Love, Honor & Cherish: The On the Cape Trilogy: A Cape Van Buren Trilogy

by Meredith, MK

  His long, masculine fingers unbuttoned his shirt one by one, and her fingers itched to take over for him, but with a casual air, she pulled out a bowl and her pastry mat as if she wasn't strategizing on how to get him naked faster.

  Her music switched to Lo Fang and the slow, sultry melody of “The One That I Want” filled the room. If there was ever a sign telling her to go for it, that was it.

  It was about time she took what she wanted. Even if she wasn't looking for anything to last the rest of her lifetime, it was time she quit missing out on the here and now.

  Her nervous excitement racked through her, and she shivered.

  “Are you cold?” His voice was husky but with enough confusion in his voice to make her chuckle, but she held it back.

  “Just the opposite.” She sprinkled flour across the mat. “You know, one of the things that I love about baking is the pleasure that it brings. Not only to those who eat it but to the baker as well.”

  He gave her a hard stare, and she could see the wheels turning.

  She’d bet the success of the fall festival that he remembered what was in her junk drawer. More like a treasure trove, if anyone asked her.

  But he kept his thoughts to himself.

  She dipped her finger in the flour and tapped his nose. “You're all about pleasure, aren't you, big guy?”

  Mitch grabbed her wrist. “Who the hell are you? And what have you done with Claire?”

  The sound that fell from her lips was one of pure delight. It was fun to flirt when the only consequence was a night of pleasure. When there was no chance of pain or loneliness. “I'm a good student, you know. You told me that life is about making memories and experiences, decadence, indulgence. I can't think of anything more indulgent then making pastries with Mitch Brennan.”

  Extricating herself from his grasp, she ran her fingers along the waistband of his jeans, dipping them into the front and giving the fabric a tug. The warmth of his skin against the back of her fingers made her melt.

  “What are you doing, Claire?” His voice was low and hoarse, and the fact that she was the reason sent a thrill running through her body.

  “You're safe, right? You don't want a relationship. I don't want a relationship. But we’ve become friends...and I trust you.” She didn't know where the tremble in her voice came from, but she pushed through it.

  “Friends?” he echoed. “Safe? I don't think anyone has ever called me safe before and meant it.”

  “I don't mean safe in a boring way, I mean safe in a...you won't be able to hurt me kind of way.”

  The muscles clenched along his jaw, and she could only hope that it was because he wanted this, too.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  She licked her lips, running a finger along the top edge of his jeans, elated when he sucked in a breath.

  “Do you remember when we talked about ripping the Band-Aid off?”

  The memory of their kiss flared in his eyes, and she could see that he had been affected by it, too. Which caught her off guard. She figured kissing her wouldn't even rate, much less be memorable, and not because she wasn't a good kisser but because he'd had so much experience. It was impossible for a drop of water to stand out in an ocean.

  “Well, I feel like all we did was lift the edge. I need to rip it completely off. Then maybe I can let go and live a little. This is my version of cinnamon pastries and a peanut butter hot cocoa.”

  He flashed a grin that was both wicked and wise, and she swore her panties would have melted right off her body. Had she been wearing any. Grabbing his hands, she set them on her waist just above her ass and stepped close.

  His fingers flexed in the flesh of her hips, yanking her even closer. His erection was large and hard and pushed against her midsection in the way that elicited a waterfall of tiny flutters. She prayed that when he kissed her, she wouldn't start laughing again. She’d had enough mortification to last anyone a lifetime.

  No more second-guessing or worrying about the consequences. It was pure, reckless pleasure she sought. And with Mitch, she could get lost and just feel.

  Without warning, his lips slammed against hers, and a cry of pleasure caught in her throat. She could taste the wine and something spicy. His scent enveloped her as did his embrace. He was hot and hard and apparently wanted her as much as she wanted him. That in itself was a little miracle.

  So many memories rushed into Claire's mind, but they were misplaced distractions. This was a moment to move forward, not look back.

  Mitch softened his kiss and eased the tension. “I know you said you‘re sure about this, but I also know that you don't take any of this lightly. I don't want you to regret that it’s with me.”

  She stared into his blue eyes, humbled by the uncertainty she saw there.

  She never imagined she'd see the day that Mitch Brennan was unsure of anything.

  Grabbing the hem of her sweater dress, she pulled it up and over her head, revealing that she'd had nothing on underneath.

  “The fact that you even thought to ask means that you're a better man that I've given you credit for. It's time for me to move on. Jimmy wouldn’t want me to be alone forever. This is a big step for me, but one I’m determined to take.”

  He frowned, but his eyes roved hungrily over her body in shock and awe. Her nipples peaked, and a wash of goosebumps followed. If he could make her feel like that with a gaze alone, she couldn't wait to actually feel his hands on her.

  She stepped toward him, taking his wrists and placing his hands on her breasts. Going up on tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Help me make a memory, Mitch. One that sets the tone for many more to come.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then on a low grumbled growl, he swept her into his arms, lifting her off her feet and falling into the kiss at the same time.

  “I always knew you’d taste this good. A combination of pastries and wine.” She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, amazed at the heat of his skin. He was big and hard everywhere, and it was a thrill to feel him against her.

  “If I'd known that you didn't have anything on under that dress, I doubt I’d have ever finished making dinner.”

  “Well, it's a good thing you didn't find out because I'm starving.”

  He kissed her mouth hard, then asked, “You’re sure you don’t want me to stop?”

  “Don't you dare,” she said. Feeling brave and bold under the intensity of his heated gaze, she added, “I want you to serve me before you serve me.”

  His fingers slid to her hips and anchored her on the edge of the countertop. Her body moved easily with her bottom powdered by the flour.

  “Someone's getting brazen, maybe even a little cocky.” He chuckled.

  “I don't know what it is; it doesn't scare me with you.”

  He dropped his head, gently lifting a breast to his lips and swirling his tongue in circles until he reached her nipple, giving it small, pressured flicks. She could feel each nip through every nerve in her body, making her squirm.

  She grasped his head and pressed him more firmly against her breast. His hands were everywhere, along her sides, her buttocks, her thighs, then sliding down to cup her calves. He gently spread her legs farther apart as he trailed kisses down the center of her stomach.

  “Mitch,” she whispered, breathless with pleasure and anticipation.

  “I'm ready to serve you, Mistress Claire.” He trailed his lips along her sensitive skin at the juncture where her inner thigh met her torso. Her body gave little pulses of pleasure awaiting his touch. Then his slick, hot tongue met her center with feather-light strokes, and she almost fell off the counter.

  “Easy now,” he said against her body, maintaining pressure on her thighs to keep her in place. He licked and suckled and twirled his tongue, pushing her higher and higher.

  She shamelessly dove her fingers into his hair, keeping him from moving away from that spot. She wanted to grab the meaty flesh of his shoulders, rub her palms across his chest, b
ut more than any of those things, she did not want him to stop, so she sacrificed the pleasure she sought for the pleasure she’d dreamed of.

  “I've had dreams of this,” she confessed, her voice ragged with desire. She could barely think, as with each delicious stroke of his tongue she lost all threads of conscious thought.

  “You dreamed of me?” His question was a demand, and he rose. She cried out at the loss of sensation, but then his mouth slammed down on hers, pulling her into a kiss she'd never imagined. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it was a decadent, heady experience.

  “Don't fret, sweetheart,” he said. “We've only just begun.” He gently nipped at her chin then the side of her neck as he made his way back down to her center. He found her clit and swirled his tongue until she thought she’d lose her mind, one hand gripped his head, the other the counter for fear that she'd fall off.

  As he continued to worship her flesh with his mouth, he gently stroked one finger inside of her, and her vision went white.

  Pressure built, and pleasure swirled in a tight fist then burst, rocking her body and limbs in pulsing waves. Her hips bucked, and she gripped his shoulders to ride out the sensation and prevent herself from accidentally breaking his neck with her legs.

  The orgasm hit her stronger ever before, and she could only imagine it was her pent-up energy that had accumulated over the past couple of years. As her body slowly lowered back to earth, she let her legs drop to the sides.

  A low groan followed by slow, soft licks from Mitch sent a flutter of contractions throughout her stomach. “Oh my God,” she said. “I think I could curl into a ball and go to sleep right this second.”

  “Oh, know you're not. We’re not finished yet.” Gliding back up her body, he worked with one hand at his buckle and zipper, shoving his jeans from his hips. She heard the crinkling sound of a foil packet and peeked at him.

  One of the hottest things she had ever seen was him gripping himself in one hand as he rolled the condom down his thick, hard length in the other. Her body responded with flutters of anticipation.

  “There’s no way I can do that again.”

  “I don't believe that for a second,” he countered. She glanced down at herself and saw traces of flour along her breasts and thighs and a smudge on his face. “I don't think I've ever had this much fun baking before.”

  He eyed her quizzically. “But you said...”

  She laughed. “I was just teasing.”

  “Then what do you use that little massager for?”

  “When I'm on my feet for a long time, I have an area between my shoulder blades that bothers me a lot. It helps.”

  He flashed her a devilish grin and slid open the drawer. Taking out the small vibrator, he turned the knob, his grin broadening as a buzzing noise filled the air. “I bet this little guy can help you feel better than you've ever imagined.”

  He grabbed her from the counter and spun her around. Then he placed her hands under his on the counter with his big, warm body wrapped around her. He kissed the back of her neck, dragging his tongue from her shoulder to her ear, then giving her lobe a gentle nibble. “It's time for round two, Claire.”

  “That’s impossible. I'm a one and done kind of girl,” she said.

  His dark chuckle sent a wash of goosebumps along her skin. “We'll just see about that. I do love a good challenge.”

  The large, round head of his cock rubbed between her legs, sending her stomach on a slow, rippling ride, then escalating to a full-on wave of pleasure as he thrust inside of her.

  He continued to kiss the side of her neck, and she pushed back until there was nowhere left to go. His low, guttural groan was music to her ears, and she decided right then and there it was her favorite sound.

  “Holy fuck, you feel better than I could have ever imagined.” He stroked in and out with slow, controlled movements, his harsh breathing and the trembling of his arms the only signs that he struggled to restrain himself.

  He let go of one hand to pick up the small massager. Encouraging her to spread her legs farther, he placed the device in her hand, guiding it between her legs. She resisted for a second, but then curiosity won over any kind of self-consciousness.

  There was little to consider after the man had literally been tasting her.

  As he stroked, he turned on the vibrator, sending a rippling pleasure throughout her body. Her hips bucked, unable to control which way they moved. Mitch grabbed onto either side, digging his fingers into her flesh, increasing the tempo of his strokes.

  She continued to hold the tip of the massager against herself with slow, small circles. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”

  “That’s it, Claire, you've got it. Come with me, baby.” His strokes increased, and she had to clench all the muscles in her legs to keep standing as his groan of pleasure met her own.

  She shoved back against him, trying to take as much of him in as she possibly could, and pleasure exploded once more, seemingly splitting her body in two. The sensation was so great she dropped the vibrator, pressing her fingers against her clit to increase the intensity of her orgasm.

  “Mitch!” she screamed his name.

  “I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here.”

  As the intense sensations within her body ebbed, she felt Mitch slump behind her, resting his forehead in the middle of her back. “I had no idea,” she breathed.

  “Me, neither.”

  She didn't believe that for a second, but he was a good friend for saying it.

  And that's what she had to keep telling her heart, which wanted to open up and cling to the emotions of gratitude and excitement running through her.

  He was her friend, not her forever.

  The thought should give her great joy but instead left her body still humming with strokes of phantom pleasure and her heart grasping at thin air.

  Chapter 11

  Early Saturday morning, before the sun crested the Atlantic horizon, before the birds started singing or the bees buzzing, Mitch and Ryker made their way through the woods of the cape with rolls of black tar paper.

  Beekeeping was a passion passed from his grandfather when Ryker was a boy, and one he returned to last year when he moved back to the cape. Thankfully, Larkin had envisioned a different way to help Ryker heal from his painful past. One that allowed Mitch’s friend to love the cape again and not sell it off in pieces as he’d originally planned.

  “What are we doing again? And why the fuck did I agree? It’s freezing out here.” Mitch shivered, burrowing deeper into his winter jacket.

  “Well, if you’re cold, put yourself in the bee’s shoes.”

  “Please, you know my reputation well enough to know my shoe size is way bigger than that.”

  “You’re an ass.” Ryker led him toward a hive. “We’re out here before they start their day to wrap the hives in the black tar paper to help keep them warm and dry over the winter.” He inspected the roll of paper, unfurling it and looking over the front and back. “I was out here last week to inspect each hive. They’re all at critical mass, no disease, and abundant food stores. It was a great summer.”

  Mitch shook his head. “You act like I know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “You just pretend you don’t in order to get out of helping.”

  Laughing, Mitch nodded. “That may be true.” He couldn’t count the number of times he’d skipped out of helping Ryker and his grandfather, Stuart, when they were kids, but his fear of getting stung was way stronger than his desire to learn. As an adult, he was glad. It was those times that Ryker had with his grandfather alone that gave him the courage to come back.

  Mitch took the front edge of the paper and held it in place while Ryker slowly made his way around the hive. “Listen. I want to tell you before you hear it from somewhere else…”

  Ryker raised a brow, then it dropped back into his usual frown of concentration.

  “Last night, Claire and I—”

  “Claire and you did what?
” Ryker grated out, freezing in place and lowering his chin as he gave him a hard stare.

  “Knock off the aggressive stance. It wasn’t my idea. I was helping her out.” But his fucking problem was he couldn't wait to help her out again. He hadn't been able to get her face out of his mind, her flavor out of his mouth, or the silky slide of her smooth skin off his hands since he'd gone home last night.

  “Yeah, that's what they all say. Claire’s not one of your trophy-bunny lays.”

  Mitch gave him the finger. “Do you really think any woman that I've dated would appreciate you calling them that? I know you guys like to rib me, like to give me a hard time. Ever stop to consider that any woman I've ever been with knows exactly where I stand and if she decides to be with me has decided that on her own?” He squared off with his friend, legs braced apart, his arms crossed at his chest, letting the tar paper fall to the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing? Grab the paper.”

  “Fuck your paper, Ryker. To play it off like I could so easily manipulate every woman in Cape Van Buren is simply an insult to their intelligence.”

  His pal relaxed his shoulders. “You might have a point, but this is Claire. She’s already had to deal with more in the past few years than most people do in a lifetime.”

  “You think I don't know that?” he gritted out, grabbing the paper and carefully holding it back in place until his buddy secured the wrap. Switching gears, he asked, “Is this the hive that produced the honey you're going to sell at the fall festival?”

  Ryker grunted. “Some. I have an amazing batch from mid-summer that includes all of the hives. Claire actually modified the logo that Jay had made for Cape Van Buren and added a couple of bees around it for our new labels. She really has an eye for aesthetics and design.”

  They moved to the next hive. “She does,” Mitch agreed. “You can see it in her house, you can see it in any of the events she's planned.”

  At the word house, Ryker tensed. “Oh, come off that man.” Mitch shoved the roll of paper at his friend’s chest.