by Tawna Fenske
She moans, and it’s like a fistful of pop-rocks going off in the center of my chest. My left hand drops to her bare knee, while my right trails slowly from her face down the smooth column of her throat. Her skin feels like heaven, softer than anything I’ve touched my whole life.
Her hands find their way inside my robe, and she rakes my chest with her nails. A ripple of pleasure chatters down my arms, and I stroke the curve of her hip with my palm. I let her explore, giving her a chance to get used to me. To be sure this is what she wants. Her skin smells like soap and I could lie here all day breathing her in.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she says.
“Same,” I murmur, wondering if she has any idea how long I’ve wanted her.
Not just the Amber of my teenage fantasies, but this Amber. The real flesh and blood version who makes me laugh and ache and feel all kinds of things I never thought I’d feel.
I dot a slow trail of kisses down her chin, her neck, and into the hollow of her throat. She sighs and tilts her head back, giving me access to the most delectable cleavage I’ve ever laid eyes on.
The robe still covers her completely, and I ease it off her shoulders just enough to bare the tops of her breasts. I skim my lips over the curve of the left one, taking my time. She shivers, fingers curling against my chest as I move to kiss the top of her right breast. God, I love the sounds she makes. The soft sighs and whimpers, that sharp little intake of breath.
The robe slips down, revealing one peaked nipple, and I claim it with my mouth.
“Don’t stop,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
I draw in a deep breath, ordering myself to go slow. I want her so much, but I want to savor this even more. Her skin is unbearably soft, and the damp tendrils of her hair are a pleasant tickle against the back of my hand.
She shifts, and her left breast practically slides into my mouth. I devour it, unable to stop myself from tasting every inch of her. She’s so fucking sweet, so hot and soft and driving me crazy with those hungry sounds she’s making.
I ease her back on the bed, desperate to cover her body with mine. My hand finds the sash of her robe and I tug it open, baring her to me. “Jesus Christ.” My throat is tight, and I have no idea where this sharp clench of emotion just came from. “Look at how fucking perfect you are.”
She smiles, but there’s something unsure in her eyes. “Not perfect,” she murmurs. “Just me.”
“To me, you’re perfect.” I plant a kiss on her collarbone and notice she’s stiffened a little. “Are you good with this?” I ask softly. “The checkerboard’s right over there if you’re having second thoughts.”
She laughs and pulls me down onto her. “I want you,” she says. “In case that’s not obvious.”
“I’m glad,” I say, kissing my way slowly down the center of her body. Ribs, belly, hip…my mouth claims every inch of her like I’ve been starving for years.
The instant my tongue grazes the soft dampness between her legs, she gasps aloud. Her fingers clench in my hair as I bury my tongue in the sweetest spot it’s ever been. I circle her clit, and she cries out, arching tight against me. Her thighs fall open, giving me all of her. I’m mindless with the taste of her, with the sensation of Amber writhing against me, crying out, begging me not to stop.
Her nails claw my scalp, and I know she’s there. “Sean,” she gasps, and that syllable is like a rocket blasting through me. I cup her hips in my hands and stroke her with my tongue until I’m positive I’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure from her.
When she goes still in my hands, I look up to see her watching me from under her lashes. “Hi there,” she says.
I smile and prop my forearm on her thigh, resting my chin in my hand. “Hello yourself.”
“So was that a chef thing or what?”
“A chef thing?”
“The unbelievable affinity for oral.” She giggles, looking a little dazed. “That was—that was—” She laughs again and grabs hold of my arm to pull me up and over her. “That was so amazing I can’t even find words to describe how amazing it was.”
“You’re amazing.” I kiss the soft shell of her ear, wondering if she wants to stop here. I’m okay if she does, even though my dick is throbbing like a jackhammer.
Her hand slides down between us, and for a second, I think that’s what she’s reaching for. I’m braced for her touch, so I’m surprised when she fishes in her robe pocket and comes up holding something square and crinkly.
“Condom.” She gives a sheepish smile. “I want you to make love to me. Please.”
There’s that word again. Love. It should scare the ever-loving hell out of me, but it doesn’t. Maybe that’s the scary part.
I take the condom from her hand, my gaze holding hers. “You sure?”
She nods and gives me a small smile. “Positive. I need to feel all of you.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I get the condom on, my whole body aching with the need to have her completely. God, I’ve wanted this for so long.
I shift my weight so I’m on top of her, positioned between her thighs. I’m right there, the tip of my cock grazing her warm center. I ease inside and watch her eyes go wide.
“You okay?” I breathe.
She doesn’t respond with words. Just grabs my ass and pulls me all the way in. I can’t help it; I groan aloud. She’s so tight and wet, and I catch myself growling as I pull back to drive in again.
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “This is—you’re so—”
I know.
Somehow I know what she’s saying, even though neither of us can find words. I’ve had sex hundreds of times before, but never like this. Never in a way that left me feeling so joined to another person that I can’t tell where her body ends and mine begins.
I claim her mouth again, our kissing more frenzied than it was just minutes ago. I can’t get enough of her, can’t begin to describe how good it feels to be inside her right now.
There’s a buzzing in my brain, and I curse myself for not being able to hold on longer. I mentally recite a recipe for lavender crème brûlée to buy myself some time.
“Sean.”
And I know she’s there again.
It takes us both by surprise, the sensation, the suddenness, the synchronicity of it all, and my God, the pleasure. She’s arching up against me, the pulses of her orgasm giving way to my own until we both lie spent in a tangled pile of sweaty limbs and pounding hearts.
When our breathing slows, I don’t roll off her. I anchor myself with my elbows to take the weight off her chest, and look down into those wild brown eyes. My heart swells so big I think it’ll pop.
“Hello,” I murmur, planting a kiss on the edge of her mouth.
“Hi,” she whispers back and smiles.
I press another kiss to her temple and one along her cheekbone, pretty sure I’ll never run out of spots on her body that I’m dying to put my mouth. “Would you believe me if I told you that was the most incredible experience of my whole life?”
“No,” she says, laughing a little. “That’s just the sex talking.”
She holds my gaze, and there’s something unsure in her eyes. Something that tells me we both know the truth.
“That wasn’t just sex,” I murmur into her hair as I roll off and pull her against my chest. “Not by a long shot.”
She snuggles against me, spine resting against my breastbone so I can feel my heart thudding against her. Catching my hand in hers, she draws it to her mouth and presses a small, achingly soft kiss at the tip of each finger.
“Maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, dotting one more kiss at the center of my palm before letting my hand fall against her.
I curve my fingers around her breast, savoring the weight of it, the feeling of her whole body pressed against me. There’s no other way to say this: I’m in love with Amber.
I’ve always been in love with her, but this is different.
I’m in love with the real
Amber. Not some fantasy mermaid girl, but the one who makes me feel like this. The Amber who makes me my very best self. I love her so much I can’t breathe.
It’s too soon to say so. I know I’m a fucked up guy, and there’s a lot I’m not telling her. We’re a long way from discovering all there is to know about each other, and maybe she’d hit the road if I revealed it all.
But right now, lying here with Amber King, it’s as close to perfection as I’ve ever known.
Chapter 13
AMBER
The week buzzes past in a whirlwind of planning for Julia’s shotgun wedding. Sean and I talk constantly on the phone, our conversations charged with an energy that wasn’t there before. I think that’s a good thing, but I’m not sure. How do you read a guy who admits he’s had trouble opening up in the past?
But he does open up, at least a little. I hear about his childhood summers at his dad’s ranch. He tells me about prep school and chef training and what it was like living in Paris. I tell him about growing up on a farm and how my sister is my best friend in the world.
We talk a lot, but something tells me we’re not saying everything.
Or maybe we’re just stressed about Julia’s wedding. Sean has gobs of food prep to do, and I have flower orders to confirm, centerpieces to arrange, and a bride to reassure that her itty-bitty baby bump is totally hidden by the empire waist of her dress.
“You look amazing,” I assure Julia when I stop by the bridal shop on Thursday to see how her final fitting is going. “Absolutely glowing.”
Her mother beams at me, but Julia looks doubtful as she tugs at the accent sash around her midsection. “Maybe this should be taffeta instead of crushed velvet.”
“I like the texture of the velvet,” I assure her. “It’s more sumptuous.”
“You think?” Julia’s frown lines soften just a little. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m definitely right. You look beautiful.” I steal a glance at my watch. “I’d better run if I’m going to make it to the cupcake place before closing. You have everything you need here?”
“You’re an angel, dear,” says the mother of the bride.
Julia nods, but there’s something heartbreakingly vulnerable in her expression. She smiles at me with the tiniest little one-shoulder shrug. “I just want everything to go perfectly, you know?”
“I know.” Believe me, I know. “We’ll get as close to perfect as we can.”
Which is one reason I’ve offered to handle so many details I might normally leave to the family for a wedding like this. There’s something about this couple, this wedding, that makes me doubly hopeful it all goes off without a hitch.
I hustle out of the shop, wondering if I should text Chelsea at Dew Drop Cupcakes to let her know I’ll be a few minutes late. Two members of the wedding party announced they’ve gone gluten-free, and the groom’s uncle suddenly declared he’s vegan. The bride and her mom don’t have time to sample all the flavor combinations for the last-minute substitution, so I volunteered to taste test in her stead.
Getting paid to eat cupcakes doesn’t suck.
“Amber, hey!”
I freeze mid-sprint and turn to see Bree Bracelyn. Sean’s sister waves from the other side of the street, and I resist the urge to check my watch again as she crosses to join me. Her Betty Boop curls are tucked under a knitted orange beanie, while the rest of her diminutive frame is clad in head-to-toe black.
“Cool boots,” I call as she strides closer.
“Thanks. I got them in that consignment shop over on Harriman.”
I’m tempted to ask why someone with more money than God would shop at a consignment store, but I stop myself in time. It is a damn cool shop.
“How’s it going?” I shove my ponytail over one shoulder and wonder how much Bree knows about Sean and me. Jade and I share all sorts of intimate details with each other, but do brothers and sisters talk like that?
“I’m great!” Bree says. “How about you?”
“Really well.”
“So you’re boning my brother.” Bree smiles as heat creeps into my cheeks.
“He told you that?”
“Nah.” She rocks back on her heels and grins wider. “I had a hunch. The look on your face confirmed it, so thanks.”
“Well played,” I admit, secretly relieved to have it out in the open. “So is this the part where it gets awkward?”
“Not for me,” she says. “The rest is your call. Flawless Amber’s allowed to have a sex life, right?”
I resist the urge to grimace. “You’ve been in town less than a year. How do you know my high school nickname?”
“I’m a snoop,” she says proudly. “Comes with the territory for women with trust issues. Sorry, were you headed somewhere?”
I’m two steps behind her in the conversation and wondering about the trust issues, but a glance at my watch tells me I’ve got two minutes until Chelsea closes up shop. “Dew Drop Cupcakes,” I reply. “Want to sample some flavor combos with me? I could use another set of taste buds.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bree laughs and falls into step with me. “I’d kill for your job.”
“Isn’t your job sort of the same as mine?”
“The clientele makes all the difference.” She makes a face. “I love my clients, but the sort of brides we’re scheduling at Ponderosa would send their personal butlers to bring them samples of cupcakes on monogrammed silver trays.”
“And their personal assistants would hand feed them each bite?”
Bree laughs. “Something like that.”
We reach the end of the block and the front door of a brightly-lit shop decorated in pastel hues. There’s a glass case in front that’s brimming with cupcakes almost too beautiful to eat. I push through the door, engulfing us both in a cloud of warm vanilla and brown sugar and a million other scents that leave my mouth watering.
Chelsea Singer comes out wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hey, lady,” she says, leaning in to give me a sugar-scented hug. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“Just running late,” I say. “Thanks for waiting. Chels, you know Bree?”
“Bree Bracelyn,” offers my curly-haired companion as she steps forward with an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Chelsea smiles and shakes her hand. “You’re from the family that’s turning that old ranch into a luxury resort?”
Bree nods, barely masking her surprise. “That’s right.”
“Small town,” I remind her. “Same reason you found out about my nickname, I guess.”
“Ah.” Bree nods. “I guess it’s hard to keep secrets here.”
Is it my imagination, or do her eyes flash with worry? She glances away quickly, so maybe it’s all in my head.
Chelsea washes her hands at an adorable pink pastel pedestal sink behind the counter. “So are you ready to do some tasting?”
“That depends,” I say. “Do gluten-free, vegan cupcakes taste like reindeer food?”
“Bite your tongue.” Chelsea wipes her hands on a towel. “Everything I make tastes like little clouds of heaven.”
“Little clouds of heaven,” Bree repeats, looking impressed. “I could use more of that in my life.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Chelsea pries the lids off several small tubs of frosting and pulls out a white-handled spreading knife. “All three of these are vegan. We’ve got vanilla, lemon chiffon, and salted chocolate. Normally I’d put them in a pastry bag and make pretty swirly patterns, but you’re going for taste here, not appearance.”
I consider telling her about my vulva cookie decorations but decide against it. I don’t know Sean’s sister that well yet, so I’d rather not leave her thinking I’m a perv.
I point to the mini cupcakes laid out on a round tray beside her. “Are those the gluten-free choices?”
“Yep. That’s orange cream, mint mocha, and vanilla bean.” Chelsea shrugs. “They weren’t necessarily made t
o go together, but you said you wanted to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Thanks for making this work for us.”
“No prob,” Chelsea says. “Here, grab a pen and some paper so you can take notes if you want.”
“Thank you.” Bree selects a daisy-topped pen and a lavender notecard, and I do likewise with mint-green paper and a pen adorned with a floppy sunflower.
Chelsea sets to work smearing each bite-sized cupcake with a generous dollop of frosting.
“Those look delicious,” Bree says. “I’d apologize for horning in on your tasting session, but I’m not actually sorry.”
“I’m glad for the extra set of taste buds,” I assure her. “I invited Sean, but he had too much to do to get ready for the wedding.”
“Glad to help.”
“And I’m glad to meet you,” Chelsea adds, smiling at Bree. “I hope you’ll consider using us for any of your events that call for cupcakes.”
“I definitely will.” She studies Chelsea with an odd little ghost of a smile. “One of my brothers has a major sweet tooth. He’d love y—this place.”
Chelsea spreads frosting on another cupcake and smiles. “I’d love to meet him.”
I start to ask which brother but stop myself. I haven’t met any of them, so there’s no point asking her to rattle off names. Should it worry me that I haven’t met more of Sean’s family?
Bree plucks one of Chelsea’s business cards from a cupcake-adorned holder and tucks it in her coat pocket, while Chelsea finishes spreading the frosting.
I don’t know how she achieves the perfect ratio of cake to icing, but it’s magical. She pushes the tray forward and starts pointing. “This is the gluten-free orange cream cupcake with the vegan vanilla frosting,” she says. “And here it is with the salted chocolate, and this one has the lemon. See what you think.”
Bree and I get busy tasting, making appropriate yummy noises and licking crumbs off our fingers as Chelsea batters up another round of samples.
“Mmm,” Bree says. “I’m going to have to rub Sean’s nose in it for missing out on this.”
“I’m sure he’s whipping up plenty of his own yumminess.” Did that sound porny? I have to keep reminding myself Bree is the sister of the guy I’m sleeping with. I adore her, but I need to choose my words carefully.
