Page 57 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

Ava laughs against my mouth. “Is this too soon?”

“Probably.”

She kisses me again. “Take me home, Jake.”

The narrow road climbs through pines and turns sharply twice before opening onto the ridge. Ava follows in her vehicle, her headlights filling my mirrors.

My house sits at the end of the lane, built into the slope above Forge Creek. The original structure was a neglected mountain cabin when I bought it. I kept the stone foundation and timber frame, then added wide windows facing the valley and a deck that runs along the back.

Ava parks beside me and steps out slowly. Lights from the town glow far below us.

“You restored this?”

“Most of it.”

She turns in a circle, taking in the stone exterior, heavy beams, and broad glass doors. “It’s beautiful.”

The approval strikes deep.

Inside, the house is open and quiet. Reclaimed wood floors stretch beneath vaulted ceilings, and the living room windows frame the valley like a painting. Ava glances over at me and there is no hesitation in her expression.

I cross the room and stop in front of her. “I want to be sure.”

“I told you what I need.”

“I mean tonight.”

Ava places both hands against my chest. “I want tonight. I want you. And I want you to stop asking before I lose my nerve.”

For now, that has to be enough. I can’t stop myself from wanting all of her. I kiss her, sliding one arm beneath her thighs and lifting her against me. She laughs in surprise before wrapping her legs around my waist.

“Showing off,” she whispers.

“Strength is one of my better qualities.”

“You have several.”

I carry her down the short hallway to my bedroom.

Moonlight and the glow of Forge Creek spill through the windows. I set her on her feet beside the bed, and for a moment, we simply look at each other. Then Ava reaches for the hem of my shirt. I help her pull it over my head.

Her palms move across my chest, slower now, exploring the muscle shaped by years of physical work. When she looks at me, there is no uncertainty left.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

Her lips curve. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

I kiss her neck, her hair and cheek. Ava’s softness fits beneath my hands as though I have imagined it a hundred times. Maybe I have.

Her hands settle on my waist at the edge of my jeans. She holds my gaze, then undoes the button and slides the zipper. I step out of them, watching her eyes widen at the size of my cock,already hard for her. She reaches for it, curling her hand around the shaft, and I nearly lose my mind.

Her grip is firm and curious, thumb sliding along the ridge of the head as if she is learning it, cataloguing every detail for later. My rational mind is gone, replaced by the animal urge to thrust into her palm, to let her see me lose control. The sound I make is nothing short of a groan, and she responds with a low, satisfied hum that vibrates through my bones.

Ava’s gaze lifts, her lips parted, and she moves to her knees. “I want to taste you,” she says, voice rough.

I would give her anything. She licks once, slow, then again, tonguing the underside, slow and deliberate, while her hand moves with a rhythm that makes my knees want to give out.

I’m not prepared for the sight of her as she periodically stares up, eyes locked on mine as she takes the head of my cock between her lips. She’s careful at first, her mouth soft, wet, and incredibly warm. The only thing more arousing than the sensation is the look she gives me. It’s like a challenge, as if she wants to dismantle every scrap of self-control I thought I possessed.