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I smiled—actually fucking smiled—at the woman who was driving me crazy.

She didn’t come close right away. She kept her distance, arms folded tight across her chest.

Oh, she had an attitude.

“Morning,” she said like she wasn’t trying to look too hard at me.

“Morning,”

She shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting to the porch, the peeling paint, the half-demolished walls.

“I meant to text you this weekend,” she mumbled.

“Why didn’t you?”

Silence.

She took a breath, like I was annoying her by asking.

She pouted, and her face turned even prettier.

“Look,” she said finally, “you can’t pull that shit you pulled in my kitchen again.”

I stared at her. Hard.

“You mean when I made you cum on your husband’s marble countertop? And why you cursing at me, pretty?” I asked, cocking my head.

Her cheeks flamed red. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“I mean it, Sam. And I’m grown. I can curse.”

I took a slow step toward her. Then another. Until I was standing close enough to kiss her. She craned her neck.

“You liked it.”

She glared at me. “This isn’t about whether I liked it or not. You can’t do it anymore.”

I dropped my eyes—her nipples were poking through the thin fabric. I smiled.

She caught me looking and brought her arms up to cover them.

“I’m not making any promises.”

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue.

I cut her off.

“Now give me a kiss and hug before we get started.”

She hesitated like she wasn’t going to do it.

I reached out and grabbed her shirt, pulling her into my space.

One hand slid over the dip of her spine, dragging her flush against my body, I got a grip of a hand full of ass, while the other cradled the back of her head.

Her little soft ass gasp wrecked me—like a crack in the drywall that split wide all at once, sudden and without force.

I leaned down and started kissing her lips slow. My lips pressed against hers until our breath were tangled and she was moaning, then I slid my tongue into her mouth, tasting her the way a man feasts after starving.