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I nod.

He hands me another piece of wood. A quiet stillness falls over me. I focus intently on the task at hand. He murmurs quite encouragement, and I go to work.

The low thrum of arousal becomes part of the labor of creation, and hell, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to so much as smell wood shavings without getting instantly, achingly wet ever again.

It only gets worse now that he's not holding my hands. His broad palms settle first on my thighs. They're grounding as they run up and down my legs. Then they start to creep higher, curling closer to my center. Before long, he's brushing the crease where my thighs meet my cunt through my jeans with every pass, and I pulse. My vision goes hazy, but that focus he demanded of me remains.

"Good, baby girl. That's real, real good."

Oh, God, that simple praise shoots to my pussy. My clit throbs, and my head spins.

Then he starts shifting higher with his touch. He caresses my sides, palms my hips. His fingertips trace just beneath my breasts, and my breathing stutters.

He still doesn't cross any lines, though—not while I'm working. He doesn't touch any of the places I desperately want him to, and this is foreplay. This is the hottest fucking thing I've ever done.

Finally, I look up, and the design is finished. I breathe in a lungful of fresh air. "Oh."

I did it.

But I'm still waiting for approval. A moment passes and then another, and then Deandre takes the carving from my hands. His fingers brush mine, and it's crushingly erotic.

He turns the piece of wood over a couple of times, and I feel like I'm hanging in mid air.

Until finally he sets it down.

"It's perfect. Absolutely perfect, little girl. Knew you could do it."

"I didn't."

"I know. That's why I had to teach you how. You believe me now?"

I nod, fervent. I believe everything he says. Every word.

"Good. So good, baby girl."

His praise lights me up like I'm aglow.

And then his hands are on me again. He just dives right in, planting them on my hips, pulling me back against him.

His voice is gruff when he asks, "Now. You ready for me to show you something else?"

21

Idon't think I've ever been so ready to get fucked in my life. The first moment I saw Deandre, I wanted him. The past few hours of working side by side, watching him create while also using my own two hands to make something, has taken that idle desire and shaped it into something sharp. Some people, like Adam, you get to know by talking to them. Some like Cayden you spend a lifetime knowing, and some like Jax you never understand at all. But sitting here with Deandre has given me a better glimpse into who he is in his heart than a hundred conversations or a decade of occupying the same small town.

Iknowhim. I want him.

I need his hands on me, now.

"Fuck, yes," I murmur, and then I'm in motion.

He throws me around like a rag doll, lifting me off his lap and turning me. When I land astride his huge, hard thighs again, I'm facing him. He tears off his safety glasses and flares his nostrils. I have about three seconds to appreciate the naked desire in his eyes before he's hauling me in.

He kisses the way he works, slow and steady and undeniable. I let his tongue past my lips, and he takes me apart with it. His big hands travel my body, sliding from my knees to my hips.

He pulls me flush against him, and I groan into his mouth. Holy shit, he's big, and I can't wait to get him inside me.

"Please," I mumble, "Please."