The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

That was exactly what he did.

I stayed here, leaning against the porch with one hand shielding my eyes from the sun, the other flat on my chest, a lawyer yammering in my ear about state pension accounts and accrued benefits, and I watched Linden smash that round of wood. It took several swings of his axe but it wasn't long before that absurdly large slab was divided into a dozen wedges and added to the pile.

And I'd never been more aroused in my entire life. I was panting a bit, though I blamed it on the weather. That was the source of my heaving bosom. I had my legs crossed at the ankle, my thighs tight together. My skin was outrageously sensitive. I found myself tipping my head to the side and exposing my neck without thinking about it. A million filthy fantasies flashed through my mind. My pussy had a pulse.

"Okay, sir, yes, that's very good. Very good information. I'm going to have to call you back about all this. Good day and goodbye." I was halfway across the yard when I called out, "Hey."

He turned, ran his wrist across his forehead. With a grin, he asked, "All finished?"

"Yeah," I said, plucking the earbuds out and shoving them in my pocket along with the phone. I reached out, grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "I hope you don't mind but I need to drag you inside and take your clothes off you right now."

He smirked. "Is that so?"

I drew in closer. "You have no idea how much I want you."

His gaze dropped to my chest and I could feel him staring at my nipples. They were shamelessly pebbled against the wool of my sweater and begging for attention. "I think I know." He glanced up, still smirking. "Is that how it is, Peach? Chopping wood works for you?"

"We can analyze it later," I said. "After you've"—I motioned to the stump, even though it made no sense—"after."

Linden stepped back and I had to release my hold on his shirt but that wasn't a problem because he peeled it off his skin and over his head, and used it to mop the sweat from his chest.

I was this close to coming. This close.

"Get in there," he said with a flick of his wrist toward the house. "If I have to take that skirt off you myself, I'll rip it. You've been warned."

Ohhhhhh. I really did love it when he insisted.

I darted inside, beside myself with want and need. It should've been simple, really, just follow Linden's directions. Get in here and get naked. So simple. But I lost myself when I played back the words I'd spoken. The way I watched him and demanded use of his body. It didn't matter that he was game for it. No, he didn't figure into this shame spiral at all.

Still, I pulled my sweater over my head and straightened my hair once it was free. It was a relief to undress with this heat—and everything I'd stirred up while watching Linden. I slipped off my shoes, a cute pair of mid-heeled oxfords in the cutest shade of cognac, and took my phone and earbuds from my pocket. I had to put them back in their case and that meant finding the case. I'd lost one set of earbuds on a flight to Milwaukee and another to the spin cycle once, and I couldn't do that now, could not allow such a silly waste.

Linden found me rooting around in my tote bag, the one I used to ferry clothes back and forth from here to Midge's house. I wasn't prepared to hang my things in his closet or even have the discussion about claiming space in his bedroom. No, it wasn't necessary.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, the sun at his back and his chest still damp with sweat.

My breath caught. This man could be so incredibly rude with his arms and his shirtlessness. "Putting away my earbuds."

"Is that what I told you to do?"

"It's not but if I don't put them away immediately after taking them out, I lose them or drown them in the washing machine." I snapped the case shut. "And I needed to, you know, breathe for a second."

His gaze locked on me, he toed off his boots. "You're still dressed."

I glanced down at my skirt. The pinstriped wool brushed the bottoms of my knees and suddenly felt like a stifling blanket. "As I told you, I needed a second to breathe."

He unlatched his belt, drew down his fly. Left his jeans hanging open. My nipples ached behind the lace of my bra. "You've had a second, Peach."

Linden strolled past me into the bathroom as I struggled against the outrageous mix of desire and insecurity. I felt so much of both, and that conflict kept me stuck there, my fingers still closed around the earbud case.

He was quick to return and settled himself on the sofa, right in the middle with his legs spread wide. He beckoned to me, saying, "I want you over here."

Enough of my brain fell in line at his rough command to allow me to walk over there but my cheeks were hot. My chest too. I went to him, climbed into his lap, brought my hands to his shoulders. "I want to rip your clothes off," I said softly. "But I also feel strange about that. Like I shouldn't say it. Shouldn't want it."

"Why shouldn't you?"

"I don't really know," I admitted. I'd never spoken words like these before. "But sometimes I feel that way and it's overwhelming."

He reached under my skirt, both hands on my ass cheeks, and tore my panties in half. I gasped at the burn and pull of the fabric and the depravity of that move. "Tell me when it's overwhelming, okay? Tell me. I'll get you out of your head until it goes away."

With both hands, Linden gathered