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Sure enough, as she’d said, Alex showed up at the shop a little more than an hour later. I gave her a tour, explained a bit about the tattoos, and was showing her how the guns worked when the front door opened. Apparently, I hadn’t locked it.
Charlee.
She took one look at us, obviously assumed the worse, and turned on her heel and walked back out the door.
Jealousy.
Served no purpose. But there it was. I hated it about myself, and frankly was only really jealous when one person was involved. The same person who’d shown a streak of it that I hadn’t known existed in her.
“Charlee, wait,” I called, telling Alex I’d be right back. Following her out the front door, I caught up with her on the sidewalk. “Hold up.”
She spun around toward me.
“First,” she said, not holding back, giving it to me with both barrels, “you leave me at the winery after asking if I could spend the afternoon with you. Then, you ignore my texts. And now. . .” She waved her arm toward the shop. “This.”
Her eyes flashed. The casualness she’d displayed yesterday walking away from me when I’d rejected her—not that rejection had been my intention—was gone.
“She’s my new employee,” I said. But that didn’t seem to help.
“Fantastic.”
Smiling, I closed the distance between us. “What happened to my good girl?”
Charlee’s demeanor instantly changed. “We’re not in the bedroom,” she said. “Which is the only place there’s even a chance of my being submissive.”
I moved quickly. Though my grip was firm, I didn’t need to drag Charlee into the alleyway next to my shop so much as guide her by the wrist, since she went willingly. Which was a good thing, because I had one very specific purpose on my mind.
Pinning her against the wall, Charlee’s wrists now trapped above her head with one hand, I held her firm. Her breath caught as she looked into my eyes. But I wasn’t ready to kiss her. Not yet.
“Let me ask you again. Where is my good girl, Charlee?”
Her chin rose.
“This is, indeed, no bedroom, but close enough.”
When she didn’t answer, I cupped her cheek in the palm of my hand. My thumb ran along her lower lip as I tugged on it, willing her to open her mouth.
She did.
Slipping my thumb inside, resting it against her tongue, I tried again. “Show me my good girl, Charlee. Suck.”
Though her tongue twitched beneath my thumb, she didn’t suck. Not yet.
“Do it,” I said more firmly.
Her lips closed around me. So soft. So wet. And then she began to suckle.
Dear Lord.
“Who. Is my. Good girl?” I asked again with a groan. One that seemed to do something to her, because Charlee’s teeth grazed my thumb in a not-so-subtle warning. The mewling sounds she made at the back of her throat. . .
I pulled my hand from her mouth. “Who?” I demanded.
“I am.”
“Who are you a good girl for?
“You, Lucas. I’m a good girl for you.”
