Killian (West Bend Saints 4)

"I'm glad to see you're back," one of the older ladies says as I box her up three muffins and a dozen cupcakes. "The cupcakes are for my ladies’ card group," she explains.

"We'll see if I'm back," I grumble.

"What you boys did to help Letty with the mining company," Opal says in a hushed tone when there's a lull in traffic in the bakery, "that made you good in my books."

I grunt. "That was my brothers," I note. "Who's Letty?"

"An old friend," Opal says. "She's over at the nursing home – excuse me, retirement community. That company was trying to get her property for a song. Now she's got nothing to worry about."

I nod, even though it was really all my brothers' doing, because Opal seems like she's going somewhere with all of this.

"I knew your mother, you know."

And just like that, my mood goes sour. I don't want to talk about my damn parents. "Everybody knows everybody here."

"When you were a kid, you and I had a run-in," Opal recalls.

"What?" I don't remember ever meeting Opal.

"You were a teenager, not really a kid, I guess," she elaborates. "My neighbor's son was Joe Martin."

I stare at her blankly. I don't know what the hell she's talking about, or what the hell the point of this conversation is. "I've been away from West Bend a long time."

"That's right. You might not remember him. It was probably nothing to you, but Joe was a good kid – ended up going off to college and studying aerospace something-or-other. I don't know what it is exactly, but his mother says he's a rocket scientist."

"Huh."

"I do have a point, sugar," Opal promises. "He was bullied a lot back in school – this would have been ninth grade or so, I think – and I walked out my door to see a fight between him and three other guys."

I remember this – two asshole juniors were giving this nerdy kid hell – and I was walking by and jumped in. I didn’t know the kid, but if there's one thing I've never been able to stand, it's a bully. We got pushed around enough by my father when we were growing up. I was beating on the two guys who jumped him when this woman ran out of her house, brandishing a baseball bat and yelling at us to leave him alone. I took off when they scattered. The last thing I needed was word getting back to my father that I was in a brawl; I knew what kind of hell I'd pay.

"I ran you off, but Joe told me it was you who jumped in to save him."

"That's a long time ago, Opal," I say with a shrug. Why in the world is she dredging up old memories?

"My point is that you were a good kid who grew up into a good man. A little rough around the edges, but that's nothing."

I clear my throat, shuffling awkwardly. What the hell do I say to that? No one has ever just up and called me a good man. "Thanks."

"When Lily gets involved with someone, it should be someone solid. Someone who's going to stick around." She says it casually, like she's talking about the weather and not about a relationship with Lily. I've never been a relationship kind of guy. If Opal is so sensitive to who she thinks I am, how does she not get that?

The bell on the door jingles and a customer walks in. I take that as my cue to get the hell away from this conversation before it gets even weirder.

When Lily walks through the door a few minutes later, her eyes meet mine and she pauses for a second. My cock twitches, pressing against the zipper of my jeans at the mere sight of her. I can taste her on my lips, and I swear I'm salivating at the mere thought of tasting her again.

She's wearing sandals and a skirt like I asked her to wear. It's a purple and black floral thing that skims over her hips and down past her knees, an appropriate length for the store, yet all I can think about is doing very inappropriate things to her. A purple t-shirt clings to her breasts, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, the same way she wears it every day. And I'm the only one in this place who knows how she moans when I pull her hair.

"Mr. Saint," she says when she reaches the table, her tone crisp and business-like, as if I'm just another customer.

Except that I'm the customer whose face was buried between her legs yesterday.

"Ms. – I don't even know your last name," I realize. Her face colors, and I know immediately what she's thinking – she's thinking that she came on me and I don't know her last name and that means something bad about her.

"Grant." She gives me a small smile before turning around to head straight for the front counter.

Fuck. She's skittish. And now she feels badly about what happened.

When she returns, she sets the glass of iced coffee on my table wordlessly, her eyes meeting mine only when I brush my fingers along the back of her hand. She does that thing where she bites her lip and she clears her throat again. "I have to work," she whispers.

I'm not sure if she's warning me to leave or telling me to follow her to the kitchen. She sets the cream and sugar on the table and turns, placing the tray on the front counter before disappearing behind the kitchen door.

I give her a minute before I follow her. Fuck it; even if she's working, watching the girl work is a thousand times better than anything else I was going to do today. She's not inside the kitchen. I find her in her office, filling out paperwork.

When I reach her, she stands up. "You're like a giant trying to fit into this room," she says. I'm not sure if that's an offhanded remark or a subtle hint to get the hell out.

"It's not that small." I stand just inside the door, inches away from her, closing it behind me. If she wanted to, she could back up – this room isn't that tiny – but she doesn't. She stands there, her face upturned, looking at me. I'm close enough to breathe her in. Her perfume makes my cock twitch immediately, like I've developed some kind of reflex reaction to her scent.

"Why'd you come back here?" she asks softly.

"Why did you wear a skirt?" I ask, my voice low.

"I don't know."

"Liar." I reach down to the hem of her skirt, my fingers trailing up the side of her thigh, raising the fabric. "What did you want me to do with this skirt?"

"You didn't even know my last name, Killian." Her voice cracks but her eyes betray her lust for me. The rest of her fear – that we don't know anything about each other – is unspoken.

"I do now."

When she covers my palm with hers, she makes no move to push my hand away, or to slide it farther up her leg. The gesture doesn't feel sexual at all. It feels nice, and that catches me off-guard. Which is probably why I say what I say next.

"I'm the oldest in my family," I tell her. "I have three brothers – Elias and Silas, twins and Luke. I'm tightest with Luke."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispers, her brow furrowed.

"Because you know nothing about me." I move my hand, hers still on top of mine, higher up her leg until I pause with my fingers near the crease of her thigh. Her eyes search my face, and even though I don't know what she's thinking, I plow ahead anyway. "I like classic rock, can't stand Brussels sprouts, drink far too much coffee and eat too much steak to be good for me, and on Sundays I do the crossword in the paper. Badly."

"How long?" she asks. The question comes from out of the blue, yet I know exactly what she's talking about. She's asking how long it's been since I've been with someone.

"A year." My eyes don't leave hers.

She runs her tongue over her lower lip, and I want to kiss her but I don't. I want her to want me. I want her to want me so badly she squirms.

"Married?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you really asking me if I'd be here in this office as a married man with my hand where it is right now?"

Her cheeks turn pink. "I meant ever."

"No."

"Clean?" she asks.

"I was tested a year ago. You?" She nods as I slide my hand closer to her pussy, my fingertips just brushing her cotton panties, but the look that crosses her face makes me pause. “You have a look. What do you want to ask?”

She exhales heavily. “Have you been

to prison?”

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

“I overheard these two gossipy old women in front of the store the other day, and –"

My lust is in grave danger of turning to irritation. I pause with my fingers where they are, tips brushing her panties. I can feel her wetness through the cotton fabric, and I know she wants me. It’s all I can do not to tear them off of her right now. “You’re in this tiny back room office with me, all alone, with my fingers between your legs, and you’re asking if I’ve been to prison? That might be something you want to consider thinking about before you’re alone with someone, don’t you think?”

“I realize it’s not the most opportune time to ask. And I don’t think you have, obviously. I didn’t run a background check on you because you weren’t an employee, not really anyway, and you’re here in my store, and you’ve met my kid, and you’re about to be between my legs. Not your fingers, I mean, but your - you know and. . . " She clamps her mouth shut, stopping the torrent of words.

Her nervousness is somehow endearing. “I haven’t been to prison, Lily.” I don’t take my eyes off of hers as I press my fingertips firmly against her damp panties. She lets out a long exhale, a sigh that makes me want to never stop touching her. “I’m not an axe murderer or a drug dealer. I don’t hit women, or have some kind of weird fetish that I’m going to spring on you, although I think I might be starting to develop one.”

“Oh?” She squirms, her hand covering mine, holding my fingertips where they are. “What’s that?”

“I might have a thing for owners of bakeries-slash-coffee shops.”

A smile plays at the edges of her lips. “Really?”

“Who don’t wear panties.” I pause for a beat. “Too bad you wore panties.”

“I couldn’t go commando here,” she whispers.

“I asked you not to wear them, and you didn’t listen,” I tease. I slip my fingers underneath the edge of her panties and down farther until I reach her clit. Her mouth drops open just slightly, and her breath begins to quicken as I roll my fingers over her. “You’re not very good at listening.”

"I listen," she replies. "I just don't obey."

20

Lily

"Maybe I should spank that perfect ass of yours for wearing panties," he says, his hand moving to my rear and grabbing a handful of my flesh. I should be embarrassed by the way his words send a surge of arousal between my legs. "Is that what you want?"

I choke back a laugh, not sure whether I'm more uncomfortable or turned on right now. No man has ever threatened to spank me before. "My ass isn't exactly small."

"No, it's not," he agrees, his voice low and raspy. "It's exactly the right size."

I whimper my response, my entire body crying out for him. What I want is for him to pick me up and fuck me on the desk until I can barely breathe. I want to be taken.

"No," he says, his hands moving to the button on his jeans. "That's not it, is it? You want this, don't you?"

He doesn't step out of his pants. He unzips them, his jeans hanging around his thighs, and takes out his cock. I haven't seen a real life cock in three years. And I've never seen anything like his. Wrapping his hand around the base of his massive cock, he strokes his length as he watches me. "Touch yourself."

My eyes on what he's doing in front of me, I pull my skirt up around my waist. My fingers slide under the front of my panties and find my clit.

"Pull down your panties," he orders, his voice gruff. "Not off. Pull them down to your thighs."

I pull my fingers from my panties, pussy throbbing a rhythm: fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. When I slide my panties down, the air feels cool against my wetness. I reach for his cock, my fingertips grazing the pre-cum that drips steadily from the tip, and when I touch him, he groans.

"I want this," I whisper. There's nothing more that I want right now except to taste him. My body craves him.

"Say it," he commands. "Say you want my cock."

He moves his hand, and I replace it with mine, stroking his length as he puts a palm against my face and through my hair.

"I want your cock," I whisper, turning into his touch, aching with my own need.

"I've thought about this your hand, your mouth on me," he growls.

"I want to taste you." The words spoken aloud surprise me. I'm not forward, not when it comes to sex. I don't say things like this.

He pulls away from my touch, sliding his other hand firmly to the small of my back and holding me tightly against him. Then he slides the head of his cock over my clit. I inhale sharply at the sensation of his bare cock against my clit. "You want me inside you." He speaks the words as if he can read my mind, moving down farther until he's soaked with my wetness, then stroking my clit with it.

"Yes." I can barely choke out the word: it sounds strangled.

"Not today, cupcake."

I whimper. "What?"

"I'm going to make you come, don't worry. Then I'm going to come all over those panties of yours, the ones you insisted on wearing today," he whispers, his mouth close to my ear as he strokes my clit with his cock. Arousal surges through me making me heady, dizzy with need. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

What I'd like is for you to fuck me already. When he slides his hands under my ass, picking me up and turning me to the side before leaning me back onto the desk, I think he's going to do exactly what I was just thinking. Except he spreads his legs around mine, half-straddling me so he can tease me with his cock. He brings the tip to my entrance, groaning as he watches my wetness coat him - but he doesn't enter me.

"Touch yourself," he directs, pausing at my entrance. "Ask me what you're going to do after I come on your panties."

I whimper as I rub my clit harder. The sensation of the head of his cock against my entrance is more than I can bear. If I moved just an inch – it would hardly take anything, merely a push of my hips – he'd be inside me. Instead, he nudges my entrance so that the tip of his cock is against me. I'm heady with desire, too drunk on my own need to focus on what he's saying.

"Ask me," he repeats. "Ask me what you're going to do."

"What?" I'm breathless, so close to coming that I can barely get the question out. I'm so close to the edge, my entire body tensed. "What am I going to do?"

"I'm going to make you come like this, with my cock right here against you, and then I'm going to come between your legs, and all over your panties," he repeats. "And then I'm going to pull those panties up. You're going to wear them and know that that's from me. You’re going to wear me all day."

"Fuck." I groan the word, trying desperately to mute the sound, gripping his strong biceps for support as my orgasm washes over me.

"Look at me, Lily," he orders. He pulls his cock away, his hand moving up and down his cock as he looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes. I know he’s close to coming; I can see it on his face.

"I want you to come on me," I whisper, the words surprising even me. I want him to come on me. I want to feel him on my skin.

Then he comes. He comes between my legs, on my thighs and panties and onto my pussy. I don't know whether I feel more aroused or filthy. I don't have time to ponder that, because Killian brings his mouth down on mine, the scruff of his beard scratching my chin as he kisses me. His tongue finds mine gently, easily and I kiss him back for what seems like forever, but is probably more like minutes. When he runs his palms over my back, arousal stirs within me again. My body seems like it's in a perpetual state of arousal around this man, always on edge, always wanting.

"You came on me," I murmur softly when he finally pulls his lips away from mine.

His lips tug on the edges. "I know. And I'm not the least bit sorry about it. Are you?"

"I feel. . . um, well, I've never done anything like that before."

"Neither have I, cupcake." I watch as he tucks himself back into his jeans before reaching for me and pulling me toward him. His hands on each side of my panties, he pulls them up where they belong.

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I let out a whimper. "I can't believe you just put those back on me."

"Sweetheart, I can't believe you thought I was going to let go of the chance to have you walk around all day with me between your