The perfect surprise doesn’t exi—
“Sorpresa,” Austin drawls, opening the back door to the restaurant where he works.
“What is this magic you’re speaking?”
The chilly air of the kitchen cools my heated skin as I step inside and look around for a fire extinguisher to douse the blaze he just ignited in my panties.
“It means ‘surprise’ in Italian.”
Despite my many attempts to kiss it out of him, Austin remained mum about our date, so I glance around, trying to figure out the surprise. Our date is late, past eleven, and I’m uncertain what the plan is here. The restaurant is closed and all the employees have left for home.
“Are we going stargazing after you take care of business?”
“Come with me.” He laces his fingers in mine and leads me past the stainless counters and cooking equipment through the swinging door into the dining area.
Ah.
A few feet from where we stand is a linen-draped table with one lit candle casting a soft glow next to an open bottle of wine.
“You’re so romantic,” I say.
“Voglio cucinare con te,” is his perfect response.
I mean, I have no idea what he said, but does it matter when it’s spoken in another language by those lips?
“Yes,” I say. “Whatever that means, the answer is yes.”
He smirks. “It means, I want to cook with you. I thought we could make a tasting menu of dishes I plan to serve once this place becomes mine—officially.”
“As long as you keep talking like that, I’m up for anything. And I do mean anything.”
His dark eyes flare with sultry heat. “Oh, yeah?”
I tiptoe my fingers up his chest. “Mm-hmm.”
“I’ll remember that.” He dips his head to tantalize me with a sensual brush of his lips against mine to murmur, “Mi ecciti così tanto. You really turn me on.”
“Same, Chef, same,” I whisper back.
My forehead is blessed with a kiss and then he leads me back into the kitchen, where I lean against the counter as he puts on an apron over his dress shirt and jeans. The perfection here is ridiculous. He cooks, he cleans, and he’s a damn good kisser.
“I had no idea you spoke Italian.” Relief settles in, easing some of the earlier worries, because apparently we don’t know everything about each other. All this time, I’ve thought I knew him so well, and do I? Yes, I know things about his personality, but I didn’t know this. And what a wonderful thing to find out.
He glances over at me as he hustles around the kitchen retrieving various veggies, oils, and seasonings. “If you’re going to work in a restaurant, it’s important to speak at least the basics of a few languages. My boss is Italian, and I loved listening to him. So I took some online classes in my spare time apart from what he’s taught me.”
He explains he pre-prepared some of the dishes earlier to save time and I listen as he tells me about what we’ll be sampling—risotto alla milanese, panzanella, cacio e pepe, and of course, pizza.
“Sounds amazing. I know it will be delicious.”
He preheats the industrial oven to warm the samples and then removes a white towel from atop a large bowl and sprinkles a dusting of flour on the counter and hands me an apron.
“It’s time to put those hands to use.”
Clearly he means the ball of dough he drops before me and not a handjob. Bummer. But not really, because then he says, “Ho una fantasia. La vuoi sentire?”
My bones turn to putty as I tie the apron over my wrap-around dress. I’m going to melt right here in this kitchen and he’ll have to mop me up off the tiled floor. “That sounds like a question, and again, whatever it is, the answer is yes.”
“Translation: I have a fantasy. Do you want to hear it?”
My hands halt on tying. “Damn straight, I do,” I manage to get out.
His eyes sweep over me from head to toe. “One day I come home from work, and you’re in the kitchen, wearing nothing but an apron, and I spank you for being such a naughty girl, and then I tie your hands and fuck you right on the table.”
Oh, my. Fire rushes through my veins and I’m still not used to this unabashed side of Austin with me. I swallow and try to answer, but his dirty words have caused a brain malfunction.
“You’re blushing.” He trails a finger along my cheek. “Mi piace stare con te. I like being with you.”
“I like being with you too.” As our gazes stay locked, so many things I like about him are on the tip of my tongue when the oven beeps, breaking us from the spell we’re under. “I guess we should get back to cooking?”
And we do. Within thirty minutes, we have an array of samplers on the table, ready to devour.
He pulls out my chair, and when I’m seated, leans in to whisper, “I hope it tastes as good as you do.”
Best date ever. We have a nice dinner, envisioning together the little changes he wants to make in the restaurant.
“I think maybe the bar should get moved over there, so it’s more of a focal point.” He points with his fork to the empty rear wall.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea. Oh, if you do that, maybe you should also change the lighting…”
He arches a brow, considering my suggestion. “What if it was those little twinkly light-thingies? They’re LEDs, so they’re efficient, but they also add atmosphere.”
“That would be perfect.”
Just like this date. We continue talking about the changes as the food disappears. With the candlelight dancing on his face, I am enraptured by everything he says, cataloguing the way the fork slides past his lips, the way his brow pulls together as he thinks. The way he looks at me, like I’m more valuable than diamonds, when I make a suggestion.
“Maybe you could paint some Italian scenery on that wall?”
“I’d love to. It will be a very swoony atmosphere.”
Just like the one I’m feeling now. But still…
“Hey, Austin?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we third-date in the traditional manner now?”
“God, yes.”
Six
It’s sexin’ time. Finally. After all my wishes and fantasies, Austin is about to have sex with me. Me. This is it. This is the moment I’ve dreamed about for so many days and nights. I’ll finally know what it’s like to be with him.
And now I don’t know if I can handle it. The pressure is crushing me beneath its weight.
What if it’s a letdown?
What if it’s not is the scarier outcome.
My brain can’t comprehend that this is finally happening, but my body is ready and begging for it. In a haze of deep kisses, we paw and grasp our way to Austin’s bedroom, shedding shoes and inhibitions along the way.
His kisses and moans are drug-like, making me feel higher than a mountain of gummies. With no frightening bacon-leg side effects. Well, maybe a few. I do feel weak in the knees.
When we reach the middle of his room, he stops and wrenches his succulent mouth away from mine.
“I need to slow down, and savor you,” he says. “I’ve waited a long time for this and I don’t want to rush it.”
A little fearful I’ll chicken out if things don’t happen in a hurry, I rise on tiptoes and slide my hand around his neck, into his hair, and pull him closer. “I’m okay with fast.”
“Ah, God,” he says, grinding his hardness into me. “I want you so badly, more than anything, but I want to take my time with you more.”
With nimble fingers, he releases the tie at my waist holding my dress together, and slides the material off my shoulders. It flutters to the floor, revealing my black panties and bra. The good ones, obviously.
His dark eyes devour my body. Goosebumps race across my skin when he trails his finger along my bra, tracing the lace edged deep v, dipping his finger in the valley between my breasts.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, unhooking the front clasp.
He palms my breasts, and
I let out a loud moan when he sucks on a nipple, grazing his teeth along the stiff peak, nibbling and biting. When he’s loved on both until they ache with desire, he inches down, covering my abdomen with wet, hot kisses. My hands tug at his hair as he nips each hip, and then slides my panties off.
He places another kiss on my mound—which is a word I’m unsure if I like, but it’s used frequently in romance novels—and slides his tongue along the seam.
Don’t get me wrong, I am all for the oral sex, but...
“God, that feels good,” I say before a groan slips out, because what he’s doing feels phenomenal.
But as I was saying before he started eating me like I’m the last meal he’ll ever get, I want to reciprocate.
He grips my ass, pulling me flush with his face, licking and sucking, but I shimmy away in a daze of lust.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. It’s my turn to give to you. And you can’t say no.”
He rises, and with quick movements, sheds his clothes until he’s standing before me naked.
“Wow,” I murmur, admiring the lean, muscular body I’ve fantasized about so many times.
My eyes dive into all the nooks and crannies of his etched abs, lingering on the chiseled muscles on his hips which showcase the ginormous cock pointing straight at me. Even his balls are beautiful.
I drop to the floor, one knee and then the other, and glance up at him as I kiss the tip, licking the salty pre-cum with a slow drag of my tongue.
“Christ,” he grits out. “Keep looking up at me.” He fists my hair around his hand, so I have no curtain to shroud me. “I want to see you take me in your pretty mouth.”
The look on his face—raw hunger—mesmerizes me as I slide his thick length past my lips and take him deep down my throat. His eyes fall shut for a second, and then open to watch me suck his velvety thickness. I’ve never enjoyed giving a blowjob as much as this one. There are no worries whether I’m performing to the best of my abilities, because he’s very vocal about his pleasure.
“Your mouth is so hot.” He bucks his hips, pulling my hair just enough to make my scalp tingle and want more. “Fuck. So good, Chloe.”
He fucks my mouth, and everything feels right as I suck and pump him until his thighs quiver. He lets out a primal groan when I reach up to fondle his balls, and then he pulls away from me with a curse.
“It feels too good. If you don’t stop, I’ll come.”
Before I have time to beg him to do just that, I’m pulled to my feet and his lips are on mine in a ravishing kiss that makes every erotic tale I’ve read seem like a child’s fantasy. And I realize that’s what I’ve had all this time for him. A girlish fantasy that could never live up to this flesh and blood reality.
Tremors rock my body as Austin glides his warm mouth down my neck and we land on the bed in a tangle of limbs.
“Where are the handcuffs?” I ask.
“How do you know about the handcuffs?”
“Condom, I said condom,” I hastily backtrack.
“We’ll discuss this later.”
He kisses every inch of my body, unraveling me with his tongue and fingers, finding erogenous zones I didn’t know existed until now. Nothing I could have imagined in my wildest fantasies compares to the whisper of his warm breath against my skin, the tug of his hands in my hair, the heavy pants, the feel of his hard body against my softness.
I pull him closer, wanting to do all the things I’ve spent years pining over in my mind. Wanting this to be as good for him as it is for me. I don’t want him to ever forget our first time together. Because I know no matter what happens after this night, I’ll never forget it. My greedy lips and hands trail over his body, exploring and reveling in the discovery of spots that make him moan a little louder and pant a little heavier.
My mind photographs all the sexy things about him, saving them to look at later. The sweat on his brow. The tussled hair. The kiss-swollen lips.
Every nerve ending in my body is electrified as he rolls on a condom and settles between my legs. He braces on one arm, looking down between us as he rubs the head of his cock against my entrance. “You’re so wet,” he says. “I need inside you, Chloe. Are you ready for me?”
Our eyes meet, and I whisper my deepest secret, “I’m scared.”
“Me too,” he murmurs, holding my hand above my head.
“I want you more than I’ve wanted anything.” I arch my hips and the tip eases inside, stretching and filling me.
“Fuck,” he rasps as he slides further into me. “You’re so tight.”
When he says those words, it turns me on even more. I buck against him, encouraging him to go faster and ease this ache in my core.
“Yes,” I pant out. “More. I want more.”
He groans and catches his bottom lip with his teeth, taking his time, letting me acclimate to his size, inching deeper until he’s rooted to the hilt.
This.
This moment.
I want to memorize it and lock it away. Never share it with anyone. Because it’s too good. It’s mine and no one else can have it.
He withdraws and my body misses him immediately, but he reads me like a book, thrusting back in with a quick stroke, never breaking eye contact. Need swirls with passion, and I cling to him, scraping my nails down his back, over his ass, moaning out his name as he rocks in and out, over and over.
This is not sex. Or fucking. There’s no doggy-style or position that prevents eye contact. This feels like making love. This feels like bliss.
I search his eyes, nearly black now, to see if he’s feeling it too. His stare is so intent; there is no mask for me to hide behind. It’s as if he can see inside me, right to where I have all my insecurities hidden. And they don’t frighten him.
My eyes fall shut as I languish in the connection, in the burn simmering low in my belly, threatening to incinerate me.
“Look at me,” he says, pumping faster, creating a delicious friction. “Don’t shut me out. I want to see everything you’re feeling.”
I do as he says, and his hips jerk, driving in so deep I feel him in my soul. In a place I’ve let no one reach. I feel him in my heart.
“You’re going to make me come soon,” I say, with quick pants, meeting his thrusts.
“Oh God,” he says, jerking faster. “Come on me. I’m waiting for you.” The arm braced beside me quivers with the strain of holding back.
My toes tingle and my orgasm looms with every swift stroke. As he pumps into me, our sweat-soaked bodies slide against each other like they were made for each other. As the tightening low in my belly unwinds, I shatter beneath him, leaving the pieces for him to put back together.
“I feel you coming. Jesus,” he says, ramming into me with ferocious strokes.
As my orgasm crests, his body shudders, and he releases on a growl. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, watching the pleasure roll across his face like sunlight on a canvas, revealing new things for me to appreciate. The clench of his jaw. The errant lock of hair dropped onto his forehead. The shadow of his thick lashes when he briefly closes his eyes.
When our bodies calm, he stays inside me, sprinkling my face with kisses. My cheeks, nose, forehead, eyes, and lips.
And then he pulls out and heads to the bathroom. After a few minutes, he returns with a towel and cleans me up.
He pulls the covers back on the bed, and drags me into his arms. I snuggle into him, still feeling him inside me. In the darkness, I ghost my foot along his leg, already replaying everything in my mind. The silence is comfortable, and I watch the shadows cast by the moon, dance along the wall.
“That…that was amazing,” he says, tracing lazy eights on my arm.
“Yeah, it was.”
I don’t know what else to say, because I have no words to elaborate. It was more than amazing. It was perfect, really. All that waiting was worth it. I’d wait centuries to have that again. A lifetime. It was that good. That special.
“Thanks, that’s kind of what the salesman said. If you ever stop making pottery, that may be your second calling.” I laugh and he pulls me closer. “It feels good with you in it. I’m a bed hog, just so you know. So if you find yourself hanging off the edge, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“Good to know.” See, I didn’t know everything about him. “Did you know King Tut slept in a bed made entirely of ebony and gold?”
“I did not know that.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Yeah. His servants slept on palm fronds. Sad, right?”
He chuckles, and with my head against his chest, I listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat until it lulls me to sleep.
There is no turning back now.
He knows it.
I know it.
We’ll never be just friends again.
And all that terror I felt about it?
Gone.
This is what it feels like to have all your dreams come true.
Seven
I really ought to know by now that sex soothes my mind, but my anxieties are never really gone, just napping. They reawaken and stretch their ugly claws when on my lunch break I spy Lucy and Finn, wearing matching SuperFit gear, sipping celery juice. I’m almost out the door of the smoothie shop, undetected, when I hear Lucy call out to me.
“Chloe, hi.”
I’m in that awkward phase of pretending I don’t hear her, fiddling with my straw to avoid making eye contact, when she rises from their table by the window and waves her arm. Ugh.
“Chloe,” she says again, louder this time.
A stranger taps me on the shoulder. “I think she’s trying to get your attention.”
Thanks, stranger.
I turn toward the sound of her voice. “Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.”
She motions me over, and I force my feet in their direction.
“I see you’re making healthy choices,” Finn says. “Good girl.”
“Well, I had a burger earlier. With mayonnaise.” I hold my strawberry smoothie cup up in a passive-aggressive move. “This is my dessert. Extra whipped cream.”
Summer Lovin: A Dating Season Novella Page 4
