you make your customers feel good with your baking.”

“Really? Here?” Her eyes dart down the deserted street and back to mine. Wide and dilated with arousal. “But it’s in public,” she whispers.

“I can’t see anyone,” I whisper back. “It’s just us. Sometimes a car or two will drive past, but usually it’s only you and me walking this early. Besides, your coat will block most of it.” I trail wet kisses down her neck, and when I reach her shirt, I move up again and settle by her ear. “Can I?”

Her chest heaves with a deep breath until it presses against me and as she blows the breath out, it brushes my ear andI suppress a shiver. “Okay. But quickly, I’m supposed to be working.”

I peek at her face. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Not much of an apology if I have to be fast, but I’ll try my best, darling.” I set her on her feet and unbutton her jeans, drag the zipper down, and trace a finger across her stomach.

She sucks in a breath. “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry.” My hand slips into her jeans, which are thankfully roomy and not too tight to move around in.

Tucking my hand deeper, I cup her and hold my hand still as I claim her lips.

“Are you gonna move?” she murmurs against my lips. I grind the palm of my hand against her clit, and she gasps and rocks forward. “You should keep doing that.”

Rubbing the base of my palm from side to side, I ask, “Like this?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want my fingers on you?”

Her hands clench my upper arms as she pants her response, “You could try fingers.”

“Only if it’s what you want.”

“It is. I do. Put your hand down my underwear, Leo. Please.” Her head drops to my chest, but I nudge it up with my nose to touch our foreheads together. Want access to her lips and her facial expressions.

“You ask so nicely.” Staring into her golden brown eyes, I nudge her underwear to the side and brush a finger down to her folds and up to swirl across her clit.

She lets out a sigh and pushes closer to me, her chest against mine. My hand darts down to gather wetness and circles her clit again.

“You’re so wet.” I wasn’t sure it would be enough, kissing on the street with the threat of being found hanging over us. There’s only so much I can do without exposing her.

She drops her head to my shoulder. “Your hand’s so…rough,” she gasps.

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