“Nice try, camo boy.”
Brendon laughed. Camo boy? “I can guaran-damn-tee I haven’t been a boy for a long time.”
“I believe it,” she muttered, still focused on that chair, her face hidden beneath the ball cap—the old one she’d insisted on putting back on so that the new ones didn’t get messed up.
The silence descended once again and Brendon settled on watching Cheyenne work. The way she paid so much attention to detail only enlightened him more. Here was a woman who could’ve spent an arm and a leg on furnishing this old house, yet she was out here fixing up an old set of mismatched chairs herself. It made his respect for her multiply.
As he stood there admiring Cheyenne, Brendon remembered something his mother had mentioned. “Oh, hey, there’s a birthday party for Sawyer next Saturday at the resort. Come with me?”
Cheyenne’s head lifted, her green eyes sliding up to meet his as a smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Did you just ask me on a date, camo boy?”
“Keep it up and I’m gonna show you that I ain’t no damn boy,” he teased, his voice raw with the lust that coursed through him at the thought of doing just that.
When an answering heat flared in her gaze, Brendon’s cock thickened and he shifted, praying like hell she didn’t see that he was now hard.
Surprisingly, Cheyenne got to her feet after she set the paintbrush on the small can of stain. Her eyes remained locked with his as she approached, and when her body pressed up against his, Brendon knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of her not noticing.
“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.
Brendon’s eyebrows lifted in question. He had no fucking clue what she was talking about. In fact, he couldn’t think if he wanted to. Every ounce of his brain power was now focused on the way she was practically flush against him, her breasts crushed against his abdomen.
“You said you were gonna show me that you ain’t a boy. I’m waitin’. Camo. Boy.”
He laughed. Was she daring him to show her? Based on the flush of her cheeks, she was. And he knew damn good and well that wasn’t from the heat, because the afternoon had cooled off with a spring storm brewing in the distance.
When the back of her hand brushed against his cock, currently confined behind the zipper of his jeans, Brendon hissed.
Apparently, she must’ve taken that as encouragement because she brushed against him once again. And on the third pass, he reached for her wrists, spun them both around so that she was the one pressed up against the thick post as he held her arms high above her head. She tilted her head back and met his gaze.
“Do you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into?” he asked her, his voice low, his need apparent in the gravelly tone.
The look in her eyes was answer enough, but he waited patiently for her to respond.
“I’m waitin’ for you to show me,” Cheyenne said breathlessly, her eyes trailing down to his mouth.
Unable to resist the lure of her, Brendon leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, still holding her hands above her head with one hand wrapped around her thin wrists. When she squirmed against him, doing her best to get closer, he gave her what she wanted, sliding his knee between her thighs.
And when sweet Cheyenne Montgomery ground her pussy against his thigh, Brendon damn near came in his fucking jeans. He growled into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers while she rode his thigh.
Her soft whimper had his balls aching and his dick throbbing. Pulling his mouth from hers, he watched her as he pressed more intimately against her. “Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice soft.
Another whimper.
“Holy shit, Cheyenne,” he muttered before claiming her mouth once again. The passion ignited, turning into a tumultuous storm of desire that engulfed them. The wind had picked up around them, but it didn’t do a damn thing to cool the heat that was generated between their bodies.
“Oh, fuck, Chey. That’s it.” He could tell she was close to orgasm, the way her eyes drifted closed, her lips parted as she continued to rub against his thigh. It was so fucking hot to watch and he couldn’t tear his eyes away long enough to do anything more than stand there and let her make herself come. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to her ear. “Come for me, baby.”
Cheyenne cried out as she came and it was a fucking wonder he didn’t come in his jeans like a horny teenager.
Brendon didn’t move away from her, simply releasing her wrists and wrapping his arms around her back. She was so damn tiny, but she seemed to fit perfectly against him.
“I’m not sure that was you showin’ me,” Cheyenne whispered after a minute or two had passed.