Rum and Notes (Love After Midnight Book 1)

by Elise Faber

  “Babe?”

  I nodded. “You can kiss me,” I murmured then held my breath.

  I expected him to rush me, to slam me back against the counter, and plunder my mouth like a man possessed. Instead, he came near, but he did it slowly, prowling toward me, herding me backward until my spine hit the edge of the counter. He leaned close, my breath caught, his arm extended, and—

  He reached passed me.

  “Are these blueberries?”

  My lungs hitched. My brain scrambled to figure out what in the ever-loving fuck he was talking about when Kace could have his mouth on mine, his tongue thrusting past my lips to tangle—

  He picked up the bowl, brought it into the few inches between us.

  My eyes flicked down and back up. “Yes.” It was a whisper.

  “I love blueberries,” he murmured.

  “Me, too.” Another whisper.

  “Hmm.”

  I felt that vibration of sound all the way to my toes. Okay, fine, that was a lie. It arrowed straight to my pussy and paused, causing heat to bloom and moisture to pool.

  Kace studied the bowl for an interminable moment before plucking out one round berry and setting the rest aside. He brought it up to his lips, and I saw a flash of white as his teeth came down and bit it in half.

  I jolted, feeling those teeth on my clit as realistically as if he’d been between my thighs.

  He finished chewing, and his mouth curved. But I barely noticed. My gaze was on his hand. He was carefully running the remaining half of the berry between his finger, squeezing gently so the juice was dripping out and coating the tips. Then he brought them up to his mouth and sucked them clean.

  My mind blanked out.

  Another berry found its way into his hand, my brain too hazy to process him reaching for the bowl or conjuring it out of who knew where, because this time he brought it to my lips, encouraging me to take a bite.

  So, I did.

  The flavor exploded in my mouth, tart chased by sweet, juice coating my tongue as I chewed and swallowed.

  “Good?” he asked.

  I nibbled the corner of my mouth and nodded.

  Blue eyes went hotter. “I promised that the next time I saw you do that”—he nodded toward my bottom lip—“I was going to take a bite out of that pretty mouth.” Before I could fully process what he’d said, Kace had leaned down, nipped at my lips, then straightened, cocky grin in place.

  I lifted my hand to my mouth, touched the stinging corner, and yet it didn’t hurt exactly. More like, it was pulsing, nerves firing, suddenly desperate for more than a flash of teeth.

  Kace must have read that because he snagged my wrist, tugged my hand away, and then brought his fingertips up and brushed them across my lips.

  Or painted.

  Because they were dripping in sticky blueberry juice that he dragged across my mouth. “I fucking love blueberries,” he muttered, and then he kissed me.

  I was beyond turned on. I was trembling, knees shaky, pussy clenching, body on fire, and so, when his mouth finally touched mine, I exploded into action. My hands slid into his hair, weaving tightly the same time I jumped and wrapped my thighs around his waist. He caught me, hands on my ass, pressing me into the counter, grinding the length of his erection against my center. As all of that was happening, his mouth was working, his tongue thrusting deep and in time to the movements of his hips.

  It was rough. It was wet. It was raunchy.

  And it was by far the hottest kiss of my life.

  But eventually my lungs demanded oxygen, and so, I had to pull away. Kace released my mouth when I tugged lightly at his hair, his hot, rapid breaths puffing against my lips, his eyes darkened to navy, his palms still cupping my ass.

  Then one of his fingers moved, and I shuddered.

  “You know you have a hole here?”

  “Wh-what?”

  His calloused fingertip brushed against my bare skin. “You’ve got a hole”—another brush, this time lower and more inside—“here.”

  “I do?”

  He bent, tongue tracing across my collarbone that was exposed by my loose sweatshirt. “No panties. No bra. Holes showing off that gorgeous ass and a shirt that’s about to fall off.” His eyes came up to meet mine. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything,” I grumbled and shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “You barged in here and got all up in my blueberries.”

  He lifted a brow. “I thought you loved blueberries.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “But I don’t love to share.”

  A grin. “I think I can make it up to you.”

  I crossed my arms.

  His eyes flicked down. “Not helping me with your no bra situation, babe.”

  I huffed. “You gonna put me down?”

  Kace’s lips pressed together, head tilting as he considered that. “Will you make me pancakes if I do?”

  Now, it was my chance to consider.

  But it turned out that I should have considered longer because the next words that came out of my mouth were—

  “I’ll make you pancakes, if you go down on me.”

  Thirteen

  Kace

  I stared down at Brooke, unable to believe the words that just came out of her pretty, little mouth.

  Though, she hadn’t been showing me much shy over the last few days. I’d seen the fire underneath that armor, had felt the heat of her lips and body against mine. And I’d read some of her books. Shy might be the surface, but shy wasn’t what was inside.

  “Babe,” I murmured.

  She nibbled on the corner of her mouth again, and I felt that flash of teeth along my cock.

  “Babe.”

  A warning this time. A reminder of what that did to me.

  Her lip slid free, glistening slightly, and fuck that was just as bad.

  “Look at me.”

  Emerald eyes rose to meet mine, and the heat in them was palpable. She wanted my mouth on her. I wanted that, too. Fuck yes, I did. I’d just needed to see the confirmation in her face, didn’t want to jump too fast when we were just getting started—

  Her cheeks flushed red, and those pretty eyes started to turn away.

  Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

  I pushed the bowl of blueberries to the side, shoved the pathetic excuse for shorts she was wearing down, and plunked her onto the edge of the counter.

  She gasped, probably from the cold of the tile hitting her ass, but I didn’t give her time to focus on that. I dropped to my knees, yanked her shorts the rest of the way off, and shoved myself between her thighs. Then I spread her wide and dove into her pussy.

  Normally, I’d go slow, trying to learn every single thing she liked, every spot that made her squirm and moan, but consciously aware of it or not, we’d both had six months of foreplay. Which meant she was dripping wet and the first touch of my tongue against her clit made her scream, grip my head with both hands, and start riding my mouth.

  So there wasn’t time for tricks or finesse or fancy techniques.

  I firmed my tongue, kept it moving, and let her do her thing.

  And she did it incredibly well, finding a rhythm that I matched, savoring the sweetness of her against my tongue, thinking that my woman fucking my face was the hottest experience of my life.

  Her hands tightened in my hair and she let out a keening moan, but her motions started to falter, so I took over. She was hovering on the edge, and I gripped her hips, moved closer, flicking my tongue harder and faster until her head fell forward, and she stiffened, another moan escaping her lips, but this was one of release instead of desperation.

  I guided her down, easing up on her clit, slowing my movements until she went limp.

  Carefully, I untangled her fingers and reached for her shorts, slipping them over her ankles then lifting her off the counter to tug them up and over her hips.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, forehead dropping to my chest.

  “For
the orgasm or the shorts?”

  A huff of laughter. “You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Only in my day job.”

  She shook her head then gasped when I scooped her up into my arms. “I owe you pancakes,” she said.

  I carried her to the couch, grabbed one of the hundred blankets tossed over it, and tucked it around her. But when I saw what was printed on it, I grinned. “Book Me Harder?” I asked.

  Her cheeks went pink again. “One of my readers sent it to me.” She started to slide it off, but I tugged it back in place. “Pancakes, remember?”

  “I remember,” I told her. “I’ll make them.”

  She nibbled at her lip, and I took advantage of her cuteness to steal another kiss. “Fuck, babe. Makes me hard when you do that.”

  More pink, but her emerald eyes flashed with fire. “Can I feel the evidence of that?”

  My brow lifted. “Who’s the troublemaker now?”

  Her grin took my breath away, but I forced myself to turn for the kitchen, to scoop up the bowl of pancake batter and start heating up the griddle. I wasn’t a great cook, but I could do breakfast.

  “There enough for two here? Or should I make more batter?”

  Silence.

  I rotated to face her. “Babe?”

  “Are you seriously going to make me pancakes?” she asked. “I mean I pro—”

  “I don’t need any motivation to go down on you, babe,” I said. “I’ve been dreaming about it for six months. And I know I showed up in the middle of the night, but I didn’t exactly plan on coming here for a booty call. I came because my cell died before I could text you back and I was close by, so it was easy to walk a few blocks. Though I did see some dude walking around in his underwear, and that was very confusing because he said he was on vacation, and why you’d walk around in your underwear because you’re on vacation, let alone be doing it in the middle of the night, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Anyway, my point is that I came because you texted and because I think we have something special, but that the special is new and unexplored, so I came to ask you to go out to dinner with me tomorrow.”

  Spinning, I turned back to the bowl, decided there was enough batter for two, and started ladling it on the now-hot griddle.

  “Kace?”

  “Yeah?” I kept my focus on the pancakes.

  “I was going to make eggs, too.”

  I shook my head, but I was grinning. “Quiet, but definitely a troublemaker.” I grabbed the spatula off the counter and began flipping. “But turns out, I make great scrambled eggs.”

  Fourteen

  Brooke

  I was sitting next to Kace, a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs balanced on my lap, Scream playing in the background because it turned out he liked scary movies, too.

  Well actually, he’d said, “I’m more of an action man, but I can get behind horror films, too.”

  And then I’d snorted because the only thing I could focus on was action and getting behind, and I might be a grown woman, but I also had never grown out of my dirty mind. Probably because I got to write all the dirty jokes I wanted in my books and partly because what was life without a few innuendos?

  Kace had taken one look at my face, grinned again—I really, really liked his smile—and handed me my plate. Then he’d leaned down and nipped my jaw, whispering in my ear, “Troublemaker.”

  I liked that.

  Liked that somehow I could be me when I was with Kace.

  Absently, I picked up the remote and hit fast-forward. For some reason, the bathroom scene where the killer comes out and attacks the girl at the mirror had always freaked me out. So, I skipped it.

  Same with the dog scene in I Am Legend. I couldn’t do it, so I skipped ahead.

  I hit play, tossed the remote down, and started shoveling in pancakes again. Probably, I should have made an effort to eat slowly or daintily or something, but I was cuddled in a blanket in ratty pjs with a movie from my child—well, teenage—hood on the TV.

  This wasn’t time for fancy.

  It was time to hang out. With Kace. Who—whoops—was staring at me like I’d grown two heads?

  “Whatcha doing?” he asked carefully.

  I shrugged. “Scene freaks me out.”

  His head tilted to the side and he paused, his fork with a square of blueberry pancake still speared on it three inches from his mouth. “So, let me get this straight,” he said and shoved it into his mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing before he moved on. “You love scary movies, but when you watch them, you fast-forward through all the scary parts.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not all the scary parts,” I muttered. “Just the ones that are really bad.”

  He stared at me for a good ten seconds. Then his lips started twitching, warmth sunk into his eyes, and he burst out laughing. “Holy shit, babe,” he said and started back in on the pancakes.

  I set my plate on the table with a thunk. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  Instant quiet.

  “Babe.” He stopped, stared at me, considering. “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Heard that before,” I said with a scoff and stood, not one hundred percent sure why I was pissed off, why I was pushing this. But . . . I hardly knew the man and he was in my apartment, laughing at me and—

  “You should go.” I took a step, intending to show him the front door.

  But I’d forgotten about the blanket and so that single step was enough for me to eat it. The fleece tangled around my ankles, I lost my balance, and tipped toward the coffee table, arms flailing for purchase.

  I heard Kace grunt, but I was more concerned with the oak coming straight at my forehead.

  Except, it didn’t come.

  Warm hands grabbed my shoulders, and I was yanked backward.

  I’d been on my feet. Now I was in Kace’s lap.

  “Babe,” he murmured.

  I closed my eyes, unable to look at him. “I think you should go,” I said again.

  More silence. But this time it was trailed by a sigh. “You really want me to go, I’ll leave, but I’m not going until I’ve said this.”

  My shoulders tightened. I knew what was coming, what he’d realized. That we were too different, on completely alternate scales. I’d thought I could be all self-loving and get over the disparity between us, between his absolute beauty and my normalness, but I couldn’t because I knew that one day he wouldn’t look at my quirks as amusing little trifles, as cute little things that Brooke did. One day he’d resent my books, me brushing him off when I was on deadline, me living in a fictional world instead of the real one. And someday, he’d want me to wear something sexy when I wasn’t sexy. I was T-shirts and scrunchies and mom jeans. The closest thing approaching sexy I had were some false lashes in my makeup drawer that I’d nearly managed to glue to my cheek instead of my eye, where they belonged.

  He might think I was great now.

  But that wouldn’t last.

  It never lasted.

  “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

  “Look at me.” Kace’s palm cupped my cheek then slid into my hair, tilting my head so when I opened my eyes, I could see straight into this. “You don’t see yourself clearly. You hide—”

  I stiffened and tried to pull away, but he simply wrapped an arm around my waist and kept me in place.

  “You hide,” he said again. “Hide your beauty and your sense of humor. I don’t know why you’re hiding, but I do know that you gave me—a guy who hasn’t had much good in his life—a glimpse of what’s inside of you six months ago when you smiled up at me for refilling your glass. That smile was pure, and it was sweet, and I didn’t forget it, babe. I kept making it my mission to get that smile, until you felt comfortable enough to show me more of you.”

  His fingers tugged lightly at my hair. “I saw you with Brent, saw how he was with you, and I knew he saw the same. So, I know I jumped from cautious to warp speed real fast, but I also knew that if I di
dn’t, I’d miss out on the opportunity to get to know you.” A beat. “And a guy like me, a guy who grew up in the system, who joined the military because it was the only way out of shit, a guy who had to deal with the fallout of serving because while it’s noble shit, it still leaves a fuck-ton of demons behind. Also, being a guy who never knew sweet and silly and blushes actually existed . . . for him, for me, I knew I needed to grab on to the chance to know that.”

  He bent, kissed me on the forehead, and gently shifted so he could slip out from under me.

  I couldn’t move because his words were circling through my head, absolutely pounding through my brain.

  Kace scooped up the plates, put them in the sink, then headed for the front door.

  “I know I got in that gorgeous mind of yours, babe, but I’m gonna need you to get up at least to lock the door.”

  I couldn’t move, didn’t know how to move.

  But apparently my lips did because—

  “Spare key is in the drawer next to the oven. Daisy keychain.”

  A beat of quiet then, “You like daisies?”

  “My favorite flower.”

  “I’m off tonight,” he said. “I’ll bring you some.”

  I still didn’t move, was still frozen to the couch cushions, but I did hear his footsteps moving across the floor, heard the drawer open, and the contents move as he retrieved the key. My heart was pounding, I was sweating, my throat was constricted impossibly tight.

  Just before he reached the door, I managed to squeeze out, “I’ll cook.”

  His feet paused. “Babe,” he murmured.

  Then the door closed.

  A second later the locked clicked.

  A second after that the tears came.

  I just couldn’t figure out if they were happy or sad.

  An hour later, I’d showered, thrown sweats and a shirt on, and had my phone in my hand. I wanted to call Hay, to talk to my twin so desperately about Kace, but he was gone, and I was alone and . . . maybe I wasn’t quite as alone as I’d previously thought.