“Please what, kitty cat?” He licks a long, slow path up my slit, and my voice trails off into a whimper.
“More.”
He laughs warmly into my pussy, tickling me. His stubble rasps against my inner thighs, making me squirm against our newly installed bar. His fingers play with my folds, and he pushes his forefinger inside me but avoids my throbbing, needy clitoris. Damn him.
“So wet,” he breathes. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.” He licks my juices off his finger, and I’m drenched with desire, my insides clenching at the expression of raw lust on his face. “I’m going to devour you, Cat.”
Yes, please.
His tongue flicks out, and he laps at my slit, a long, slow lick that ends with a quick circle of my clitoris. I almost jump off the bar as my body floods with sensation. My legs start to close, and Dom growls. “Keep your legs open,” he orders.
He breathes again on my pussy, and goosebumps erupt all over my body. “Dom,” I groan out loud, digging my fingers into his shoulders.
“That’s right,” he rasps. He pushes two fingers into my dripping pussy. His tongue keeps licking me in long, steady strokes that have me hurtling to the edge of climax.
It’s so good. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I can do is feel.
I’m so close. Dom’s tongue traces circles over my clitoris. His fingers push into my pussy, curving and twisting to press on my g-spot. I whimper and flail, and shiver with desire.
Then the dam bursts. My orgasm explodes over me with the force of a freight train. I unravel, shrieking his name as I come.
He keeps licking me, holding me down, not letting me squirm away from him. I swoop from one orgasm to another, until finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Stop, please,” I gasp, pushing him away. “I’m too sensitive.”
He chuckles and straightens. “If you insist.”
I smile up at him, sated and glowing. Dominic Wilde promised me great sex. He’s certainly delivered. That was not just great. That was fantastic, toe-curling, let’s-do-that-again-right-now sex. “It’s your turn.”
“I don’t have a condom with me,” he says regretfully. “Come home with me?”
I’m about to agree when my phone rings shrilly. I ignore it, thinking that whoever it is can leave me voicemail, but it rings again. “I should probably get that.”
I start to clamber off the bar, and Dom puts his hand on my knee. “Where’s your phone?”
“Jeans pocket.”
He hands my jeans and my panties to me. I grope for my pocket and grab my phone. It’s Vicki. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey Cat.” There’s a falsely light note in her voice. “How are things?”
That note, coupled with the back-to-back calls, makes me uneasy. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Dom moves away from the bar, giving me space. “Fine.”
“Did the carpenter install the bar?”
It’s never a good sign when Vicki avoids getting to the point. “Yeah, just now. It looks great.”
“Oh good. That’s excellent. And the brewing’s going well?”
“Yeah. I’ll be done by the end of this week.” Vicki’s acting really weird. We don’t check up on each other during the week; that’s what our Saturday meetings are for. “You didn’t call to check up on me. What’s going on?”
She exhales audibly. “Liam invited me up to his cottage for a week after I finish at the Angry Fishwife,” she blurts out. “I know I was supposed to come up to Madison the week after next, but would it be okay if I came up a week later?
No. It’s not okay. It’s not okay at all. We’re already behind schedule, and each day Vicki isn’t here, we fall further and further behind. Opening day is less than six weeks away, and she wants to go away for a week with a guy she’s only just met.
I don’t know how to react. “Vicki,” I say helplessly, wishing I could say all those things to her, wishing I was good at asserting myself. “We’ve got so much to do.”
“I know. We’ll get it done, Cat.” Her voice is confident. “I’ve already checked into the sausages and lined up a supplier. It’s going to be great. Easy and uncomplicated. We won’t even have to hire a skilled chef.”
Figuring out the menu and lining up a supplier should have been done at least three weeks ago. I close my eyes and run my hand over my face. What am I supposed to do here? I’m not Vicki’s boss; we’re equal partners.
I can’t forbid her from going away with Liam. Vicki’s prioritizing a guy over our business. Then again, do I have a leg to stand on? I’m naked. Dom Wilde just went down on me.
I sigh. “Okay. We’ll make it work. You’re still coming up on Saturday for our catch up?”
“Yes, of course.” She sounds relieved. “Thanks for being so reasonable about this, Cat. If you ever need me to return the favor, I’m your girl.”
That’s never going to happen.
We make small talk for a minute, and then I hang up. Jumping off the bar, I reach for my bra and put it on. I can feel Dom watching me, but I can’t look into his eyes. “That was my partner,” I mumble. “She was supposed to come up the Monday after next, but she’s been delayed by a week.” I pull my t-shirt over my head and take a deep breath. “I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I can’t risk losing focus. There’s too much to do here, and if I fail…” My stomach churns as I contemplate my maxed-out credit cards. I pull my panties on and then slide into my jeans. “The brewpub should be the only thing on my mind. Not sex.” I finally look up and meet his dark eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and then Dom leans forward and kisses me on my forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cat.” He unhooks his jacket from the hook and puts it on. “See you around.”
He turns around and walks out of my life. I stare at his departing back, my heart sinking. I’ve made the right choice, but knowing that doesn’t make the tightness in my chest go away. This is harder than I’d expected.
It’s for the best, I tell myself firmly. You can’t afford to be distracted.
13
Dom
“Hey, boss.” Gino shows up at eight the next morning, two cups of coffee in his hands. He hands me one, and I try not to grimace. The last cup of coffee he gave me tasted like tar.
Still, the kid means well. “Thanks, Gino.”
He’s got an awkward look on his face. “Sorry about the mix-up on Monday,” he says. “I understand if you want to let me go.”
Had it not been for Gino’s mix-up, I would have never spent the day with Cat. “Don’t worry about it.”
It had taken me a long time to fall asleep last night. When I’d finally managed it, my dreams had been filled with a tantalizing woman with nipples as pink as her hair.
She made her decision clear, I remind myself, not for the first time this morning. It would be a dick move to try to change her mind. Also, you don’t chase.
Gino wanders over to one corner of my studio, where my remnants of the veneer I used to make the inlaid wood pattern for Cat’s bar are scattered. “What’s this?”
His phone is nowhere in sight today. He sounds interested. Gino might be a force of chaos, but he’s trying. “Inlay,” I explain. I cut some pieces of ashwood, mahogany, and rosewood, and lay them out in a simple pattern. “You do it for decoration.”
“Hey, it’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. I love doing those.” He looks embarrassed by his confession. “My teammates would never let me hear the end of it if they found out.”
Ah, high school, and its endless pressure to conform. Gino won’t believe me, but it really does get better. “This is similar. Except with routers and power tools. Want to try it?”
He nods eagerly. “Could I?”
“Sure.” I find him a pair of safety goggles and show him how to work the router. Once I’m satisfied he’s not going to slice off a finger, I give him his first assignment. “Make a decorative border around this coffee table. Mark it first.”
I wa
tch him work for five minutes. He’s surprisingly careful. He measures everything he does twice before cutting, and he’s completely focused on what he’s doing.
Well, well. I might make a carpenter out of Gino yet.
Manuel Medina calls me just before lunch. “Dom,” he booms. “You want wood?”
My lips twitch. Manuel, my primary lumber supplier and long-time friend, might be seventy, but he’s got a dirty mind. “Are you offering?”
He laughs, loud and hearty. “You’re a funny guy, Dom. I’ve got some black walnut live edge slabs. Including one that’s twelve feet long and five feet across.”
I sit up. “Five feet?” A slab that wide is rare. I could make a gorgeous dining table with it. Maybe even a conference table. I have clients that would pay thousands of dollars for a statement piece like that.
“Thought you’d be interested,” he says, sounding smug. “If you weren’t going to bite, I was going to call Wexler next.”
I grimace. Roger Wexler—the asshole who was trying to get Luke to go to Vegas during high season—owns half of Madison, and fancies himself to be a carpenter. “I’m biting, Manuel. Trust me, I’m biting.”
He laughs again. “I like you better than Wexler anyway,” he says. “Roger has no sense of humor. Just like his father. You coming to get it?”
It’s not every day that such a slab falls into my lap. I’m slightly behind schedule on the Patterson cabinets, but it’s nothing that I can’t get caught up on. “This afternoon, if you’re around.”
“I’ll be in the lumber yard all day,” he replies. “That sister of yours still making pizza? Bring me a pie, will you? Dakota knows what I like.”
I chuckle. “Sure thing.”
Dakota is in her restaurant when I walk up. “Manuel Media wants pizza. He said you’d know what he likes.”
She grins. “Extra-large meat lovers. How did he rope you into pizza delivery?”
“He dangled a slab of wood in front of me.”
She snorts. “How exciting. Speaking about exciting, I heard you spent some time with Catherine Milnick.”
Ah, small towns, and their hyper-efficient gossip networks. Any other day, I’d be irritated that everyone’s got their nose in my sex life. I would tell Dakota that it was none of her business who I dated or who I spent time with.
The sound of her moans… her breathy sighs… Damn it. She had been gorgeous. Beautiful and gloriously uninhibited. After her initial hesitation, she’d surrendered to her pleasure. No, even better. She’d owned her pleasure.
The way she’d screamed my name as she came… My cock stirs as I think of Cat. Just thinking about her is getting me hard and hot.
She wants nothing to do with me.
“Gino screwed up her delivery. I was cleaning up the mess. That’s all.”
Except that’s not all. I want more.
Dakota stops what she’s doing and gives me a sharp look. “Are you okay? You sound moody.”
I force a smile on my face. Dakota’s my twin. She’s pretty good at reading my emotions. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t drop it. “You don’t sound fine.”
“Leave it be, Dakota,” I snap. “I don’t need an inquisition.”
She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay,” she says peaceably. There’s a small, secretive smile on her face. “Have you talked to mom lately?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, no reason,” she says airily. “Just making conversation.” A bell rings in the kitchen, and she hurries away, returning with a large pizza box. “There you go.”
Holy shit, it’s heavy. Dakota’s been liberal with the toppings. “How much do I owe you?”
She waves it away. “On the house. Tell Manuel he owes me one.”
Gino’s still at it when I get back. I walk over and see how he’s doing. “You’re good at this.”
He looks up at the smell of pizza. “Thanks, boss.”
I run my fingers over the simple inlaid border. It’s not perfect, but for a first try, it’s pretty damn impressive. I don’t do inlaid work very often—it’s too fiddly for me—but Gino’s a natural. “Are you at a stopping point? I’ve got some lumber to pick up.”
“Sure.” He ambles to his feet. “Where are we going?”
“Medina’s Lumber in Marmet.” The village where Manuel lives is only a thirty-minute drive away. “Manuel’s got great contacts and a really good eye. I get almost all my live edge slabs there. If you ever decide to be a carpenter, he’s a useful guy to know.”
Hang on. I’m mentoring the kid? Gino was supposed to be a summer hire. I’d tolerate his presence three days a week. That’s it. Instead, I’m showing him how to inlay wood, and telling him where to buy lumber.
I shake my head wryly. Nothing about my life lately seems to make much sense. Ever since Cat Milnick had marched into my workshop two days ago, hands on her hips, positively quivering with indignation, my world seems to have turned upside down.
Speaking of things I don’t do… Just as I’m grabbing my truck keys, there’s a knock on the door, and Luke walks in. “Where were you yesterday?” he asks. “I dropped by, but the place was closed.”
Kissing Cat Milnick. Tasting her. Making her come. “Out.”
“Ah.” He fiddles around with a screwdriver, picks up a pair of drill bits and sets them down, and then peers at Gino’s inlay work. “A little rough,” he comments.
Gino looks crestfallen. I give him an encouraging smile and turn to Luke. “It’s his first time,” I tell him, my voice cool. “Something the matter?”
“Yeah. Can I talk to you alone?”
Damn it. “I only have five minutes,” I warn him. “I have to head up to Marmet.”
“You’re going to Medina’s lumber yard? Roger was headed there this morning.”
“Was he?” Wexler’s going to see the live edge slabs, especially the wide one, and he’s going to whip out his wallet. But I’m not concerned. Manuel knows I want the wood, and he’s a good guy. No matter what Wexler offers, he won’t sell it to him. It’s going to drive him crazy.
We head up the stairs to my apartment. “You have a beer?” he asks. “None of that crazy craft stuff.”
It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, I guess. I wave to the refrigerator. “Help yourself.”
A stab of regret cuts through me. I never did get to taste Cat’s beer last night. After her reaction to that triple IPA in Zach’s beer fridge, I’d been looking forward to drinking with her. Seeing pleasure infuse her face as she tried something she liked. I wanted to see her enthusiasm, feel her passion.
Stop obsessing about Cat Milnick.
“What’s the matter, Luke?”
He fiddles with the label on his beer bottle. “Ruby and I had a huge fight,” he says finally. “I think my marriage is over.”
Fucking hell. They’ve only been married three years. “I’m sorry, dude. What happened?”
“I told her I was going to Vegas with Roger, and she flipped out.” He looks resentful. “Ruby never wants me to have any fun.”
There’s an element of truth to what he’s saying. Ruby does keep Luke on a pretty tight leash. But my buddy isn’t blameless either. He lets his wife run his life, never telling her how he feels, and then he blows up over something trivial.
But, like I pointed out to Luke earlier this week, Vegas isn’t trivial. He’s just taking off in the middle of high season, expecting his wife to pick up his slack. And for what? To cruise strip bars in Nevada with Roger Wexler. It’s a dick move.
I’d expect this kind of dumb, thoughtless stunt from Wexler, but I thought better of Luke. I guess I was wrong. He’s treating his wife like she doesn’t matter, something I can’t support.
“She kicked you out?”
“No, I left. Fuck it. I’ve been with Ruby for as long as I can remember. It’s time to make a change. Roger was right.”
I snort in disgust. “Let me guess. Wexler told you there’s tons of fresh pussy out there, an
d you shouldn’t shackle yourself to one woman. And you took advice from someone whose third marriage imploded a couple of months ago.”
“It’s not just him,” Luke retorts. “I mean, look at you. You’ve never got tied down either.”
He’s comparing me to Roger Wexler, the guy who cheated on his second wife when she was nine months pregnant? I’ve never been more insulted in my life. “I might not get tied down,” I snap, “But I certainly don’t lie to the women I sleep with, and I don’t fucking cheat on them. If I got married to a woman, I’d treat her a damn sight better than Wexler’s treated any of his wives. I’d treat her with fucking respect.”
Luke and I have been buddies since high school. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. I get to my feet. “Roger Wexler has wanted Ruby since he was a teenager,” I snap at the idiot who seems hellbent on blowing up his marriage. “Your wife has never given him the time of the day. Think about that for a second, will you? Think about why he’s never invited you along on his annual Vegas trip. Think about why you’re being invited now. Is it really a coincidence that Wexler’s on the prowl again for wife number four at the same time as you and Ruby are going through a rough spell?”
I’ve done the best I can. I’ve broken all my rules about interfering with other people. Luke will either get the message, or he will not. I don’t give a fuck anymore.
“You’re in a bad mood.” Manuel Medina gives me a keen look. “What’s eating you?”
So far today, I’ve snapped at my sister, and I bit Luke’s head off. But I can’t do that to Manuel. Apart from being my best lumber supplier, he’s also something of a father figure. He’s been friends with my mom all my life. When my dad left, Manual stepped up. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that he helped out quite a bit financially when Dakota and I were growing up, though he’s denied it every time I’ve brought it up.
What’s eating me? For starters, I can’t stop thinking about Cat Milnick. Then there’s Luke’s ready assumption that just because I avoid commitment, I’m a manwhore like Wexler.
Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3) Page 7