Page 11 of Dirty Little Midlife Drama

A flash of a smile. His hand leaves my hip as he pushes himself away from me, and I feel cold and unsteady. While he picks up the discarded leather glove, I push my hair over my shoulders and turn my back on him, gathering the fluttering scraps of my wits as they flap in the gentle summer breeze.

When I reach for my coffee and turn to face him, I mostly feel like myself again, except that I miss the heat and scent of him against me. Trailing after him like a dazed puppy, I find myself inside his workshop, giving him a suspicious glare.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, sounding snippy.

Sebastian ignores my question and picks up the coffee from the table by the door, popping the lid off to check the contents. Satisfied, he puts the lid back on and removes his leather apron. Once it’s hung on a hook on the opposite wall, he pulls out two stools next to the largest worktable and jerks his head toward one of them. “Sit.”

“You really have a way with words, you know that?” I stomp to the stool and make a show of hopping up onto it and arranging my skirt. Then I take a sip of my coffee and arch my brows. “Happy?”

He leans against his own stool, long legs stretched out in front of him. His sweat-dampened shirt clings to his thick torso as he reaches for his cup, giving me a half smile. “Very.”

“Listen,” I say. “I came here to apologize for slapping you. I’m trying to turn a new leaf, and you’re not making it very easy.”

“Turning a new leaf.” He hums, arching a brow. “Did you make a habit of smacking men around while we’ve been apart?”

Something about the way he worded that makes my heart beat faster. Saying “while we’ve been apart” makes it sound like it was a temporary separation…and now we’re together again.

I bristle. “Sebastian, I’m trying to be civil.”

His long fingers shift on his coffee cup as he places it down on the workbench beside us. Hooking the heel of his boot on his stool, he spreads his knees so they’re framing mine. The man takes up as much space as three people his size. His presence presses against me even when we aren’t touching.

Don’t think about touching him. Don’t—just don’t.

“I’m staying in town for a while,” he announces, eyes meeting mine. “I want to know if that’s going to be a problem.”

A jolt of pure heat travels through my middle. I struggle to keep my expression calm, hiding behind my coffee cup. After a long sip, I give him a casual shrug. “I don’t see why it would be an issue.”

“I guess you’re right,” he says, eyes on my mouth as I lick a bit of latte foam off my top lip. “You’re turning a new leaf, after all.” His mouth hooks into a mocking smile.

Anger jolts through me like a bolt of lightning. I stand between the vee of his legs, ignoring how close the movement brings our bodies. “I shouldn’t have come here.” I take a long drink of my latte, then shake the cup. “Empty. Okay? Now, goodbye.”

My only escape route is behind me, so I kick the stool out of my way. I make it precisely one half-step before a hard, muscled arm bands across my stomach. I’m hauled up to the workbench and pinned against it.

The breath sawing through my lungs makes my glare less effective, especially when Sebastian’s hands come up to cup my cheeks.

His eyes grow so hot, I feel his gaze under every inch of my body. His calloused fingers rasp across my skin, sending tiny thrills shivering down my jaw, my neck, into my chest.

“Now, Sweet Peach,” he says slowly, eyes on my lips, “I’m counting on you not to kick me in the balls.”

Then he kisses me.

Oh, my. How can it feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life but I still wasn’t ready for it? Like I knew he would—like he always has—Sebastian takes control. He parts my lips with his and kisses me like he’s been dying without the taste of me. His hands slide down to the sides of my neck, holding me pressed against his workbench while I cling to his black tee with all the strength I have left.

Deft little flicks of his tongue are followed by long, languorous strokes. He devours me. Consumes me. When I tangle my fingers into his damp hair and pull him closer, I’m rewarded with a deep, male grunt.

“Georgia,” he murmurs, placing little nibbles all down my neck as his hand slides down my front, palming my breast, tugging the fabric of the bodice down along with my bra.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back. There are no thoughts whirling inside my skull right now, distracting me, causing me to hesitate. There’s only sensation. There’s the feel of those maddening callouses against my breast, his strong fingers pinching my nipple once, twice, then a third time so hard I let out a gasp.

He lifts his head from my neck, searching my eyes. He must see the haze of pleasure in my vision, because he smiles. It’s a dangerous smile, masculine, smug, scorching hot. It makes me want to spread my legs and beg him to push inside.

I blink, my hands still twisted into his hair, and I pull him back to me for a deep kiss.

“I’ve been dreaming of this since I saw you in that coffee shop for the first time,” he says against my lips when we come up for air. “Dreaming of all the things I’d do to you.” Another pinch of my peaked breast, then his palm soothes the ache. “The other day was just a tease. I didn’t know…” He bites my bottom lip, tugs me closer. “Didn’t dream you’d taste as good as you do.”

This is a rough frenzy. It’s all-consuming. It’s everything I’ve wanted—needed.

It becomes natural to rationalize the irrational: Everything that happened between Sebastian and me was decades ago. We’re both grown up now. We’re different people. I don’t have to stay mad at him, and I certainly don’t need to let him into my heart. We can do this, exactly this, and I’ll sate some need that I didn’t know I had.

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