Summer Indiscretions

by Tamara Mataya

  Mel sashaying, spinning, and gliding around beneath my touch is fucking magnificent. Even I’m awed when she throws her head back and laughs with abandon, finally giving in to the thrumming beat. Her hips bounce against my hands, and though I’d like nothing more than to pull her to me and grind her six ways to Sunday, I pull back so I can watch her shine.

  This club is the place to be, judging by the expensive clothes and perfume on the dancers around us—a few celebs in here too. I’m pretty sure there’s a Jonas brother dancing with a Victoria’s Secret model…but I can’t stop staring at Mel.

  She tips her head back and closes her eyes for a second, sort of biting her lip. The fact that she’s not trying to be sexy while she does makes it even hotter. Effortlessly sexy, unpretentious. Everyone can learn from this powerful woman.

  The more she dances, the looser her movements get until she’s flowing around her spot on the floor and more than one person watches her surreptitiously from nearby. I never in a million years thought I’d come here and find something like this. She steps closer and gently grinds against me, making the movements more intimate, sexier, but still flirty and fun with cheeky glances up at me.

  I want her so much. I like her so much.

  She stays on the floor while I get us another drink, and when I get back, she’s so lost in the music that she no longer cares what other people think. If she actually paid attention, she’d see that she’s incredible. I’m not the only one watching her move, smiling when she does, wanting to be with her.

  We drink and dance and laugh.

  We sweat and smile and flirt.

  Her spine curls a little more, and she starts working her curves, owning her place on the floor. She throws me cheeky winks until the music slows into something heady and insistent.

  I pull her close, holding her tightly against me, enjoying the way she sways. God, she feels so good in my arms. I spin her slowly around until her back is pressed against my front, and she tips her head back against my chest. For a while we live there, my arms around her, her arms around mine, gently moving together. I savor the burn of her body in my arms until I can’t take it anymore.

  I lean down to ask if she wants to leave, and her face is already turned to mine.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she says.

  I smile. “Sounds good to me.”

  The street is slightly cooler, and Del is gone when we exit the club, but it’s a bright, clear night. A cab pulls up fairly quickly.

  “Where to?” The cab driver makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.

  I turn to Mel. “My place or yours?”

  “I’m starving.” She rubs her stomach. “It’s so freaking hot.” She twists her hair out of the way and fans her neck. “I definitely need food.”

  “Me too. What are the odds of finding some decent pizza in this town?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Compared to home? Slim to none.”

  “I know! Let’s make a pizza.”

  “Out of?” She waves her hand in a way that makes me pretty sure she’s had half a drink too many.

  “Ingredients.”

  “OK.” She gives the cab driver an address before turning to me. “The store by Shelby’s place is open late. I made a late-night coffee run there the other night. All she had was a weird chicory-carob mixture that smelled like burned toast with wood on it.”

  “The hippies like carob. I do not.”

  “OK, but it tasted like sugary shit.”

  I seize Mel’s hand, gripped with overwhelming affection for her. The backs of her knuckles are smooth beneath my lips, and I want to kiss my way up her arm, all the way to her shoulder and neck. But I don’t want to give the cab driver a free show, and if I start, I won’t be able to stop, so I give her hand a little squeeze and release it.

  She turns to me, eyes bright. “Want to make it a competition?”

  “How?”

  “I can’t see them having everything we need. How about we both grab all the things we think will make the best pizza and compare ingredients when we get home?”

  She makes everything fun, which is one of the best things about her. I lean in closer. “What’s the winner get?”

  Her smile is slow. “Whatever they want.”

  A contest where there are no losers. I love it. “Deal.”

  Chapter 13

  Melanie

  I feel vaguely ridiculous traipsing around the convenience store dressed like this. I glance across the short shelves, searching for Blake. He’s so cute with his serious expression, shopping like he’s doing something fiercely important instead of scavenging for ingredients to make a passable pizza—as though that will actually happen. He busts me staring at him, and when he flashes those dimples at me, I don’t care what I look like anymore.

  Dancing in his arms was the best thing in the world. He looked down at me like I was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. It felt like he really saw me—saw the woman I want to be. Confident, radiant.

  OK, I can’t stare at him all night and win this. I sidle down an aisle and suppress my smug grin when I find a just-add-water pizza-dough kit. It may not be the best tasting, but it’s the last one on the shelf. In the small section of canned goods, I find a small, dusty can of pizza sauce and set that in my basket as well.

  “What have you got in there?” Blake asks. He stands taller and cranes his neck to peer over the aisle and see in my basket, but I lower it and toss a big bag of chips on top for good measure.

  “Can I help you with something, Blake?” I pout my lips to match my haughty tone.

  He focuses on something behind me. “No, it’s fine. I think I see someone I know near the fridge.”

  A shoulder check confirms what I thought—there’s no one by the fridge. I grin as he saunters oh-so-casually toward the coolers. Of course! I’ll stop there for some cheese after he’s done. As soon as he bends over to grab something, I scurry to the counter where I noticed some pepperoni sticks on our way in. Since topping choices are slim here, it may be best to stick to the classic pepperoni and cheese pie.

  I manage to snag the pepperoni sticks and get halfway down an aisle before Blake finishes in the fridge.

  “Excuse me, but we’re closing.” A bored teenage boy sniffs affectedly and stares at me.

  Blake’s already at the counter, so I grab a couple cans of soda and head there too.

  “No peeking,” he says. He moves directly in front of me so I can’t see his purchases, but I’m busy trying to hide my own.

  “Never mind that. Keep your eyes off my basket.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside, then.” Blake turns to give the kid at the counter some money. “Hers too. Keep the change.”

  The kid bags my items, and I join Blake outside. He snags my hand in his, holding it all the way back to Shelby’s. Not a word is spoken until we get inside and head to the kitchen.

  “Buddy?” I wait, but he doesn’t appear. I shrug. “Must be prowling around the neighborhood.”

  “Glad he won’t be here to witness your loss?”

  “Dream on.” I’m not as hungry as I was—at least, not for shitty pizza—but Blake still seems excited about the game.

  “Ladies first?”

  I casually buff my nails on my chest. “I’d rather you go first. I’ll annihilate you after.”

  “So cocky.” He digs in his bag and sets a tube of ready-to-bake biscuits on the counter. “For the crust.”

  “A can of raw dough does not a crust make.”

  He smiles. “And for the toppings, brace yourself for this taste sensation.” He slaps a package of sliced, cooked ham onto the counter. “Are you impressed yet?”

  “At cooked ham? Please. Is that all you’ve got?”

  With a triumphant flourish, he sets a can of fruit cocktail beside them.

  �
��What’s that for?”

  He points at the label. “May I bring your attention to the pineapple chunks inside? With those, and my sexy ham slices, we’ve got the fixings for a classic Hawaiian pizza.” He pulls out a few round discs of cheese.

  “Hawaiian biscuits,” I point out with a grin, glad I found actual dough even if I forgot the cheese. I knew I’d forgotten something in my haste to get to the counter.

  “Semantics. What, you think you did better?” He crosses his arms. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Pepperoni is still preferable to soggy lunch ham. First, I pull out the pepperoni sticks, dragging one under my nose and holding it like a cigar. I unwrap one and bite the end. “Classic topping. Much better than cocktail fruit.”

  “I can’t fault you for that.”

  My small can of pizza sauce joins the pepperoni on the counter. “Another integral part of the pizza experience.”

  “Damn it. I knew I was forgetting something—unless we count the syrup from my fruit…which we don’t. OK, you’re pulling ahead.”

  “Hold on for the pièce de résistance. Actual pizza dough.” I thrust the box in his face. “Does it sting, baby?”

  He laughs and snags the kit, setting it down on the counter. “You win with the sauce and the dough, but I’m pretty sure this counts as cheating. Fifty points from Gryffindor.”

  I poke him in the ribs. “You’re just mad you didn’t find it first. I forgot about cheese, though. Can I have some of yours?” I bat my eyelashes at him.

  “Of course.” He smiles. “OK, seriously, I think if we combine our efforts into a pepperoni and ham pizza, we’re golden. Unless you like pineapple?”

  “I loathe pineapple on pizza, so I’m more than happy to forgo that topping.”

  “And are we going to make biscuits or your fancy-schmancy dough?”

  I raise my eyebrow. “Do you even have to ask?”

  He pushes the roll of biscuit dough out of the preparation area. “You could have indulged me a little.”

  “Nah. You’d never have respected yourself in the morning.”

  He laughs and pulls me close. I relax into his arms, squirming closer and closing my eyes. I never expected to find security in Blake Wilde’s arms, but it envelops me as tangibly as his strong embrace. Why can’t we live here where everything’s perfect and nothing hurts?

  I allow myself two more deep breaths of him before pulling back. I hand him a knife and the cutting board and let him work on the ham and pepperoni while I turn on the radio and work on the pizza dough.

  A jazz song comes on, and somehow, bopping around a stranger’s kitchen with Blake, making shitty, slapped-together pizza is the most adult I’ve ever felt. Life stretches out in front of me, and for the first time in a while, optimism bubbles up. Maybe I can do anything after all.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asks. “You’ve gone all quiet.” He bumps my shoulder with his.

  “I was just thinking that this is going to be terrible pizza.”

  He drops a slice of ham onto the dough, having opened the can of sauce and spread it around. “I find that hunger seasons things quite nicely. Also beer, but that didn’t happen tonight, so that palate killer is gone.”

  “I notice you didn’t refute my assertion about the pizza’s quality.”

  “You caught that, huh?”

  I nod. “Attention to detail is why I get paid the big bucks.”

  He pops a piece of pepperoni in my mouth.

  * * *

  BANG.

  Before I’ve fully woken up, Blake has shoved me to the floor and rolled on top of me. He covers my body with his while our hearts pound and we wait for another gunshot. He’s steady, but my hands shake and my knees feel rubbery.

  Are we under attack? Who the hell would shoot at us? What if someone shot a window out and hurt Buddy? If anything happened to Shelby’s cat, I’d never forgive myself.

  We must have fallen asleep on the couch after eating our way into matching food comas and stripping to our underwear. But Blake was so warm, and the movie couldn’t keep my attention.

  And now we’re being shot at.

  I never should have left the safety of New York. I mean, yeah, we still kill each other there, but at least back home the person will look you in the eyes before shoving you in front of a train.

  I try to breathe shallowly so I can hear better, but my heart thunders in my ears, covering everything else. A long moment passes, and Blake’s comforting weight leaves my body as he sits up.

  “You know, I don’t think that was actually a gunshot,” Blake says. He gives me a squeeze from behind.

  “I don’t know if it was or not, but should we check?” My voice shakes, and I hate it so goddamn much.

  “I’ll check. You get your phone ready to call 911 just in case.”

  I’d protest, but the way he stalks toward the kitchen is pretty hot, and at the end of the day, I’m no fighter. I’m glad he’s here with me, but I need to do something permanent about this damsel-in-distress bullshit.

  My fingers tremble on the phone. It’s just after three a.m., so we can’t have dozed for long, but I dial nine and one, waiting for a sign from Blake before proceeding.

  The light flicks on in the kitchen. “Oh my God.”

  “What is it? Blake?”

  His laughter is the last thing I expect. “Hang up the phone, Mel, and come see this.”

  I do, but I keep the phone on me just in case. There was a huge bang, after all.

  Blake spins slowly around the kitchen, stopping to stare at the ceiling. I move beside him, taking in the weird blobs of white. “What is that? Is that biscuit dough?”

  He nods. “Apparently when left unrefrigerated, the tubes turn into weak-ass percussion grenades.”

  Chunks of raw dough are everywhere. A blob falls from the ceiling, landing on Blake’s forehead with a wet slap, and I lose it. Laughter explodes from me with the same force as the biscuits came out of the can.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

  Tears slip down my cheeks.

  He backs me against the counter and grabs a chunk of dough.

  “No! It’s not funny,” I gasp for air, unable to quit laughing, even while he brandishes the dough at me like it’s a deadly snake curled up in his palm. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re such a liar.”

  I lean in and kiss his neck. “No, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

  He squishes the greasy dough against my face. “Now you can make it up to me.”

  My stomach aches from laughing. When was the last time I had fun like this? I feel more relaxed when I’m with him, like it’s OK to be silly and cut loose. Like it’s OK to be sexy and confident and take what I want with no regrets. Maybe I should be mad about the yeasty blob on my cheek, but all I can focus on is the way his body fits perfectly against mine—which makes me think about the perfect way he fits inside me.

  And I want that right now.

  Chapter 14

  Blake

  I pull back to help clean up. I don’t know how so much dough got everywhere. The can wasn’t that big—how much did they pack in it? The bits on the cupboard come off easily enough, and I’m glad the color scheme is light, or it would look worse than it actually is.

  I scoop most of what landed on the counter into my hand, using the glob to pick up more pieces that have been blasted to the cupboards.

  I look up and—for fuck’s sake, there’s even more on the ceiling.

  “This is brutal,” I say, laughing.

  “They should really put a warning on those things.”

  I toss the dough into the garbage and wash my hands. “Dangerous muffins.”

  She laughs. We should clean this up before it hardens, but I pull her into my arms, her back against my
chest, and kiss the nape of her neck.

  She tips her head to give me better access, and I take full advantage. “I believe I won our contest,” I say.

  She squeaks when I nip her earlobe. “I thought I was the winner.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I think it was technically a tie, but I’m claiming my reward first.”

  “Is that so? I mean, if we had been shot at tonight, you might have saved my life. What do you want for your reward?” She rubs her ass against my erection.

  I spin her around to look in her eyes. They’re all pupil. “You. I want you to fuck me, Mel. I want to watch you ride me. Lights on.”

  She shivers. “But with the lights, you’ll be able to see—”

  “Everything.” I press my hips against hers, and she moans. “Everything about you is incredible. Do you feel how much I want you?”

  She nods and shuts her eyes.

  “What’s holding you back?”

  “I am.” Her eyes open. “Not tonight.”

  She grabs my hand, and we hurry to the bedroom. She whips my clothes off while I’m distracted by the taste of her neck. I don’t even care that I’m standing here naked; I swing her up into my arms and head straight for the bed.

  “Wait,” she says. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to try. I think I could do it with you.”

  Her voice is shy, but her eyes pierce every inhibition I’ve ever had. No matter what it is, I will do whatever she wants just to make her feel good.

  I set her down but don’t let go. “Anything you want. What is it?”

  She smiles and kisses my chest. “I’ll be right back.” The look she tosses over her shoulder on the way out makes me bite my lip.

  What is she doing? Maybe she’s grabbing whipped cream or something she wants licked off her body—or wants to lick from mine. I’m not typically a fan of food in the bedroom, but whatever Mel wants, Mel’s going to get.

  Twice.

  I lie back on the bed, propped on my elbows as I wait for her return. My dick is so hard it touches my stomach.