Her eyes fluttered shut and her smirk transformed into a joyful smile. "Mmm. Yes. This one." Nodding, she took the fruit from my palm and added it to her cart.
What a treat it would be to please this woman as much as a ripe peach.
"So," I started, clearing my throat, "why all the peaches?"
Annette bobbed her head from side to side as she reached for another peach. "I'm working on some new recipes. Scones, tarts, a few other things. I haven't been able to nail them but I think that's because stone fruit wasn't in peak season when I tried. Since the entire market smells like ripe peaches, I figured this was the time to try again."
"Need any help?" I asked.
She glanced up at me, surprised. "With what? Baking?"
"Yeah," I said. "Or anything you want. Put my hands to work."
She laughed but leaned closer to whisper, "Your hands will probably find their way under my skirt and away from the dough."
It was my turn to laugh. "Is that how it is, Annette? I can't be trusted?" She jerked a shoulder up in vague agreement as she continued inspecting the fruit. "I'll remind you that I've never had the pleasure of stripping your panties off you. Maybe I'm not the one who can't be trusted."
She'd always beaten me to it, one way or another.
"Believe me," she murmured, shooting me a side-eye glance. "I've considered that angle."
She abandoned the peach display and I was hot on her heels. It occurred to me that following Annette around the town market at this hour was bound to catch the attention of the locals. I was torn between slowing my steps and forgoing all concern for the rumor mill. In that split second, I settled on the best of both. I allowed her the space to walk without me hovering over her but accepted that anyone watching would be able to read my intentions from a mile away.
"You can't survive on scones alone. Let me cook dinner for you," I said when I caught up to Annette in the dairy case. She was loading butter into her cart. "Then you can teach me about baking."
She started to object, her lips already pursed and her curls rustling against her shoulders as she shook her head, but then she stopped herself. "How big is your oven?" she asked.
I replied with the type of conviction reserved for horsepower and dick size. "Huge."
Annette met me back at my house and piled her groceries and baking tools on my kitchen island. Once I had my firearm stowed, I stood to the side, my hands clasped behind my back, and allowed her a minute to unpack her bags and organize her goods. That seemed to be an adequate amount of time to wait before getting my hands on her.
When her materials and ingredients were sorted, I caught her around the waist. "You're coming with me," I growled, backing her up against the refrigerator.
My lips brushed hers and all the tension I'd been carrying the past few days vaporized. Poof. It was gone and in its place was a heavy cloud of desire. Her hands fisted in my tan uniform shirt as I kissed her, tugging me closer. I kicked her feet apart and pressed myself to the notch between her legs. There was no denying the immediate reaction I had to her kiss, her body, her presence in my home, and she deserved to know how she affected me. When we finally came up for air, she was breathless and trembling in my arms, her eyes unfocused and her lips swollen. I wasn't much better.
"What was that for?" she asked, tilting her head to look up at me.
"Do I need a reason?" I asked, still rocking against her. She felt like a dream, even through these layers.
"I guess not but we really have to stop going at each other with questions. Someone has to answer at some point," Annette said, dropping her head to the side. It offered me the space to savor her there and it wasn't long before my fingers were itching to feel her skin.
I tugged her skirt up, fisting the fabric at her hips. I was dangerously close to her panties. This wasn't what I had in mind. I figured I'd kiss her and quench my body's need to have her close. But it wasn't enough. I'd had her kisses, her embraces. I wanted more. That led me to an obvious conclusion. I wasn't walking away from this refrigerator until I'd MacGyvered an orgasm out of her.
No touching the undies, no problem.
"Here's a question you can answer," I said, groaning as I pressed into her heat. No longer was this a simple matter of friction. I was rutting on her now. We were so close, separated only by thin layers of fabric. Her panties, my trousers. Nothing else. If it was possible, this was more indecent than the moment we shared in my office. "Is this all right? Do you want me to stop?"
She shook her head and her hair cascaded around her, covering her face. "Don't stop."
"But is this all right?"
"Mmhmm" was her only response. That, and she dragged her nails up my back and over my shoulders. My shirt should've muted her touch but much like everything else between us, it heightened the sensations. The fabric teased my skin in the wake of her fingers and a hot, dizzy feeling plowed through me like a head rush.
"You're such a tiny thing," I whispered, stroking her thighs as my hips bucked against her center.
"Not really," she replied, her words low and husky, as if she'd just woken up. "I'm nowhere near tiny."
"Ah, but you're tiny to me," I said, my lips at the crossroads between her neck and shoulder. "I told you the other night, you're fragile."
She hooked her leg around my waist and canted her hips up to meet me, desperate to find the rhythm she needed. "Does that mean you're afraid you'll break me?"
I shook my head, murmuring my disagreement. "I know how to handle you, Annie."
"Tell me how you'd handle me," she said. "Please."
"You don't have to beg me. Not ever," I answered. I wrapped my arms around her, boosting her up for better leverage, and thrust into the notch between her legs. The warm spot there was growing wetter by the minute. "I'd push a finger inside you, and then another. I wouldn't have to warm you up because you're always hot for me. Aren't you, beautiful?" A broken gasp slipped from her lips as she nodded. "When I couldn't bear the sight of your round ass rocking on my hand anymore I'd get my cock out. Slide right in, all the way."
"Oh my god," she panted. "Jackson."
"Yes, Annie?" I continued rutting into that sweet spot between her legs but never delved beyond the cotton barrier. In a sense, she hadn't granted me that permission. The occasional chastity and uneven boundaries we'd established were nothing short of illogical but this wasn't the time to renegotiate. She wanted to know how I'd fuck her and I intended to illustrate that…without touching her underwear.
"I'm—I'm close," she whisper-shrieked.
"I know, beautiful," I replied, picking up speed. The refrigerator was rocking along with us now, creaking on its casters and shuffling against the adjoining cabinets. "You're going to give it to me."
"Tell me," Annette started, "what happens after you—you're inside me."
I figured I'd be shocked. I figured I'd wade in some incredulity that sweet, bookish Annette was dredging my depths for filthy stories. But I wasn't. This was Annette, sweet, smart, welcoming, generous—and dirty. To me, it made sense. I wouldn't want her any other way.
"You'd scream for me," I said, growling as my cock flexed the way it did when I was on the edge. I was ready. So fucking ready. "You'd scream when I slammed into you and then you'd scream when I pulled out to do it again. You'd keep screaming as I held you down."
"And you wouldn't stop," she said between cries. I felt her nails scoring the skin at my collar, those little bites of pain like whips urging me forward. "Wouldn't stop for anything."
That was it. I'd held out long enough and the roughly whispered pleasure in her voice was too much. Just too damn much. "No, beautiful, I wouldn't stop until I pumped everything I had into you and you were all out of screams and until you couldn't stand on your own."
Her hands clawed at my back and shoulders, desperate to find something to hold on to. "Oh my god, yes," she panted. "I want more, Jackson. More."
Who was I to refuse the lady? I would not. No, not even if I was dange
rously close to coming in my pants. We were rushing headfirst toward that outcome and for the first time in all my ejaculating years, I wasn't looking for an alternative. Her nails were raking down my back, her legs were tight around my hips, and her pussy was soaking straight through my trousers to my boxers. I was exactly where I wanted to be right now.
"As much as you want, for as long as you want, Annie," I vowed.
As I edged farther into her cotton-covered heat, my orgasm shot down my spine and released into my boxers. For a minute there, I was certain my brain scrambled. My vision shorted out and my ears filled with static and my hips went on pumping. I couldn't stop, even if I tried. My body was dead set on giving her everything I had and some of the things I didn't, and I couldn't stop until she was satisfied.
"But you wouldn't be finished," she said, her voice pitching high and dragging me back to consciousness. She convulsed against me, her legs tightening as she dug her heels into my ass. It hurt but it was worth it. "Would you?"
Her body pulsed under my cock as she shuddered and came apart. I kept rutting, slower, less urgent, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. As this point, I needed this as much as she did.
"Not even close. Then I'd take you into the bedroom," I rasped, "and fuck you right through the mattress. Like I want to fuck you through this refrigerator right now."
Another spasm coursed through me, a spurt for good measure, and I was done. From the feel of the vibrations moving through Annette's body, she was right there with me.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes as we caught our breath. That orgasm wrung everything out of me. I needed a big bottle of Gatorade, an entire pizza, and a night curled around Annette. Not in that order but all at once. Naked lady, food, electrolytes.
Slowly, the world around us came back into focus. The breeze was cooler now, damp. The smell of fresh peppers and tomatoes scented the kitchen air. Peaches, too. The refrigerator fan clicked on for a bit and then off. I was a wet, sticky mess from my belly button to my balls. My grip on Annette's waist was fierce and my face was buried in her hair, and life was good.
"Whoa," she whispered, loosening her death grip on my shoulders. "Whoa."
"I love it when you say that." I kissed her neck, sucking a bit to draw another gasp from her lips. "Good whoa?" She laughed and the movement had me throbbing against her again. My hips still bucked lazily, not ready to abandon the cause. "Don't answer, just keep laughing. Your body feels amazing."
"Good whoa," she confirmed. "Really good."
I loosened my hold on her waist and then dragged my fingers up her thighs. I followed the line of her panties, tracing from hip to backside. I wanted to get rid of them.
"Hey, Jackson?"
I smiled against her neck. I liked this woman. I liked her a whole lot. "Yeah, Annette?"
"You're touching my panties," she sang.
"Yes, I am." I chuckled into her hair. "Am I wrong in thinking you're enjoying this?"
"Not wrong," she said on a sigh.
"That's what I like to hear," I replied.
She dragged her nails up and down my forearm. It was heaven. "But that's not the issue. You said you could touch me without going anywhere near my undies and I believe I've disproven that theory."
"In that case, I'll be wrong any time you want it." I tucked her hair over her ears and dropped a kiss on her temple. This time, I was the one to pull away first. Given my condition, I had to. My boxers were rapidly shifting from pleasantly wet to uncomfortably soggy. "I'll be right back," I said, crouching down to catch her eyes. "Are you all right?" She pressed her fingertips to her lips, nodding. "Okay. Stay right there. Don't move a muscle. Got it?"
I stared down at her, waiting for a response. Her lashes brushed her reddened cheeks and she kept her fingers on her lips. Eventually, she inclined her head to the side and said, "Got it."
I stepped away from Annette and the loss of her heat sent a shiver through my shoulders. As I marched down the hall, I unbuckled my trousers and opened my shirt, ready to toss both in the hamper when I reached my room.
It didn't take long to clean up and change into a fresh pair of boxers and shorts, but every minute felt like one too many. I wanted to be back in the kitchen, pressed up against Annette and whispering every depraved thing I'd ever thought into her hair. She smelled like sweetness there; vanilla, sugar, spice. That scent gave me ideas, ideas that flew in the face of everything I believed. I wanted her in the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a frilly apron and her feet bare. I wanted her sitting in my lap and feeding me pie.
"I'm losing my damn mind," I murmured to myself as I zipped my shorts.
When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I was faced with two facts.
One, Annette was still here. Given our history, I wasn't convinced she'd stick around when the afterglow faded. This was good news.
Two, she hadn't followed directions. She was busy slicing a tomato as if she owned the place. This was also good news. I wanted her to feel like she owned the place. I would've enjoyed some direction-following, but I'd survive.
Tugging a t-shirt over my head, I asked, "Didn't I tell you not to move a muscle?"
She eyed my torso for a beat, studying me as if she was deciding whether I met her criteria. I hoped to hell that I did. "You said something," she replied, waving the knife. "I don't recall the specifics."
"I'll forgive you this time." I grabbed two bottles of beer and knocked the tops off. "But only because the refrigerator is not the most interesting place to hang out."
She took the beer I offered, remarking, "Nor is it the most comfortable."
I smoothed my hand down her back and tugged her closer. "Did I hurt you? Was that too much?"
"I'm good," she replied, glancing up at me with a tight grin. Then she blinked, and a wall came down. We weren't discussing the refrigerator games any further. "Let's get this dinner going, okay? What can I do? These tomatoes were too good to miss so I got started on them."
We worked together to prepare the meal and chatted about our days. I'd grown accustomed to living alone and this domestic back-and-forth was like speaking a language I'd learned years ago and nearly forgotten. I liked that language. I wanted to speak it more often and I wanted to speak it with Annette.
"What is this?" Annette asked, pointing inside the refrigerator.
I followed her gesture to the shelf of plastic-wrapped plates and jerked a shoulder up in response. "Food," I answered.
"Yeah, sure," she replied, still pointing. "But what's the story? These aren't your dishes."
She wasn't wrong. I had a rainbow of dishes and plastic food storage containers, none of them mine. "They are not," I replied slowly. "But I intend to return them to their rightful owners."
"But…but what is this all about?" she asked, inspecting a plate of pork chops and cauliflower. Lord, I hated cauliflower. I didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Mulcahey that but I hadn't eaten a bite of cauliflower since I was a kid. Not even those weird purple and yellow cauliflowers my mother grew in her garden. I was no fool. Being purple didn't make it any better. "There's a story here and I don't think I can close the refrigerator until I hear it."
I set my knife down with a quiet groan. "The ladies in this neighborhood, they bring me meals. Dinner plates, zucchini breads, a Crock-Pot of meatballs. It's always something. I didn't ask them to," I added when Annette's brows shot up. "They just come by with a plate or two."
And a story about their single daughter or sister or friend being perfect for me.
"It's more than I can eat," I continued, "but I don't want to insult them."
Annette dragged her gaze away from the chops to eye me up and down. "You seem like the kind of guy who can manage an extra plate or two without complaint," she said. "You have that eats-raw-eggs-for-breakfast look about you."
"I'm taking that as a compliment," I murmured, returning to the cutting board.
"By all means." Annette retrieved a few items from the refrigerator and set t
hem beside me. "Should I expect Meals on Wheels to stop by tonight?"
I shook my head. "I doubt it. They've probably activated the phone tree and alerted everyone to prioritize the other bachelors this evening."
"Ah, got it," she replied, bobbing her head. "They know I'm here. I figured the mother hens would keep eyes on you, sheriff, but I had no idea they were spoon-feeding you, too. It's making me rethink the muffins and pies I've sent your way."
"Don't say that," I murmured. "I love your baking but it's a distant second to you."
She laughed and flattened both hands on the countertop. It reminded me of her hand on my cock. I couldn't help it. We'd shared nothing more than a few minutes in my office, but in my mind every second stretched on for hours. I remembered the heat of her palm, the tight curl of her fingers around my shaft, the confident way she stroked me. It was amazing—she was amazing—and I'd pumped the brakes.
Oh, how I'd regretted that decision. I regretted it when I went to sleep, aching and alone. When I woke up painfully hard. When I jerked off in the shower. When I glanced out my office window at her shop. Basically, all day and all night.
"Did you hear me?" Annette asked, forcing me out of my memories.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, running a hand down my face. "What did you say?"
She peered at me, her lips pursed as if she was holding back a laugh. "I said, does it bother you that people know I'm here? That they're forming their own conclusions and spreading it up and down the seacoast?"
Shaking my head before she finished speaking, I replied, "No. Not at all. Does it bother you?"
It wasn't until then that I realized I didn't mind the constant gaze of the townspeople if it meant I could steal time with Annette. Just a few days ago I was worried about keeping a squeaky-clean reputation but how could this be wrong? Sure, my thoughts were dark, filthy sins but my neighbors didn't have to know that.
I'd also considered that I couldn't court Annette's attention without getting serious as required by the "no tomcat sheriffs" rule around here. But I wasn't concerned about that now. I didn't have a different woman in my house each night and the serious part didn't scare me. Not anymore. If anything, I craved it. Seeing Annette out in the village or busy in her shop drove me mad. I could look but I couldn't touch.
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