Which I shared with a very particular feline. I let myself in, looking around for Clive but not seeing him. I had an idea where he might be, though. Kicking off my shoes, I padded quietly back to the bedroom, peeking my head around the door.
Tucked into the one corner of the bed I typically allowed him was Simon, still sleeping off his long trip home. Curled into a ball behind Simon’s knees, Clive opened one eye and registered that I was home. He flicked one ear and stretched his back out, tucking himself tighter into his favorite spot.
I whispered, “Hiya, Clive, how’s my sweet—”
He cut me off with a quiet but very curt meow.
And he gave me a very specific look, letting me know that my boys needed their sleep and I should leave well enough alone. I chuckled to myself as Simon let out a loud snore, then backed away. Clive remained behind Simon’s knees.
Simon’s Knees . . . What a great name for a band.
While the boys slept I did some laundry, I worked on some sketches for the new hotel project, and I baked. Baking centered me, helped me focus and see my way around corners, especially when I was working on something new. Two loaves of zucchini bread later, I was perched on the kitchen island with a colored pencil in my mouth when I heard shuffling.
Simon came into the kitchen, nose first. I caught my breath, almost inhaling my pencil when I saw him in his loose pajama bottoms, rumpled hair, and sleepy expression. I knew if I pressed my face into the exact center of his chest, he’d smell like Downy and warm boy. Heart, as always, skipped a beat.
“Zucchini?” he asked while sniffing the air, his eyes still at half-mast but scanning for bread. His eyes weren’t the only thing at half-mast . . .
“Zucchini,” I affirmed, nodding my head.
A slow grin crept across his face; nothing could make him happier than homemade bread. Well, almost nothing.
“You want some?” I asked.
He walked toward me, and the bread behind me, with a determined look on his face. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked, uncrossing my legs so he could stand between them. “I always want some.”
“Are we still talking about zucchini bread?” I asked, as his hands dug into my hips. Sliding me closer to the edge suddenly, he pressed a wet kiss below my ear.
“I’m hungry, yes,” he whispered, in a voice that instantly told my thighs to part. “And the zucchini bread can wait.”
I moaned. I mean, of course I moaned.
Gone in sixty seconds was everything under my apron, which was flipped up and out of his way. To his knees he went, pulling my hips exactly to the edge of the counter, my legs roughly thrown over his shoulders.
“Christ Simon, what brought this—oh!”
I lost my train of thought as his open mouth pressed against me, his tongue strong and searching. With one lick, I was close. With a second lick, I was close to stupid.
With the third . . . Here’s the funny thing about my orgasm. Once I got out of my own way, she was happy to come. Ahem.
“Oh God, you . . . that’s . . . so . . . wow . . . mmm,” I moaned. He moved, I moved. He pulsed, I twitched. He plunged, I . . . Oh, hell. I flailed.
“Responsive, aren’t you?” he murmured, raising his head and wickedly licking his lips. I threaded my hands through his hair and not so gently pushed him back down.
“If you stop now I’ll kill you with this egg timer,” I managed, grabbing for the only thing that was nearby. Which I dropped as soon as he returned to me, my breathing fast and impossible to control. I dug my heels into his back, shamelessly flexing my hips to bring him closer to where I needed him. Giving a long lick to the inside of each of my thighs, he splayed his hands under and around my hips, holding me still as best he could and opening me further to him.
“Like I could stop? Don’t you know I dream about this when I’m away?” he asked, nudging me with his nose, exactly where I needed his mouth to be.
“You . . . dream about . . . this?” I asked, arching my back. I was so close, so very close.
“Fuck, yes, are you kidding?” He flattened his tongue and dragged it across my entire sex, dipping inside and continuing up, closing his mouth now and encircling me with his lips. Releasing me with a groan of his own, he brought one hand down, using his fingers to press into me. “I think about this, and the sounds you make when you come, the way you taste. Mmm . . . sweet Caroline, you drive me crazy.”
His words swirled my thoughts. I leaned up on my elbows, skin on fire, my fuzzy gaze on this gorgeous man, this shockingly gorgeous man, with his mouth on me. Riding his hand, my hips undulated as his tongue and lips consumed me. His eyes burning into mine, I gasped when my orgasm hit me like a freight train. Shaking, I fell back onto the counter.
He stood, one hand continuing to caress my skin as I shuddered, the other pushing his pajama bottoms down. He ran his fist up and down his length, then pressed inside me, but just barely. His head dropped back as he wrapped his hands around my hips, using my weight as leverage as he slowly . . . sank . . . inside.
He was perfectly still.