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I press against her harder. “I don’t want my own. I want yours.”

Her back stiffens at my chest, and if she didn’t have a clue how much this little show was turning me on before, she does now.

“Show me first.” I bring my arms around hers, taking in the feel of her small body against mine, and I damn near shiver at the many ways I could have this woman. How easy and pliable she’d be. Threading my hands through hers, I can’t possibly get any closer, and that’s when I feel her tremble against me. Whether from fear, or excitement, I can’t tell, and it doesn’t matter because my body’s on autopilot right now.

I let her guide my hands over the clay, and with each thrust, I crush her between the table and me.

She doesn’t stop, or push me away.

Resting my forehead against her nape, I inhale her scent and press my lips to her shoulder. “I want you.”

“Voss …” For a moment, I think she’s going to deny me, but instead, she spins around, and I hoist her up onto the table, shoving the chunk of clay aside. Hands gripping either side of my face, she pulls me in.

Her lips on mine are heaven, a sweet flavor I’ve never tasted before.

She’s intoxicating.

For the first time in my life, I feel as if I’ve won this level of attention, not with money, or deals. But by getting to know her. Earning her trust.

I work the buttons of her flannel shirt between kisses, exposing the thin lace bra beneath. Peeling back the cup of it, I take a moment to admire her round, fleshy globes with perfect pink nipples, before diving in to suckle one of them. Fingernails digging into my head, she moans, pressing me against her chest.

Taking her thighs in hand at either side of me, I yank her to the edge of the table and press my neglected dick where I need it, grinding myself into her pussy. Savoring the seconds before I drop trou and plow into her.

Her hand snakes around my neck, the clay getting on my skin and in my hair, but I couldn’t give two fucks about that.

“Voss—”

My lips cut her off, sealing her protest with a kiss, but the distant slam of a door snaps both of us out of it.

Real quick.

“Oh, shit!” She glances down at her watch and wriggles against me, until her feet touch the floor again. With hasty fingers, she buttons up her shirt cockeyed, and in smoothing back the mess of her hair, streaks clay over her skin. “Jonah. He’s picking up Oliver for the night. I forgot he was stopping by early.”

Licking my lips, I will myself to step away from her, to give her space. “You’re driving me crazy, woman. These flannel shirts and jeans. You’re the ultimate MILF.”

“Yeah, well, your suits don’t exactly make it easy to look away, either.” She drops gaze from mine with a solemn smile.

“Hey-de-ho …” The unfamiliar voice withers, as I turn to see a blond-haired guy, about my height, standing at the door. The same face I saw nearly a week ago, while scoping out Beth and Harv’s place. His eyes flick from me to Nola, and back to me.

In the seconds that follow, I wonder if he’ll admit to recognizing me. If there’s any trace of familiarity that might cause Nola to question everything I’ve told her about me.

“Jonah. Hi. Um … this is Voss. Well, Rhett Voss. My neighbor.”

His brows wing up, and he takes a step toward me, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Cops have always gotten in the way of my work, whether by trying to uphold justice, or traipsing the line of corruption, so as my eyes remain locked on his badge, I’m contemplating where Jonah falls. If he’ll be a roadblock, keeping me from my prize in the end. The cock-block to my vengeance.

“Voss? What’s wrong?” Nola asks from behind, her question breaking my thoughts.

I lift my hands, completely covered in clay, and smile back at him. “My apologies. Don’t mean to be rude.”

“I see my sister has indoctrinated you into her clay play.”

A quick glance over my shoulder brings Nola’s blush-stained face into view, along with her shirt still buttoned wrong, and I wink just before she drops her gaze toward the floor. Swinging my attention back to Jonah, I smile. “Clay play is fast becoming my favorite pastime.”

His eyes turn suspicious, as though he’s just catching on to what’s going on, and he looks past me, to where Nola’s standing. “Is that … clay in your hair?”

“It’s my fault,” I answer for her. “Think I got the clay a little too wet and made a mess. I’ll catch you later, Jonah.”