And god, they feel good.
Like they were made for kissing me.
I squeeze his hand and hook my other hand behind his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.
This isn’t what I should do, but it’s what I want.
I want this funny, intense, vulnerable man. I want him to kiss me and come home with me. I want him in my bed. I want to laugh with him over coffee and tea in the morning. I want him to walk my dog with me. I want to show him my home, my town, all of it, and watch him fall in love with all of it the same way he fell in love with the view on our hike.
I want him to stare at me like he stared at the sunset.
I want to shield him from the people who hurt him and I want him to be the solid shield between me and the people who hurt me.
I deepen the kiss, leaning over the center console and into his space. A low, eager rumble in the back of his throat with his hands roaming lower down my back makes my vagina clench.
We’re in the far back of the lot.
Everyone else is inside.
No one will see us.
And that’s the thought process that has me climbing over the console and into his lap, where I’m squished between him and the dash.
He fumbles for the seat controls.
“Hands on me.” I lick his neck under his beard and reach for the switch. “Got this.”
“No interruptions.” God, that husky need in his voice.
It’s making my panties wet.
The seat whines and slowly, slowly, slowly slides back to give us more room.
He snort-giggles, and oh my café au lait, is it adorable.
How is he this sexy and irresistible despite everything?
“Don’t do that,” I order.
“Do what?”
“Laugh.”
“You like it when I laugh.”
I shush him with my lips sealed over his, thrusting my tongue into his mouth until he makes that desperate rumble in his throat again. I shift in his lap so I’m straddling him and reaching down to recline the passenger seat at the same time.
We angle back sllllloooooooowwwwwwwllllly.
And now it’s me.
Now I’m kissing him and pawing at the buttons on his shirt with my free hand, and I’m the one snickering.
He snort-giggles again.
The seat millimeters back. It’s not even inching. It’s millimetering.
But then he slides his hand up under my skirt, and I’m not laughing anymore.
My breath catches.
The seat stops because I’ve lost control of my fingers.
All I can do is part my thighs wider while his hand explores my ass, teasing it lightly and then kneading it and then sneaking beneath my panties to touch my clit with his knuckle.
“Wait,” I make myself say.
He freezes.
I gulp in air and drop my head to his chest. We’re half-reclined and he has his hand inside my underwear and I don’t want him to stop.
But I need him to.
Just for a minute. “I don’t want the café.”
“Sabrina—”
I shift again, my eyes crossing as I brush my clit against his still hand, and I make myself look him straight in the eye. “No. No. Listen to me. I can sleep with you, or I can fight you for Bean & Nugget, but I cannot do both and still live with myself. I want you. I want you. Home isn’t a building. Home isn’t the past. Home is wherever you’re loved. That—this—it matters more. To me.”
He still has my pussy in his hand, still frozen.
“I will not hurt one more person in my life the way I hurt Emma,” I whisper, and my voice cracks.
I mean it.
The café is his. I’ll stand by his side and help him turn it into whatever he wants. He’s trying to break free of all of the things in his past that hurt him, while I’m trying to cling to everything in my own past that brought me joy without challenging myself to reach deeper beyond what’s always come easy.
“I believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. I’ve tried to not like you, to not want you, but no matter what you do, no matter what you’ve done from the very first moment we met, I can’t help but have the utmost respect for you.”
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m an asshole and you know I’m using sex to try to get my café.”
“It’ll take more than sex to convince me to give you back your café.”
“I don’t want it.”
He smiles.
The grumpy jerk smiles. “May I please move my hand now?”
“To do good or bad things with it?”