Sexy Six (The Bennett Brothers 2)

Without answering, I lift her so our faces are close. Her eyes scan mine quickly and land on my lips, knowing what I want. She gives a small smile and lowers her mouth to mine, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

Our mouths move urgently together, different than any other time I’ve kissed her. This time, she meets my tongue stroke for stroke, almost fighting for power. My dick grows hard at the thought.

My Sweet Peach may have a wild side. She proves me right the second she adjusts her hips and wraps her legs around my waist, tightening her grip on my shoulders.

There’s no doubt she feels my hard cock through my shorts. I fight every impulse I have to grab her ass and grind against her. I give up control, letting her own the kiss. She doesn’t disappoint, sliding her hands into my short hair and scraping her nails along my scalp.

She lets out a faint whimper, and I’m done. My dick throbs, jerking as ringing starts in my ears. I squeeze her waist and start to slow down, nibbling on her bottom lip as I break away.

Pride surges through me as I watch her eyes clear and see the faraway look on her face.

“Babe, I’m starving, but not necessarily for food. I have a newfound craving for the taste of you.”

Her cheeks flush deeper, and she bites the side of her mouth. “We can leave if you’re ready. I can finish my work tomorrow.”

“Sure, but first, give me a tour.” I’ll need the few minutes to get my raging hormones under control, and I say a silent prayer her brother doesn’t walk out.

She nods, unlatching her legs and slipping down my body. Her hand slides into mine, and she starts guiding me around the room. She tells me about the artists as she points to their work, but her words jumble in my head. With each word, I’m more drawn to her.

Her voice is full of spirit and excitement, pulling me even deeper under her spell.

When we come to an entire shelving area of glass art, her expression changes. “This is probably one of my favorite displays ever.”

“It’s beautiful,” I tell her honestly. The pieces are all different colors, shapes, and sizes. I immediately see a piece that catches my eye. It’s a cylinder shape that branches out at the top with wild, crisscrossing glass. A few of the thin branches have bulbs. “But this piece specifically is incredible.” I point, scared to touch it.

Her hand tightens in mine. “Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely, my eyes were drawn to it. Are these going to be for sale?”

“I’ll make you one,” she replies sheepishly, and it’s my turn to be shocked.

“You did this?”

She nods. “I did. It’s not as professional and perfectly symmetrical as the rest, but I’m proud of it.”

“To me, it’s better than the rest of them by far. It actually jumps out at me.”

Her eyes dance with happiness, and I catch glimpses of the girl I remember. Then a memory comes barging into my mind. She loves glass sculpting. She mentioned it several times in the few snippets she shared about her art goals.

How could I forget?

“I’m so proud of you. This is what you loved, and you did it,” I say softly, running my free hand along her cheek.

She inhales sharply, her eyes starting to shine. “You remember?”

“I do now.”

“No one but my family truly knows my love for glasswork.”

Her statement seizes my heart. This moment feels intimate, not in a sexual way but in the way that she’s let me in on a secret only shared with those who mean something to her.

“Does it have a special meaning?”

She starts to look around nervously, and I step in closer, leaving only inches between us. “Grace?”

“It’s supposed to be a peach tree. I made it shortly after Grandma died. I never thought anyone would see it, but it felt right to put it in this display, it being my first real show as part owner. She would have loved to be here, and in a way, she is. I put it here as a reminder of her.”

It isn’t so much what she’s said but the meaning behind it that erases any unresolved feelings of why she never contacted me again. At this moment, something clicks, and I understand so much about this woman that couldn’t be explained in her words. It’s her actions.