Page 47 of When We Break

“Hungry children. Oppression. Stalkers.”

She snorts. “You’re not wrong about that. Also, what about the fact that neither the cereal companies nor the chip companies can get in bed with the Ziploc people? Isn’t that a simple phone call?”

Laughing, I thread our fingers together. “You’d think that someone could make that happen.”

“It’s time to clean up.”

“I can do it,” I reply, but she’s already shaking her head and standing.

“No, we’ll get it done faster if we just dig in and do it together. This was delicious. You’re an excellent cook.”

I’d rather she didn’t clean up. Not because I think she’s incapable but because I want her to relax. If I’ve learned anything about this woman over the past few days, she won’t take no for an answer, so we clear the table together.

“I like this shirt,” she says as she drags her hand down my arm, from shoulder to elbow. “It hugs you in all the right places.”

The flirting, the touching, the fucking allure of her all evening has kept my blood simmering, and she continues the teasing while we clean up.

And I fuckingwant her.

She’s at the sink, rinsing dishes for the dishwasher, and I walk up behind her, brush her hair aside, and plant my lips on her neck, just below her ear.

“I’m fucking obsessed with this thick, gorgeous hair, Irish.”

“Mmm.” She tips her head back, leaning against me. “It’s a fine spot you’ve found there.”

“Your voice,” I whisper against her, “is going to be my undoing.”

“It’s a cliché to be attracted to the accent, you know.”

“It’s not just that.” I drag my lips to her shoulder and tighten my arms around her. “It’s the tone. A little raspy, as if you’ve just rolled out of bed after a night of fucking. Add in the accent, and you keep me permanently hard.”

Her breath catches, and her hands clutch mine. After kicking the dishwasher door closed, I turn Skyla in my arms to look at her stunning face and drag my knuckles down her cheek. I’m trying to be a gentleman and let her set the pace.

“You look conflicted,” she whispers.

“I’m trying to go easy. It’s only our second date, so if you tell me you want to sleep in the guest room, I’ll be fine with that, Irish. You’re the boss, but fuck me if I don’t want you.”

She takes a deep breath, and as her eyes drop to my mouth, she bites that pillow of a lip, and it’s almost my undoing.

“Beck.” My name on her lips is all I can take.

“Fuck it,” I growl, and cupping her face, I cover her mouth with mine. She grips my arms, not pushing me away, and I’m already consumed by her. Planting my hands on the globes of her ass, I lift her. She wraps her long legs around my waist, and I easily carry her through the house. Before ascending the stairs, I pick up her bag.

“You’re fecking strong,” she says against my lips.

“You’re small, baby.” I nibble the side of her mouth. “I could carry you around like this all damn day.”

When I reach the bedroom, I drop her bag on the floor and carry her to the bed.

“Legs.”

She releases me, and when I sit on the edge of the bed, she straddles me and brushes her fingers through my beard, kissing me for all she’s worth. She settles her core against my already hard cock, rocking back and forth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riley walk into the room, and he lies on the bed I bought for him.

“You got himanotherbed?”

“He needs one for the bedroom,” I reply, then lift her off my lap and to her feet so I can undress her. “Tell me now if you don’t want this, Irish.”

---