by Alexis Anne
But I quickly discovered teasing him in the kitchen was the perfect place to role-play with the Dread Pirate Roberts. Plus he always blushed. It was adorable and made my heart pitter-patter in a really weird but addictive way.
“All right. Chocolate chip pancakes with peanut butter, bacon, coffee . . . anything else before I send you on your way?”
He was on the road for the next three days and I hated to admit that I kind of, maybe, missed him already. “An orgasm?”
He leaned across the counter, stopping just short of kissing me. “As you wish.”
Then he pecked me hard, once, before spinning around and donning his “Kiss the Cook” apron. That’s right ladies and gentlemen. I had a naked chef wearing an apron to cover his manhood, his bare ass on display.
“So is it just breakfast food or do you have a talent for other meals as well?”
“I can slice cheese and display cold cuts like it’s an art form. I also have a knack for beer selections.”
“No rump roasts or turkeys?”
He whipped the batter with a whisk. “Nope. Just breakfast. That’s what happens when you’re raised by a man and an aunt down the street.”
He’d mentioned bits and pieces about his mother dying but I hadn’t asked for more, mostly because I was still holding onto this idea that we were fuck buddies and nothing more. But I wasn’t stupid. This was more. Not a relationship, mind you, but a friendship for sure.
One that happened to come with a side of cum.
Okay, that was a truly terrible pun.
“So you ate breakfast three meals a day?” I asked.
“Ha! No. I mean, there was a fair amount of breakfast for dinner. Eggs, pancakes, cereal . . . but mostly we grabbed sandwiches from the deli for lunch and had pizza or takeout for dinner, unless Aunt Violet was cooking. We ate dinner at her house most nights when it wasn’t baseball season.”
Which was most of the year. Fall ball, spring ball, summer ball . . . there was no such thing as an off season when you loved the game.
He poured the batter onto the griddle. “Aunt V took pity on me after a few years. She saw how much we enjoyed the breakfast foods and that I was teachable. She took us from scrambled eggs to omelets, from Bisquick pancakes made according to the label to this.” He winked.
“So Aunt V taught you how to cook?”
“No. Mom taught me how to cook.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I was ten and she was sick for a while, but she was the one who taught me how to crack an egg, measure ingredients, man the stove. Stuff like that. Aunt V taught me how to mix ingredients on my own and experiment.”
It was sweet that he was defensive of his memories with his mother.
He flipped the pancakes. “What about you? Can you cook?”
I had never once offered to make food for Wes. I gave up cooking around the time I left Seneca. Outside of basic meal prep—emergency pasta nights, soup, eggs—I lost my desire for all things domestic. I ate out, picked up prepared meals, had a cleaning lady, and lived in a maintenance free condo.
“Once upon a time I loved baking desserts.”
“Once upon a time? That sounds ominous.”
I shrugged. “A story for another day, maybe. It’s long and not very happy.”
He removed the bacon from the oven and began fixing my coffee. Cream, one scoop of sugar. He stirred, eyes pinched in thought the whole time. “You can kick me in the balls if this is too much but I think I’m seeing a trend here.”
“Trend?” I took the coffee and sipped up its warm goodness.
“Something hurts you, you cut it out.”
He waited for me to reply, hovering over the counter with his “Kiss the Cook” apron staring me in the face.
“You’re not wrong. I don’t have time for regrets or being pulled backward towards the things I’ve already learned don’t work.”
“And cooking didn’t work for you, Doc?”
I took another sip to hide the blush I knew was creeping up my chest. Wes was far more perceptive than I would have liked in a lover. “Cooking is part of something that didn’t work for me, so I stopped.”
He waited until I met his gaze, then he gave me one of his trademark Wes Allen smiles. “Good for you.” Then he spun around and fixed my plate, all while I distracted myself with his naked ass. It was much better than delving into things like why all these years later I still wouldn’t bake a cake. It had been long enough. I’d proven I could live my life my way.
And yet, cake still reminded me of marriage and staying home to make babies and obey my husband.
He slid my plate under my hands. “Breakfast is served.”
And it looked delicious. This man had a special way of making me feel happy. So happy I was cupping a steaming mug of coffee and grinning down at a delicious plate of food he’d made just for me.
Click.
“Did you just take my picture?”
He shrugged. “Yes? Is that a problem?”
“I look like crap! Why would you take a picture?”
He shook his head and set his phone down. “You look gorgeous, babe. You always look gorgeous, and right now, in my shirt, smiling down at my pancakes, you look extra gorgeous to me. I wanted to remember it.”
“Gorgeous,” I snorted, running a hand through my hair. “With my freshly-fucked hair and day-old makeup?”
He came around the counter and spun me on the barstool. One hand cupped my cheek and the other braced my neck as I looked up, up, up at him. “You look happy. And there is nothing—absolutely nothing—more beautiful than a woman who is happy.”
He kept one hand on the back of my neck and his other slid down my throat, between my breasts, over my hip, and then finally, between my legs.
He tipped me back as he touched me there. “It is indescribably hot to be with a woman who knows what she wants, lets me be me, and enjoys fucking as much as I do.” He moved back and forth over my clit until I was panting with want. “So when you smile at my pancakes looking genuinely happy, it makes my dick hard and all I can think about is getting you wet enough that I can pound you as hard as I can.”
Oh.
Well then.
“Breakfast can wait,” I said breathlessly.
“Yes it can.”
He grabbed my hand and led me back to the bedroom, dodging Snickers on the way. “You stay out, cat. This is no place for you.” Then he glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “He would be scarred for life if he saw what I was about to do to you.”
My core pulsed. “I did say I wanted an orgasm before I left.”
The door slammed shut and suddenly I was on the bed. “And I always make good on my promises. How do you want me, Carrie? On top? From behind? What haven’t we done yet?”
So much. And yet we’d already tried quite a lot. I was thoroughly enjoying exploring all the ways we could be together. “You’re up for anything, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have zero boundaries when it comes to sex. If it’s fun and it feels good, then let’s do it.”
I fisted his cock and stroked up his length, reveling in the sight of his eyes rolling back in his head. “They have toys for that.”
“They have toys for everything. But I prefer to call them tools. I don’t play with them, I use them.”
Oh really? “Wes Allen. You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Not holding out. Savoring. One thing at a time, Doc. There’s no need to go diving into the deep end when we’re having fun in the hot tub.”
I nudged his shoulder and he flipped onto his back, grabbing a condom and handing it to me. After I sheathed him I grabbed him by the base and began the slow process of taking him inside. With his size it wasn’t ever a quick slide. There would be no single thrust.
It felt good, though. So good to have so much filling me.
“I love it when this happens.” He ran a finger over my chest where my skin had turned pink. “I know you’re turned on.”
�
��I am.” Very turned on.
When he was deep he grabbed my hips and began to thrust upward, meeting me as I rode him. “So . . . ” he panted. “If I were to invest in a few tools of the trade, would you be up for exploring with me?”
I froze, high on his cock. “Oh yes.”
His eyebrow cocked up. “Anything in particular you want me to focus on?”
I slid down his length, watching him shudder. “Well, you should get a couple for you.” I reached behind and grabbed his balls. “I know how sensitive these are.”
“Yep. Yep. I’ll take care of that. And for you?”
I guided his hand to my clit. “Massage here, please.” Then I reached back to place my hands on his thighs and began to ride again. “Surprise me. Get a few things you think might work and I’ll decide from there.”
I wanted to know how his mind worked. His selection would be very telling. He’d either be completely unrealistic or he wouldn’t. This was a rare opportunity to see inside his mind.
“I just need to ask.” His words came out garbled. He was close.
“What?” Oh, and I sounded just as bad. Or good, depending on your definition.
“Is there anything totally out of bounds? There’s a lot out there and you like to be touched in a lot of places.”
He pinched my nipple with one hand and slid a finger behind me with the other.
It was true I enjoyed stimulation pretty much everywhere. But I did have one zone that extra sensitive—and he knew that. “I’m not a fan of most clitoral stimulators.” It was hard to find the right one. Most were a waste of time for me.
His hand slid down from my breast to my clit. “Babe.” He massaged gently, just the way I liked it. “I know how to take care of that. I don’t need anything but my mouth and my hand.”
I swear he was about to say, “Take care of you.” I knew, deep down inside he wouldn’t have meant it the way I would take it, so I was glad he switched his choice of words. The sentiment was perfect. He’d take care of my orgasm. Treat it with care. Take care of me.
But the words were a trigger to that big bad I’d been running from my whole life.
“Are you okay?”
I opened my eyes to find him looking up at me, very worried.
“I’m fine.” I rode him harder, chasing the orgasm I’d been so close to only a moment ago.
“No, you’re not. What’s wrong? What did I say?”
He didn’t say it, thank goodness. “Can we fuck instead of talk?”
His hands gripped my hips, drawing me to a stop. A gentle stop, but a stop, nonetheless. “No. Not with a look like that on your face. What’s wrong?”
He was really going to make me tell him, wasn’t he? Fuck it all. Why did the one guy I was having fun with need to push on my feelings, too? “It doesn’t matter.”
“Is it me?” The hurt in his eyes did me in.
I couldn’t let him think that. I cupped his face. “No. It had nothing to do with you. I had a thought I didn’t like. Something from the past. It’s gone now.”
“No it’s not.” He cocked his hips, scrambling my thoughts. “But maybe I can help chase it away?”
“Yes.” Chase it away. Chase it so far it never comes back. I was tired. So tired of being controlled by feelings I should have let go of long ago. It’s a special hell to know you should be thinking differently than you are, but can’t seem to stop.
“Look at me. Right here.” He smiled, catching my gaze. “Don’t look away.” The corners of his eyes crinkled and his dimple popped, making it damn near impossible to look away even if I tried. He was mesmerizing when he smiled. The light in his eyes always did me in. I wanted a light like that. Maybe I was a moth and he was the flame.
And if I wasn’t careful I’d wind up burned.
“Wes. It’s too much.”
“Good.” He took my face in his hands and pulled me closer so I had to brace myself on either side of his shoulders. “If you’re overwhelmed with me you can’t think about anything else. Now,” he searched my eyes, stroking up and into me over and over, “I want to watch you come.”
I didn’t know if I would like this. Not without his hands touching me somewhere else. My brain always got in the way until he blocked it out with his touch.
“Do feel me moving inside you?” he whispered.
“You’re kind of hard to ignore.”
“Tell me how it feels.”
Looking and now talking? This was different. “You’re big and deep so I feel . . . a lot.”
“More. Tell me more.”
The urgency in his voice was hot. It helped urge me on. “I’m so wet and it’s like I can’t get you deep enough. It should be too much but it isn’t. My clit. It’s so swollen and sensitive. Every time you pull me down on you it . . . it aches for you to do it again.”
So he did. He did it over and over, harder then softer, then harder again.
“And your nipples? How do they feel?”
I had to think because I’d forgotten all about them. “They tingle.” And just like that I was back where I’d been before my thoughts got in the way. “Oh. I’m close.”
He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled me to him for a kiss. I still didn’t look away and neither did he. “Come for me, Carrie. I want to feel you.”
Each stroke pushed me higher. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I lost my breath. And then . . . boom.
My orgasm flashed through me like a wave of white light.
And while I normally would have closed my eyes and ridden that wave, I couldn’t look away. I really wish I had. If I’d closed my eyes I wouldn’t have seen the look of awe in his eyes, or the adoration.
But there was no unseeing it.
Wes adored me.
And I really liked the way that felt.
12
Wes, present day
“Be cool.” Roman leaned toward me.
“What does that even mean?” We were waiting on his brother-in-law, Jake, at Rusty’s.
“Just don’t be an ass.”
“When was the last time I was an ass? Hmmm? Really? Think about it, man. I know it’s hard to drop the habit and all, but I’ve reformed, in case you couldn’t tell.” My teammates all seemed to get the message loud and clear. Maybe it was because when they started razzing me about getting hitched in Vegas I shut them down with one of those alpha dog lectures about “my woman, my life, my rules.” Or maybe it was because they knew me in a different way than Roman did.
Let’s face it. We were like brothers for a reason, and sometimes brothers didn’t get the memo right away when one suddenly changes.
He looked me up and down as he took a swig of his tall, frosty mug of beer. “It has been a long time.”
“Exactly. I don’t need to get into trouble to have fun anymore. I have fun at home.”
So. Much. Fun.
Like, everyone should be jealous that I had more fun than them.
“So we’re not filming the Floor is Lava routine on the infield tomorrow?”
Oh, we were totally doing that. My Instagram fans were having a heyday with my new series about Snickers, but my YouTube fans had grown quiet. They needed a new video to keep them entertained and I’d come up with the perfect scenario. Even better that it involved my partner in crime running off the infield and diving into a dugout to save himself from an imaginary lava death, all while I threw baseballs at him. “You’re not getting out of anything. Don’t even think about it. Now that Sienna is my agent you are officially back on best bro duty.”
“Can you stop calling me bro? We’re not frat brothers.”
God, pushing his buttons was so damn easy. I didn’t know why I loved making people squirm so much, but I did. And I did it often. It gave me some sort of sick pleasure knowing I could.
“Fine. As long as you stop expecting me to embarrass you I will cease and desist with the bro talk.”
I think he was actually a little irritated with me but I didn’t care. We
drank our beer in silence until Jake showed up for my “Be Less of a Dick” training.
“Sorry, sorry. The kids moved as slow as molasses.” He dropped into the empty chair and immediately took a sip of the waiting beverage. “Like heaven.”
“How are the girls?” Roman asked.
Jake and his wife Eve, who was the oldest sister to Roman’s wife, June, had two daughters who were actually kind of adorable. Meaning, I didn’t hate hanging around them. Strange how little women kept coming into my life at every turn. Maybe I had one of those magnets that drew them toward me.
“It’s the end of summer vacation so they are moving at the speed of snails, wear no shoes, and are generally wild.” He said it all with a grin.
“When does softball season start?” I asked. I knew their oldest, Sam, was into her second season because she walked around their house in her new uniform for a week.
“Sixteen days, one hour, and seven minutes, if I’m not mistaken from the last time she updated me.”
“Well at least she loves the game.” I wondered if a tiny version of Carrie had done the same thing.
“That she does. So,” he quickly changed the subject, “I’m here to help you become less of a dick?”
“We can only do so much,” Roman said with a shit-eating grin. “But in the name of happy wife, happy life, I think we owe it to Carrie.”
“I think we can help. Whether he’s capable of being a good husband is out of our hands, however.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You two are so fucking funny. I’m not a lost cause.”
“Trust me, if Greg can figure it out, you can figure it out,” Jake said. Greg was his best friend and, in my opinion, a great guy. He was an asshole and we asshole’s tended to stick together. We called it the Assholes with a Heart of Gold Club and we were the president and vice-president.
“Good,” I said. “Because I love her and I want her to stop freaking out that we made a terrible decision.”
“You two are perfect for each other,” Roman said between sips, “and that’s the problem. Neither one of you is calm or level headed.”
