She tastes like heaven. Sweet and womanly and like everything good in the world. I can't get enough of her.
My tongue works circles over her clit, then down lower, entering her as my hands grip her ass and hold her firmly in place. I fuck her with my tongue as she moans and whimpers her approval, and when I enter her with my fingers, my mouth enveloping her clit, she comes immediately. Her hips thrusting against my fingers, she cries out my name so much louder than she did at the bakery. She comes with abandon.
When she finishes, she looks at me, her lips parted and her chest still heaving.
"That was fast," I note, pulling her against me as I stand.
Her eyes are wide as she nods. "I know."
"Apologizing is that much of a turn-on, huh?"
"Don't get any ideas."
"About your lips on my cock or about you issuing apologies?"
"Me issuing apologies."
"That's good, because I have lots of thoughts about your lips on my cock. Highly inappropriate thoughts."
She laughs, the movement vibrating through her. "I'm sure."
"Don't pretend you don't have the same thoughts."
She raises an eyebrow. "About my lips on your cock?"
"Say that again."
The corners of her mouth turn up. When she speaks, she does it with exaggerated slowness, punctuating each word with a breathy inhale. "My lips. Your cock."
"That's it." I slip my palm under the edge of her t-shirt, running it over her taut stomach. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you?"
She blushes. "You're so full of yourself."
"Just like your mouth."
"Just like my mouth what?"
"Was so full of me."
She slaps my arm. "You're really juvenile."
"Yet you're completely obsessed with my dick."
"I am not obsessed with your dick."
"It's okay to admit it. I won't judge."
Lily rolls her eyes. "Is this the mountain man version of foreplay?" she asks as my hand slides around her back. "Adolescent banter and talk about your cock?"
She asks the question like it's something bad, but she's not even trying to hide her smile.
"Well, I don't know 'bout no witty rep-ar-tee," I say, affecting an accent, "but up in these parts, talkin' don't count as foreplay."
"Oh yeah? What we just did, was that foreplay?"
"Definitely not. Foreplay would assume I'm going to stick it to you."
"I think this might be the classiest conversation I've ever had in my life." She pauses for a beat. "Wait, so you're saying you're not going to stick it to me?"
"'Fraid not, ma'am."
Her eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"
"Already told you. I need to be wined and dined first, romanced a little."
She laughs. "Is that how you're going to play it, caveman?"
"Yup."
"This is your ploy to get me to go out with you?"
"Is it working?"
She doesn't answer, just turns and walks down the steps to the driveway. Then she looks over her shoulder, a grin still on her face. "Fine. But you know the whole town's going to be talking if they see us together."
I shrug. "Maybe you confused me with someone who gives a shit what people think."
"I definitely haven't forgotten that." She opens her car door. "See you, caveman."
"Is that a yes?"
She pauses for a minute. "Fine. It's a yes."
I watch her pull away, no doubt on her way to pick up her kid from school. It's only after she pulls away that it dawns on me. I just talked my way into a date with a woman who was totally fine just screwing me, without any strings attached – and told her she had to wait for sex.
What the ever-loving hell is wrong with me?
24
Lily
"Mommy," Chloe moans from the sofa, her voice hoarse. "My throat hurts."
"Do you want some more juice?" I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. "You're pretty warm, sweetheart."
"Orange juice, please," she requests, her gaze going behind me to the television, attention completely focused on the cartoon she's watching.
I grab a Tylenol and her orange juice and she takes them wordlessly, her head craning to see the TV around me. She's snuggled up with her favorite bear and her books, but has mostly been watching cartoons and sniffling on the sofa. The pediatrician said it was nothing to worry about, probably the flu, and that it should pass in a few days. He prescribed fluids and rest. Of course, like most seven-year-olds, Chloe isn't so great about resting. She's already going stir-crazy.
In the kitchen, I'm working on a birthday cake for a customer – a small one, fortunately, otherwise I'd never be able to fit it in my refrigerator. But I can’t afford to fall behind. It’s times like this that I realize I really have to find someone else to help out at the store. I can’t just rely on Opal to help take care of things when Chloe gets sick or if there’s an emergency.
Opal reassured me that the store was just fine without me today. Tomorrow, Bethany, my babysitter, will come hang out with Chloe while I go to work. Everything is taken care of. Except I have the nagging feeling that I forgot something.
My phone vibrates and I look down at the text message from Killian.
Should I pick you up at eight o'clock?