“It’s the little things in life,” I murmur, squirming at his expert touch.
“Hmm.”
I bite on my bottom lip, suppressing a whimper when his finger dips inside me. He fucks it in and out slowly before smearing my arousal on my clit. My body is alive, jittery with the need to come. He rubs delicious circles around my clit, drawing me closer and closer to the edge. Just as I tense up, my release ready to explode, he pulls his hand away, leaving me hanging.
“Win,” I whine. “What the hell?”
He rubs his wet finger across my bottom lip and then my top one. “Hmm?”
“I hate you.”
“I love that you do.”
Leaning forward, he kisses me hard, sucking on my lips so he can taste me from them. I groan when he bites on my bottom lip and tugs. His kiss is deep and consuming. I’m dizzied and disoriented by the time he pulls away.
“Fix your pants, little girl. We have to buy your bratty ass some candy.”
Sighing, I fasten my jeans, shove Win’s coupon book into his pocket, and then grab my purse before stepping out of the Bugatti. Winston strides over to me as the doors fall closed on his vehicle, looking like a million bucks in a new, fresh suit. Of course his bedroom at the compound was stocked with clothes and everything he might need. I have a feeling wherever Win goes, he’s always prepared.
I grab his hand, threading my fingers with his.
He falters, his brows furrowing. Except with me. He’s prepared for everything and everyone in this world, but not when it comes to me. The fact I can rattle the poised, elegant Winston Constantine is empowering.
“Hand holding will cost you,” he complains but doesn’t fight me off.
“I’ll buy you some candy. Don’t worry.”
Ignoring my smartass remark, he opens the shop door and ushers me inside. It’s exactly as I remember, bustling with families, floor-to-ceiling shelves of candy, and a giant center island with self-serve machines of various candies. Winston is stiff as he follows me inside, clearly uncomfortable at being here.
“First off, we need to get what we came here for,” I tell him, making a beeline straight for the cherry Starburst machine. I grab a bag and hold it under the spout, twisting until I’ve filled it with my favorite candy. Once I tie it off, I hand it to him to hold. “What kind of candy do you want?”
“I told you,” he grumbles, “I don’t eat candy.”
“Too bad,” I throw back. “Today you’re going to eat some. Question is, what will Winston Constantine like?”
He rolls his eyes at me but continues to follow me throughout the store. I make sure to collect a variety of my favorites for him to try. When I find him eyeing the gummy bears with curiosity, I call over a salesperson.
“Excuse me,” I say to the young woman. “Can he have a sample?”
She frowns. “Of gummy bears?”
“He’s never had one.”
A gasp tumbles out of her lips. “Seriously?”
He ignores us. Asshole.
“Seriously. Give him a red one. I know for a fact he’s a fan of cherry.” I make a great show of winking at him, earning a smirk.
The girl, using her gloved hand, pulls out a couple of red ones and hands them to me. As soon as she walks off, I step close to Win, grinning at him.
“Open up,” I tease.
He scoffs but then obeys. I push the gummy into his mouth, watching him intently to see his expression. Slowly, he chews, frowning hard. After he swallows, I feed him the other one. Once that one is gone too, I bounce on my toes, unable to keep still.
“So?”
“So what?” he grumbles.
“What do you think?”
“They’re chewy. A lot of work to eat.”
“You’re not lazy, Win. What about the taste?”
“Tastes like you.” His blue eyes sear into me. “They’ll do.”
In Win speak, he loved it. Ha! I knew it. Luckily, at this candy store, the gummy bears are sorted out by flavor. I dump a bunch of red ones into the bag and then continue down the way. Once I’ve gathered as much of a variety I can think of, even some old man stuff like chocolate-covered coffee beans and saltwater taffy, we make our way to the register. He goes to pull out his wallet and I shake my head.
“Use your coupon,” I tell him, enjoying the way his cheeks turn slightly pink at the word coupon.
“You have a coupon, sir?” the cashier asks.
“No,” he barks out. “She’s being a brat.”
Confused, the cashier goes back to silently ringing us up. I reach into his pocket, flip to the candy store coupon and rip it out before depositing his booklet back into his pocket. He watches my movements with a narrowed glare that makes my body burn hot. When his eyes settle on my breasts, I’m reminded that I’m not wearing a bra. Thankfully, it was too busy in here for anyone to notice.