Untamed: Heath & Violet (Beg For It 3)

“People like dangerous weather,” she insisted. “Deadliest Catch, Ice Road Truckers.”

“What are those? Shows?”

“You’ve never seen them?”

I shook my head no. “Youth hockey. That’s a big deal here. Everyone watches the games. That’s boring TV.”

“Friday Night Lights. People love small town sports.”

She wasn’t listening to reason. I ran a hand through my hair. She followed my movement like she wanted to run her hand through my hair. Fuck, this was hard. You know what else was hard?

I needed her out of my workshop before I did something stupid. “You can’t film a reality show here.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“You think it’s a terrible idea. But that doesn’t mean it’s a terrible idea.”

“Why would you pick Watson?” I tried.

“I don’t know exactly, I didn’t do the branding.”

“Branding?”

“Brand research. Identifying a location that would promote the targeted attributes and assets.”

Targeted attributes and assets. What the fuck was she talking about? She had some great attributes and assets, though. And in the course of our talking she’d taken a step or two closer, as if she felt it, too, the irresistible pull. It got stronger the more we tried to push each other away.

She was close enough now I could reach out and wrap a hand around her waist. Her lips parted again as she looked up at me, and I could see her breathing quicken. I balled my fingers into fists so I wouldn’t grab her.

“What are you talking about, Violet?” My voice had grown husky and quiet. Less combative now, I asked, “Are you listening to yourself talk?”

She looked up at me and confessed softly, “I don’t want to talk.”

I grabbed her before I could think about it, before my brain could stop me from doing it. My mouth found hers in an instant and she kissed me back, passionately, hungrily, her hands running up my biceps and along my chest as if she’d been dying to touch me. Groaning, I sank into her, tipping her head back, licking her neck, cupping her incredible ass and pressing her against me.

She wrapped her legs around my thighs as I lifted her up and she clung to me, panting as she clawed at my shirt and kissed my throat. I carried her, still kissing her the whole way, and rested her down on my lathing table. She lay back on it. The sight of her there, eyes glazed, lips glistening from my kisses, her hair spread out along the wood. I’d made some fine art over the years, but nothing near as beautiful as her.

Bringing the palms of my hands along hers, I pressed them into the table on either side of her head. Her fingers intertwined with mine and she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Violet,” I murmured, worshipping her with my kisses, dipping down and again like a drunk, needing another and another taste. With her arms stretched up, her sweater slid up, too, exposing a patch of her stomach. I traced a path with my fingers, along the edge of the waistband of her jeans, up and around her belly button. She panted and twisted at my touch. I leaned down and kissed her skin, so soft, so delicious.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come here today,” I whispered, circling her belly button with my tongue. I’d half expected her to not show up, to think better of it. I was glad she’d made the wrong choice.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, giving me a naughty grin. “Did you think I’d be too scared of you?”

“You should be.” I cupped a hand under her ass and pulled her closer toward me, then stroked the inside of her thigh. It felt so right, her legs spread wide open, her luscious body laid out before me.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said, but her voice sounded more breathless.

“Maybe you should be.” I watched her as I worked my fingers up her inner thighs, closer, stroking and teasing my way up.

“Why? Are you the big bad wolf?” From the gleam in her eyes, she almost seemed to like the idea.

“Maybe. I would like to eat you up.” My thumb stroked right along the seam of her jeans. I could feel her wet heat, her arousal calling to me. Pressing into her, right where I knew she could feel it best, I leaned down and licked her stomach next to the still-fastened button of her jeans. I wanted her to picture it, feel how good it would be, as I swirled my tongue along her lower stomach and pressed against her throbbing clit. “What do you think, Violet?” I murmured, blowing against her wet skin, making her shiver. “Do you think you’d like it if I ate you?”

BRING! Announcing itself with an aggressively loud ringtone, my cell phone went off in my pocket. With a groan, I dropped my forehead to her stomach. It did put me right where I wanted to be, so close to her pussy still all buttoned up but we could take care of that real quick. My phone rang again and she sat up, shaking her head as if waking from a dream.

“You should get that,” she said, running a hand through her hair. I wanted to be the one running my hand through her hair. My phone rang again.

Right, I should get that. Reluctantly, I took a step back, pulled the phone out of my pocket and swiped to greet Harriet.

“Mmm hmm. Yup. Right.” I nodded, keeping it to one-syllable responses. I wanted this call over with. Meanwhile, Violet picked herself right up and off the table. That wasn’t where I wanted her.

I clicked the phone off, flicking it to silent. No more interruptions.

“Who was that?” Violet asked, focusing intently on my lathing table. Never had a woman been more interested in a lathe. I knew what she was doing, looking for a distraction. I’d show her a distraction.

“Harriet,” I answered, coming up behind her. “She wanted to make sure I hadn’t thrown you out.”

“I should go,” Violet agreed, but she didn’t move. Now I stood directly behind her, not touching yet but I bet she could feel my body heat.

“You should go,” I agreed. “You should leave Watson.” I brought my hand around to her side, cupping it gently at her waist. She drew in her breath and leaned back into my chest.

“You want me to leave?” she asked, breathless again. I loved her response to me, how the slightest touch got her so hot. Her sweater was thin enough I could see her breasts and her stiff, pointed nipples. I remembered how good they’d felt in my mouth, under my fingers, between my teeth.

“You should leave.” I brought my face down to her hair, like golden honey. I rippled my fingers through it, watching the light catch and fall along her waves.

“What’s this?” she asked, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out to the machinery on the table.

“This is a lathing table. To make grooves and cuts in wood. You want to try?”

“Could I? Yeah.” She turned and gave me a smile. I picked up a discarded piece of wood.

Standing behind her, I reached my arms around, placing my hands on hers. “You lay it here.” I guided her smaller, delicate hands with my large, rough ones. I could hear her quick, shallow breaths. Never had lathing felt so sexy. “You feed it in here.”

I turned the machine on and helped her bring the scrap up. Under my direction, she turned it 360 degrees to make a groove all the way around. Flipping the machine off, I held the piece up for her to admire her handiwork.

“Not bad for a beginner.”

“Wow! That’s so cool!” She took the piece of wood and held it up, looking at it from all angles. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

I couldn’t help it. She’d drawn her hair all to one side and I still stood behind her, her neck exposed to me. I had to sink my mouth down to her skin again. I had to kiss her shivering skin, had to slowly lick her as she panted softly, and when she arched into me, pressing her ass against my thick thigh I had to bite.

“Ah!” she cried out, but she didn’t break away. She wound her hands up to my shoulders, my hair, pulling me toward her. She wanted more.

“You taste so good.” I buried myself in her neck, licking along her collarbone.

“You feel s

o good,” she moaned, flipping around to press against me, bringing her lips up to mine as if she couldn’t stop herself. She threaded her fingers through my hair, wanting more. My hands down around the swell of her ass, I brought her up against me and she wrapped her legs around my hips. In a few steps I had her up against the wall, pressing her there where I could hold her tight and fast and right where I wanted her.

“Heath,” she moaned, fisting my T-shirt in her hand, raking her nails along my back. I ground into her as I kissed her mouth, her jaw, her ear.

Low and dirty, I whispered to her, “Have you thought about what I did to you Saturday night?”