Free Paradise Hops by Liz Crowe

hard body into hers. They stayed silent, lips and hands all over each other without words or explanation. He popped the button on her jeans, shoved a hand into her panties and fingered her swollen clit with a groan against the skin of her neck. She propped a foot on a chair, tilted her hips, gave him access as she tugged his long hair loose, let it tumble around his face and shoulders.
    “Eli,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Please. I need you.”
    “Not half as much as I need you,” he pressed into her body, reached high inside, keeping his thumb against her clit. “Lift up your shirt,” his low, growly voice made her shiver, but she did it. God help her she lifted it up, reached back and released the clasp of her bra and cradled his head as he licked, and sucked and finger fucked her until she groaned and came all over his hand. Her whole body trembled, wouldn’t stop shaking as he put his fingers in his mouth, then into hers letting her taste herself.
    His next kiss was gentle. He held her close until she calmed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and stepped back, running a hand down his face. The regret she saw in his eyes brought a twinge of anger to her lusty energy. If he asked, she’d do anything he wanted. Right then. In the office.
    She let the wall hold her up and looked him up and down, licking her lips at the sight of the huge mound under his zipper. “I’m not.”
    “Well, you should be.” He turned from her.
    Fury flared in her chest. How dare he judge her. “Fine. You’re the one who….” He whirled around to face her, his eyes alight with something she’d never seen in them before. Hope.
    “I’m the one who gave you what you wanted.” He stepped into her space again lips near her ear. “That’s all. Nothing more or less.”
    “Okay,” she put a hand to his face, relishing the rough beard under her palm even as she slid her other hand down, running it along his denim-covered cock. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “But, something tells me there is more.” She ran her tongue over his full lips. But he pulled away, out of her arms. Anger rushed back in to fill the void he’d left. “Fine. You want to play games with me?” He started to speak but she kept talking. “Mission accomplished. Nothing more is necessary. You proved yourself. Now,” she sat, determined to make this be the last time she asked. “What are you talking about selling? Who is selling? What?”
    Eli pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back down in his chair then flipped open his laptop, pulling up his email. He hit a few keys, then turned the machine to face her. “Seems as though your boyfriend is talking to some big boys. He leave that out of your pillow talk this morning?” She glared at him then tried to focus on the small words on the screen.
    After reading through the email twice, considering its source and quelling the sudden terror in her brain she sat back. “It’s just a rumor. There are always rumors. We make money, of course we’d be courted. It’s happened before.”
    “Huh, well, then if ‘courting’ includes a high-level meeting with the Sullivan Brothers, then okay. I guess Hunter’s had his cherry popped pretty hard. Seems they got to third base with him just last week.” He found another email and turned the laptop screen her way again.
    Hey, Buchanan! The email stated. You still with Brockton? I thought you might be interested in this pic I snapped tonight down at Motor City. Lori hit the attachment icon. A photo appeared, covering the whole screen. Garrett, at a dinner table, shaking hands with Fred Sullivan, owner of Sullivan Brothers Brewing and partner with a conglomerate that was partly owned by South African Brewing that owned Miller, Coors and a couple dozen other “macro brews.” She shook her head. Garrett would never sell. He couldn’t. The company wasn’t his to sell.
    She stood, needing to be away from this man, and wanting him back in her arms so badly her