I press a hand to the front of my shorts.
When was the last time I got hard in a matter of seconds? When I was eleven and I saw my first pair of tits? I’m normally way more disciplined than this juvenile display I’m exhibiting, but shit if that isn’t the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard in my life.
She pulls her finger from her mouth. Our eyes lock. Saliva pools on my tongue, and I force a swallow before I actually start to drool.
“See? Can’t be poisoned now, can it?”
I smile, and her eyes quickly dart to my mouth. “I suppose not.”
She allows me to take the box. I close the lid and study the logo.
“Thank you. I’ll enjoy these later.”
“I’d like to enjoy you now.”
My eyes widen. I nod in the direction behind her. “Don’t you need to be getting back to work?”
She shrugs. “I can spare a few minutes.”
“A few minutes? You wound me, Brooke. Give a guy a little credit, yeah?”
A grin twists across her mouth. Christ, that mouth is wicked.
“Okay. How long do you need?”
“With you?” I slowly move my eyes over her body.
This is the first time I’m really appreciating every gorgeous inch of her. The swell of her breasts, the black material of her top stretching, barely confining, and in the end, making me ache with a need I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. The gentle curve of her hips I want to splay my hands across, then move over, grip, and dig my fingers into. She’s shapely and soft. Delicate and dangerous.
How long do I need? I could look at her for a lifetime.
“Mason.”
My eyes re-focus on her face, the amusement in her eyes. “Mm?”
Shit, how long was I staring? Who’s the wolf now?
“Hey, Brooke!”
A voice cutting across the street jolts my attention off her. Brooke turns her head. I lift mine to see a man holding the bakery door open, leaning his head out. He doesn’t look too pleased.
“Hurry up already. You’ve got that birthday cake to work on today, remember? It’s getting picked up at ten and Dylan is swamped.”
“Shit,” Brooke mutters. She spins back around. “Sorry. My few minutes are up.”
Damn. She needs to get back. I have a ton of shit to do myself, but I’m not done with this one. Not by a long shot.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I have my first class at seven. I’d love to see you.”
Her arms cross over her chest. She tilts her head with a smirk. “Private class?”
I frown, then glance back at the sign. “Honestly, I hope not. If this is going to work out for me, I’m going to need a good amount of interest. I handed out a bunch of fliers this weekend.” I turn back to her. “Do you think it’s too much to expect at least a handful of bodies on my first go?”
Not that I wouldn’t mind having a one-on-one session with Brooke, but I do have a lot riding on this. There is no back-up plan.
“You personally handed out these fliers to women in Chicago?”
I nod. “And men.”
I spent my entire Saturday going in and out of shops at the mall, standing outside of the local market like a bum seeking a hand-out. The women I talked to seemed at least partially intrigued. The men, not so much.
I had several papers crumpled up and tossed into the rubbish bin directly beside me, while I watched.
She runs her gaze down my body, then slowly back up. Her eyes, dark and mischievous. “I don’t think you’re going to have much of a problem packing the house.”
“Brooke!” the urgent voice calls out again.
She whips her head around. “Jesus! All right! Go eat another danish!”
The man glares at her, then mumbles something I can’t make out over a car-horn in the distance before fleeing into the shop.
Brooke turns back around, her curls bouncing against her top as she shakes her head.
I shift the box to my left hand, holding out my right. She takes it immediately. “Tomorrow night then?”
Her hand gently squeezes mine. “Maybe.”