On Monday nights, she gets her parents, or her friend Stacey to babysit Riley, and we get a night where it’s just us. Every now and then we go out, but most of the time, she comes to my place, and we watch a movie and mess around a bit. We’re still working through my list of things I’d like to do to her, and so far, she hasn’t once had some sort of trigger reaction that could take her back to the moment of her attack. It makes me think she might actually be as ready as she says she is. But I still worry. I’m nervous that I’m going to do something that’s going to scar her and cause her to retreat, and the last thing I want to do is drive her away. So, to be safe, I’m still insisting we take things slow.
Normally, she won’t let me cook for her, because she’s insistent that I can’t step a foot in a kitchen on my day off. Most of the time, I humour her, and we get take out or delivery. But tonight, I’m cooking, because frankly, I love cooking, and I love watching people enjoy my food.
“What’s that smell?” she asks, when she comes through the door and presses her lips to mine. I’ve given her a key so she can let herself in when she wants to.
“I cooked.” I smile and take her hand, glancing back at her as I lead her to the kitchen.
She’s so beautiful that it hurts my chest. I love everything about her. And I especially love these dresses of hers. She seems to have an endless wardrobe full of different summer dresses that she wears every time I see her. I’ve never seen the same one twice. The current one is a pale yellow, and has a halter neck that exposes the smooth skin on her back when she stops and removes her wrap cardigan. She drapes it over the top of her handbag and leaves both on a chair at the dining room table.
“I thought this was our night off from any sort of work.”
“Cooking for you isn’t work. It’s pleasure, believe me.”
She blushes a little, which is something she does every time I give her a compliment. It’s kind of adorable and reminds me just how innocent she really is. Which only serves to remind me of her fragility, and the fact that I’m worried I’ll break her. I don’t want to mess this up.
“What is it? It smells like some sort of barbeque marinade or something…”
I grin. “Well, after you commented on how much you like ribs the last time we were out, but didn’t order them because they’re too messy, I thought I’d make you some so we can have them here, and you can get as messy as you like.”
She looks down at her light coloured dress. “You’ve never seen me eat ribs. I’m might need a bib.”
Laughing, I press a kiss to the side of her head then pour her a glass of shiraz before holding it out to her.
She takes it and we clink glasses, before taking a sip. She stands beside me, as I place my glass down and go back to chopping up the salad I was working on, before I heard her come in.
“Is there anything I can help with?” she asks, leaning against the benchtop.
“How about you take the wine to the table on the balcony. This is the last thing I have to do, so you can sit down if you like.”
Finishing up in the kitchen, I prepare our plates then carry them out to the table I’d set earlier.
“My god, look at that,” she exclaims, as I set her plate in front of her. “How do you get ribs to look like art? Do you serve this at your restaurant?”
“No,” I reply. “Although you never know, our menu changes with the seasons, so I could always fancy it up a bit and put it on there.”
“Fancy it up a bit?” she points at her plate, indicating the neatly placed pork ribs nested on a bed of salad and topped with shredded lengths of crispy potato. “This isn’t fancy enough?”
I laugh as she picks up the potato with her fingers and pops it in her mouth, smiling and nodding, as she crunches and pulls an amused face at me.
“It probably is. But I do have to be careful. Our menu is all about Australian tastes. So we take things that are local and work with those flavours to be as innovative as we can. It’s about staying cutting edge, I suppose, which is why I travel a lot to learn what the world is eating and share some information about Australia.”
“Sounds a lot more exciting than what the chefs make at the club. It’s all roasts and calamari. There’s rarely anything too exciting on the menu.”
“How is the club going these days?”
She shrugs. “It’s OK. The press we got when you came helped buoy the numbers for a while. But they’re slowing down as summer comes to an end. I keep telling dad that he should make the restaurant a bit more exciting. But he’s more focused on coaching, and the bottom line of the club to worry about taking any sort of risk with the restaurant.”
“I could always have a chat to your chef if you like; maybe go over the menu with him. We could see if there’s a way to make some changes that will keep people coming back through the doors? He seemed like a nice bloke when I was there, so I don’t think he’ll have a problem with me approaching him.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. I’ve got a bit of experience under my belt you know.”
“That would be great,” she says, as she cuts into meat that slides from the bone when she touches it. When she puts some in her mouth, she closes her eyes and savours the flavours on her tongue. It’s beautiful to watch. “Oh my god. Please teach him how to make this.”
I laugh. “I’ll slip him the recipe as long as he promises never to share.”
While we eat, we talk for a while about anything and everything. Our conversation flows naturally, and even when we’re quiet, looking out over the city, it feels natural too. It feels like it’s a moment that I want to freeze in time. But that’s how I always feel when I’m with her–like I never want this to end, and I have the fear in my chest that it will, and that fear won’t go away.
* * *
Dakota
“And you didn’t even need a bib,” Brad teases, as we carry the plates and glasses back inside from our dinner.
“Thank heaven for small mercies,” I respond, as I help him load the dishwasher companionably. I watch him as he rinses a plate, his white button up shirt rolled up to his elbows. He’s always so well dressed–always in dark slacks or jeans with a button up or a crisp looking t-shirt. At times he even wears braces in place of a belt, and it’s sexy as sin. I used to think they were really old-fashioned looking, but on Brad with his dark hair and lean build, they look just right. The only casual thing he does, is wear Vans on his feet–I like that about him; it says he isn’t always serious and reminds me of the fun guy he was back when we were teens.
He closes the dishwasher and steps toward me, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me up against him. There’s music on in the background; some sort of bluesy sound coming from the bookcase, and he begins to step side to side slowly with me, encouraging me to dance.
“I’m not sure I’m any good at this,” I whisper, as he moves us together to the music.
“You don’t have to be,” he murmurs in return. “You just have to go with it.”
His hands move to clasp mine, and he steps away, pushing gently against mine before he spins me around in a circle then brings me back in so I’m pressed against his chest. My heart skitters about in my chest, and I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“I love those dresses that you wear,” he murmurs next to my ear, as we sway from side to side. “They have been begging for me to dance with you, just so I can twirl you around.”
I grin. “Are you trying to look up my skirt, Bradley Rae?”
He shrugs. “Maybe,” he replies with a wink.
I laugh in response and settle into the dance, following his lead with ease. He’s good at guiding me without making me stumble or trip on my own feet. It’s like he’s telling me what to do with his hands.
“Who taught you to dance, anyway?”
“Aunt Sara. She liked the old radio stations.”
I rest my head against his chest. “I wish I’d been able to meet her probably. She seemed so nice when
I saw her at the club.”
“She was.”
“How old were you when you went to live with her?”
“Ten. I remember thinking it was the worst thing in the world being sent to live with an old lady–she was seventy-two at the time. I thought she’d make me learn to knit or something. I didn’t realise she’d be the best person I ever met.”
“Sounds like she made a big difference to you.”
“She did. She could have sent me to live with some foster family or something, but she took on the job herself, and I can tell you that it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t the simplest kid in the world to raise.”
“Well, you turned out alright.”
“That’s all her,” he insists.
“I don’t know. I think maybe you just have a really good heart.”
“Maybe. But I don’t really believe in that nature versus nurture stuff. I think it’s all about your circumstances. I was a right little bastard when I went to live with her. I haven’t told you much about my mother, have I?”
He spins me again. “No, you haven’t,” I say, as I land once more against his chest.
“Well, she wasn’t really present. She was always busy trying to get some guy to marry her. Didn’t have a lot of time for me. So I was a bit of a latchkey kid, and I basically raised myself. Although, I didn’t do a very good job of it,” he laughs. “Aunt Sara had her work cut out for her.”
“Do you know what happened to your mother?”
“Not a clue,” he states. “She didn’t even show up for Aunt Sara’s funeral. She was her aunt, so my great aunt, and she was only person who had any time for either of us. But she just dumped me and ran off with some guy, never to be heard of again.”
“That’s sad.”
“I don’t think so. I’m a much better man because of Aunt Sara’s influence. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.”
“You really think that?” I ask, wondering if he really does believe that the traits from his parents don’t matter–it was his upbringing from a woman who loved him unconditionally that made the difference.
“I have no doubt in my mind,” he confirms, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.
Twenty-Nine
Brad
“Up for some dessert?” I ask, murmuring the question against her lips when we break for air after our dancing turned into kissing, which led to us heading to the couch, which led to things getting a little heated.
Her hands pull on my shirt, as she sucks my lower lip back into her mouth. She’s driving me crazy in the best possible way.
“Only if there’s an item on your list that involves chocolate sauce or whipped cream,” she whispers in my ear.
I grin and pull back a little so I can meet her eyes. “You want me to eat whipped cream off you?”
She shrugs, and I see that blush creep over her cheeks a little. I love it. “Or chocolate sauce, or even honey…” She pulls at her lip with her teeth, nervous about her boldness, but brave enough to put her desires out there.
I drop my head, pressing my mouth against hers to suck on the lip she’s biting. Then, releasing it slowly, I pull my head backward. I smile as our lips part, and she moves like she wants me to do it again. There’s a hunger in her eyes that I feel the need to satisfy.
“Well,” I murmur, moving so I’m kissing her neck and her chest. “It just so happens that it is on my list, but it’s a fair way down. We’ll be skipping over a few other fun activities.”
“I want this one,” she gasps, as my hand moves to grip her breast, kissing the soft flesh just above the neckline of her dress. “I’m ready.”
My heart beats faster in my chest as I think about what she wants me to do. While we’ve moved on to the point where I’m bringing her to orgasm with my hands beneath her clothes, and even entering her with my fingers, we haven’t actually removed her clothes before now.
This feels like it’s jumping too far ahead.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath; just the smell of her is putting me on edge.
My body wants her. What the hell is wrong with my mind?
“Brad,” she whispers, her fingers sliding through my hair, as I continue to pay attention to her breasts.
I inhale again, focusing on how wonderful this feels, as I slide my hands around her body and lift her off the couch.
I want to give her pleasure.
Carrying her to the kitchen, I sit her on the steel benchtop and stand between her parted thighs. Her breathing increases and her skin heats, as I run my hands up her back to the halter that’s tied behind her neck. I pull at the bow, and the long yellow straps fall loose in front of her. She sucks in her breath, arching forward as I move back around to take hold of her zip, slowly pulling it down until her dress falls open to her waist, exposing her breasts. It’s my turn to suck in my breath.
I swallow, my mouth feeling incredibly dry, as I look at her sitting before me, half naked, beautiful.
“Take it off me,” she whispers. “Take it all off.”
Then she lies back along the length of the island bench, holding my hands and placing them at her waist, where all I have to do is hook my fingers into her panties and pull them with her dress to the ground. Then I’ll have her naked.
My hands shake.
My cock throbs.
My mind worries.
“It’s OK,” she whispers. “I want this.”
Swallowing again, I nod, curling my fingers against her skin, as I take a hold of her clothing and slowly drag it down her legs, letting it drop on the floor beside me.
“You are just so beautiful, sweetheart. So damn perfectly beautiful.” I reach up and run my fingers reverently down the length of her body, skirting the edges of her breasts, and her most private area. She shakes beneath me, letting out tiny erotic moans that cloud my mind and want me to forget my common sense. I reach out and open the fridge, pulling out the cream I’d prepared to go with our dessert. “Are you sure you really want this.”
She nods. “Take off your shirt.”
I place the bowl beside her, and pull my shirt free from my pants before undoing the buttons quickly from my neck until I’m all the way through. I can’t believe how much I’m shaking when I’ve been with this woman before. I’ve seen her naked. I took her virginity. I have worshipped every part of her. Yet, I’m still nervous, because that was before...
She reaches over to the bowl and dips her finger in. Then, as if my body takes over my mind and clouds my doubts, my hand shoots out and wraps around her wrist. I bring her finger to my mouth, slowly sucking the cream off, causing her to moan and arch her back, her breasts rising up, her nipples hard and tight, even though the air is warm and humid.
I drop of dot of cream on her chest, then one on each nipple, and three more leading downward, creating a line toward her dark curls. Her chest rises and falls as I lean over her and kiss her, the taste of vanilla bean cream in my mouth. Then I begin to move down her body, licking and sucking, starting at her chest then down to each nipple, spending enough time sucking and swirling my tongue around each bud, until the taste is all gone, and I can only taste her beautiful flesh.
“You taste better than cream,” I say, as I kiss between her breasts, running my tongue along the valley then up to the opposite peak to suck at the cream. Then I move to the first of the three dots of cream that point toward her mound, and her fingers slide through my hair, her body writhing and arching beneath me.
“Keep going, please,” she begs, when I reach the last dot of cream. Her hands urge me downward, and her legs are open and inviting. I lower myself to my knees and kiss her lightly on the inside of her thigh. Then I look at her beautiful pussy, glistening, aroused, and I lean in, taking that first taste.
“You definitely taste better than cream,” I murmur, as her arousal hits my tongue, sweet and perfect, causing my cock to feel unbelievably hard–like it’s never going to go down when this is through.
Her fingers curl in my ha
ir, and she moans long and low, as I run my tongue down between her folds to the tip of her opening then back up again. Swirling it around her clit, I suck back, as she closes her thighs around my head, trapping me against her. She pulls my hair and writhes against my mouth then she explodes, her clit pulsing beneath my tongue.
She’s in a complete position of power as she locks me in place, limiting the amount of air I can get into my lungs. But I keep going, enjoying the fact that she’s coming so hard, and so openly.
As the pulsing subsides, she releases me, her hands pulling at me as she sits up and catches my face in her palms, guiding me as I rise to meet her hungry lips.
“Kiss me,” she whispers, pulling my mouth against hers, before she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her naked chest against mine.
Her skin against my skin causes me to moan softly into her mouth, my tongue demanding against hers, as I allow my passion to get the better of me for just a moment.
“Make love to me,” she whispers. “Please, Brad. I’m ready.”
“Not here,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. “In the bedroom. I want you in my bed.”
Lifting her up, I carry her into my room, kissing her and touching her at every step. When we make it to the bed, I climb onto it with her naked form still wrapped around my middle. Then I slowly lower us down, grinding myself lightly against her core.
I let out a moan.
“Take off your pants,” she gasps, reaching down to undo my trousers.
I hold myself over her as she works the button then my zip, before reaching her hand inside to take hold of my rock hard shaft.
“Oh Cody,” I moan, as her fingers wrap around my girth, stroking me, touching me.
“I want you to come inside me,” she whispers.
Taste: Beautiful Series, Book 6 Page 12
