Page 12 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Guy Next Door

“Yep.”

“Harris Trent, you absolute?…” She snatches the dust sheet off the end of the bench and swats me with it, hard, and a cloud of sawdust goes up through the light. "You… sexted me.”

“True. But you sexted me first, gorgeous.”

She hits me again. I stand and take it. Then she's laughing, doubled over with one hand braced on my bench.

“All this time, it was you. Forty feet away.”

“Thirty. Give or take.”

She throws the dust sheet at my head.

When she's finished she stands in the middle of my shop with her arms crossed, breathing hard.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Here's where I could try to make it a joke, but I don’t.

I put the broom against the wall. “I've been up here a long time. People don't get much out of me. It's not that I'm being difficult…. nothing comes out right, and by the time I've found the words the moment's gone and I'm just some creepy guy who grunted at you.”

She nods.

“Then you sent me that message by mistake, and I could talk. The second I told you, that ends. You go back to being polite to me and I go back to not being able to string two words together. So I gave myself one more day, then another one.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, it’s not a good reason. But it’s the truth.”

Megan crosses the floor.

She stops right in front of me, the toes of her sneakers against my boots, and tips her head all the way back to look up at me. Her eyes are bright.

“You know what, Harris? I'm not disappointed. I lay in bed touching myself last night picturing your face in my head.”

I suck my breath in as my cock hardens and lengthens. “You… you…”

She fists my shirt and pulls, coming up on her toes. I get a hand into all that hair and take her mouth properly, and she opens for me with a little moan. Hot, sweet and greedy. Her fingers curl into my shirt and drag me down, and when I lift her she leaves the floor without a second of hesitation and locks her legs around my waist.

I put her down on the bench and she hooks her ankles behind me as I kiss her deeply.

“You're huge,” she says, breathless, laughing, hands running over my shoulders and down my chest. “You're actually enormous. I've been?…”

“Been what?”

“Watching you chop wood. Constantly. Like a giddy Victorian lady.”

“I know.” I get my mouth under her jaw.

“Youknew?”

“Well, I guessed… tried to put on a good show for you.”

She groans and drops her head back, which gives me the whole length of her throat. I kiss down her neck, then the hollow at the base, along the thin gold chain she wears. Her skin is hot. She smells like peachy coconut and clean sweat, and every sound she makes goes straight down my spine and makes my cock harder.

The knot in her shirt gives up with very little encouragement.

“Oh yes…”

I get my hands on her waist, on all that soft warm weight of her, and she arches into my palms like she's been starved of it. Her simple white cotton bra is the best damn thing I've ever seen in my life. I close my mouth over her nipple through the fabric, then push it aside, licking and sucking, while she cries out and grabs the back of my head.