“Sorry?” I asked rubbing my fingers over my tender lips. “For what?”
He took a step back, scratching his head again. “I didn’t mean to . . . attack you like that.”
“I wanted you to attack me like that.”
“You did?” He ceased fidgeting with his cap and dragged his gaze up from the ground.
“Yes.” I shamelessly yanked his shirt, pulling him closer.
This time it was my mouth that claimed his, my fingers wandering over his body. He submitted with a throaty grunt, driving his heaving chest against mine and pressing me harder into the wall.
Enraptured by the easy way we fit together, I lost myself in our streetlamp-lit moment. I positively adored the way he cradled my face in his hands while he alternated between deep, panty-melting kisses and nuzzling my cheeks and neck with his nose.
“I would’ve sung to you in the tattoo parlor had I known I’d get this reaction.” He spoke with our lips still connected, garnering a giggle from my preoccupied mouth.
“Not sure my boss would’ve liked that.”
“Probably better off then.”
“Yeah, I’m liking this much better.”
“Me, too.”
There was no more busying our tongues with words after that. People passed us by; the music from inside the bar hummed through the walls and into the hot summer night. It was dark but there was little privacy for our escalating appetite for each other, so again I found myself inviting him back to my place.
“You sure?” he asked, panting. “We don’t even—”
“Know each other?” I finished for him. My breaths were uneven too, but I was well aware of what I wanted.
He nodded, his forehead pressed to mine and his lips worshipping my face.
“I know all I need to know, Jasper. Let’s go.” Brazen? Maybe. But if he was as good in bed as he was at kissing—or singing—I wasn’t passing this up. Not when I had him right where I wanted him.
Jasper took a brief moment to steel himself. He adjusted his shirt by the hem and then cleared his throat. For a split second I braced myself for rejection, but the glint of mischief that shone in his eyes was more telling than anything he could say. “I pride myself on being a southern gentleman, Marley. But you don’t have to ask me twice.”
With that, he playfully nipped the corner of my mouth with his teeth and asked me to lead the way.
THE WALK FROM the bar to my apartment was under ten minutes, but between the strangling humidity and the eagerness growing between us it seemed to take forever.
“This is it,” I finally announced, hopping up the steps to the front door.
He followed me, his hand resting at the small of my back as I dug inside my bag for the keys. “My place isn’t too far from here,” he said. “I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.”
I, too, was surprised as it seemed we ran in the same circles, but my horniness outweighed the shock. “You wanna sit out here and shoot the breeze or would you like to come inside?”
Jasper laughed, toying with the brim of his hat. I really liked that he embodied so many diverse qualities. He was a shy, reserved gentleman when he needed to be and he was sexy and confident without even knowing it. The blend of those dynamics made him all the more likable, making me all the more impatient to get him the hell inside.
“One more to go,” I said once the door was open. I lived on the first floor of the old two story, so there was yet another door to unlock to get to my apartment.
“Patience, darlin’. It’s like unwrapping a present.” Jasper’s whisper tickled my ear and brought goose bumps to my overheated skin. It also compelled me to open the door a lot faster. The keys jangled madly as I forced the right one into the hole.
“Finally!” I tossed the hunk of brass to the floor, slammed the door behind us with my foot, and threw my arms around Jasper’s neck.
Our mouths collided and our limbs fought to hold on to each other wherever they could find purchase. A giggle-moan escaped me when Jasper lifted me by the waist and guided my legs around his torso. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his strength—he was a tall, muscular man and I was only five-foot-two—but it was his take-control attitude that sent me into a tizzy.
“My bedroom’s the last room at the back of the apartment,” I muttered between frantic kisses.
He didn’t respond, he simply carried me through the dark space with our bodies connected and our lips never disengaging. The journey was bumpy, maneuvering through archways and around furniture, but that only made my adrenaline pump harder. This was hot. This was exhilarating. This was what hookups were supposed to be like.
I considered myself a classy, modern-day, casual-dating woman. I was currently experiencing a dry spell, but I’d brought guys back to my place before. Couldn’t say I’d ever invited them back this hastily, though. I usually got to know someone a little better before showing them were I lived—the whole stranger danger thing was a big deal to me because our neighborhood was full of weirdos. But with Jasper, those worries vanished. And with the way he was kissing me, he could be Jeffery Dahmer for all I cared. Lead the way to my demise—as long as you let me die coming, baby.
Once in my bedroom, I released my grip from around his waist and set to undressing him. The cap was the first to go.
“I must have some serious hat hair.” He raked his fingers through the messy short cut.
I ruffled it even further with both hands. “I’m not looking at your hair, Jasper. I promise.” I had to sound like a sex-starved animal, but I didn’t care. After hearing him sing his country music, I knew I had to have him. Now there’s a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth.
After the hat, I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up to expose his chest and stomach. Even in the darkened room I could tell he had quite the impressive physique. When I tattooed his arm, I noticed he was fit but I had no idea that a man’s abdomen could be this solid.
“Holy mother of God, Jasper.” I shamelessly rubbed my hands up and down his six-pack. Or maybe it was an eight-pack. Maybe it was time to turn on the lights and get a peek at who he really was. I backed away to do just that but Jasper’s grip on my wrist put a quick stop to that.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You stay right here.” His words were throaty and stern as he pulled his T-shirt over his head with stripper-like swagger.
“Oh, my God! A striptease?” I asked biting my lip and clapping my hands together. “Pretty please?”
Jasper’s head fell back as he laughed, only giving me a better view of the deep-cut ridges that decorated his smooth, hairless skin. When his eyes met mine again, his expression was no longer playful, but very serious. “It wouldn’t be my first.”
“Shut up!” My hand flew to my mouth. “You’re so not the shy country boy I thought you were, are you?”
Inching closer to me, Jasper ate up the space between us with long strokes and backed me against the edge of my bed. My heart pounded in my ears and my fingers twitched to reach out and touch him. But my balance was compromised by his gentle shove, so I sat down on the bed and spread my legs when he nudged them open with his knee.
“I thought you were in a rush to get these off,” he said, unbuckling his belt.
“I-I am.” I lunged for his zipper but his strong hands grabbed mine before I could make contact.
“Not so fast, Miss Marley. I think it’s high time I show you that this Alabama boy doesn’t have a shy bone in his body.”
Holy shit. That’s the last time I judge a book by its cover.
Words fled my brain as I watched him create a performance of undressing himself. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, and the light from outside did the job of illuminating my room enough to enjoy the show taking place before me.
First, Jasper bent down to remove his socks and boots. Next, he stood upright, took my hand and placed it against the smooth skin of his chest. In a slow, sensual glide, he skimmed his torso with my palm and then tuc
ked it into his unbuttoned jeans. Bold and zealous, I fought his restraint and crept lower to cop a feel. My fingertips grazed what felt like a cock rocket of epic proportions, but were quickly pulled away before they could complete the mission.
I huffed out my frustration and Jasper steered my hands down to the bed where they twitched astride my lap.
“I told you already, Marley. These things take patience.” With that, he kept my hands in place on the mattress but bent down between my legs. Letting go of my hands, he stretched me wider at the knees and then slid his hands up my thighs to jerk my shorts off my hips.
“Hey,” I protested. “My clothes are supposed to stay on while you take yours off.”
“Not in this striptease, darlin’. I call the shots, and if you want me to shed my Levi’s, I’m gonna need to see what you’re hiding underneath those skimpy shorts of yours.”
Glad to oblige, I lifted my bum off the mattress. Jasper continued to drag my bottoms down my legs, leaving me vulnerable in a pair of cotton kitty-cat thongs I’d thrown on earlier without imagining anything like this would happen.
“Cute pussy,” Jasper chuckled, flinging my shorts over his shoulder.
I covered my eyes and laughed in an effort to mask my embarrassment. Jasper was quick to tug my hands away from my face, kissing each of my fingertips and then dropping them to the bed again. “Now who’s the shy one?” he asked, dipping down to sprinkle my bare skin with open-mouthed kisses.
“Fuck!” I whimpered when his tongue darted out to trace my inner thigh. “The tease is over, Jasper. I need you. Now.”
That elicited a hearty howl out of him, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Game over. Kitty-thong be damned. I jerked my hips off the bed and tore my skivvies down in record time. Without giving him time to speak, think, or object, my fingers flew to his jeans and I pulled them over his buns of steel. His cock sprung free—My, my, my; Jasper goes commando!—and greeted me with what seemed like an invitation to touch.
So, I did. With a tight grip and long strokes, my thumb circling the velvety tip.
“Ahhh,” Jasper grunted, thrusting into my hand.
By the feel and sight of him, I knew he was ready. I sure as hell was. Like an hour ago. “I have condoms in my nightstand,” I told him.
“I have a few in my wallet,” he interjected, reaching down to find his pants pocket.
Wasting no time, he retrieved one, ripped the packet open as I stroked him, and together we sheathed his length with the love glove. “Come here,” he ordered and tugged me off the bed.
I stood, still stroking, and attacked his mouth with my own. While we kissed, he stepped the rest of the way out of his jeans and pulled me against him. I craved skin to skin contact, so I backed away only long enough to lose my shirt. Strappy tank tops and visible bra straps were a huge peeve of mine, so much like Jasper’s lack of undies, the girls were set free once I chucked the shirt.
“So hot,” Jasper mumbled, cupping my breasts and thumbing my nipples.
The mesmerizing lyrics and sultry tune of Tennessee Whiskey still swam in my head as our bodies became acquainted. All this foreplay was divine—the flirting in the tattoo shop, the music at the bar, the strip tease at the foot of my bed—but I was ready for the main event. It was time to see what this country boy was really made of.
“Bed, Jasper. I can’t wait any longer. Please,” I begged, arching my back and giving him access to my chest and neck.
He bowed down to take my breast in his mouth. I cradled his head in my hands, ravaging his hair, urging him to continue. He released my nipple with an audible pop and then pushed me down onto the mattress. I allowed gravity to take hold of us and welcomed the weight of his body atop mine. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he slid inside of me and my hips bucked in response.
“Yessss,” I hissed, the temptation finally tamed.
Okay, maybe tame wasn’t the right word. There was absolutely nothing tame about the way Jasper rocked in and out of me. Or the way our bodies danced to an innate beat that mirrored the rhythm of my new favorite song. Or the way we came undone together.
Jasper collapsed next to me on the bed after one final pump of his release. “Spread love, it’s the Brooklyn way.”
“You did not just quote Biggie.”
“I’m pretty sure I did.”
Shocked by his knowledge of the legend, I jumped up and straddled his naked body. “You listen to Biggie?”
Clearing his throat, he laced his fingers in my hair and sang, “Biggie, Biggie, Biggie can’t you see, sometimes your words just hypnotize me.”
“No, you didn’t.” Uncontrollable laughter burned my core. “Oh, my God, Jasper. You’re too much.”
My unbridled amusement fueled him to continue rapping, this time the infamous words to “Juicy.” The twang in his voice made it that much funnier, but also made him even more adorable than before.
When he was done serenading me with more hip-hop than anyone born and bred in Alabama should be privy to, I rested my head against his chest and caught my breath. “You know?” I mused, lulled by the soothing beat of his heart.
“If you don’t know, now you know—”
“Alright, alright, enough rapping for you, country boy.” I placed a hand over his mouth and gaped into his blue eyes.
He laughed against my palm. “What is it I need to know, Brooklyn girl?”
I liked the sound of the two nicknames, side by side. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but I kinda hoped this casual hookup would not turn out to be a one-time thing.
I chewed over my words before I opened my mouth and said something I’d regret. Truth was, I didn’t know Jasper well enough to lay my heart on the line, but I did want to get to know him better. “You can say ‘I told you so’ now.”
His eyes sparkled with self-assurance. “And what exactly is it I’m rubbing in?”
I took a moment to inspect the healing artwork I’d created on his arm. It suited him well. The perfect combination of southern sweet and Brooklyn badass. He would fit in here just fine; I had a feeling about this one.
Dragging my gaze back to his blue eyes, I smiled. The kind of guy I usually went for was tatted up like me and none of them could belt out a song about fried chicken the way Jasper could. I never thought I’d be in the arms of a dude with a Willie Nelson tattoo, but if meeting Jasper taught me anything it was that sometimes it was worth it to try new things.
“I’m a fan, Jasper,” I admitted. “The music, the cowboy, the whole kit and caboodle.” I rested my chin on his chest and took comfort in the way his fingers traced invisible lines up and down my back.
“I knew I could make a believer outta you, Miss Marley.”
“I reckon that’s exactly what you did.”
EARLY TO BED and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise . . .
I chanted that exact phrase quoted by Benjamin Franklin every morning as I crawled out of bed, pinned my hair into a stylish bun at the nape of my neck, and got ready to head to the bakery to start my day. Every morning, I also thought longingly of the way my dad would say those words when I told him what I wanted to do when I grew up. Big, huge wedding cakes and lots and lots of cupcakes, Daddy. He was my number one fan, even back when life at For Heaven’s Cake was only a pipe dream. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to show him I could do it. I wanted to emulate him in every way possible. Dad was a hard-working, blue collar man who provided for his family with a modest income and an abundance of love. Everything I knew about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness . . . I learned from my dad. Early to bed, early to rise. But Dad was also a smoker, so the other half of Ben’s well-known phrase was unfortunately not true for my deceased father.
As was part of my morning ritual of prettying myself up for a fresh new day, I also talked to him as if he were still here. I was often angry at him for leaving me and Mom too soon, but the hurt of missing him overpowered any ill feelings by a mile, and my daily one-sided conversatio
n always ended with, “Time to make the donuts. Love you, Dad.”
The sun wasn’t even up yet, my day beginning at an ungodly four thirty in the morning. I walked the six blocks from my apartment to the bakery, enjoying the chirp of the waking birds and the warm breeze that accompanied a new dawn. There was something magical about living so close to the city. I could literally reach out and touch the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges if I walked through DUMBO, and I loved experiencing the skyline in all its glory at various times of the day. Many people favored the twinkling lights at night time, but I loved how the tall buildings shone in the sunlight. Big steel monsters casting shadows onto the East River, standing like stoic giants, reminding me that I had the honor of living in the greatest city in the world. At least, that’s what I liked to believe as a trekked in to work each morning and took in the sights.
I wasn’t necessarily a morning person, but I did love my job. Baking was a passion, and owning my own business was the icing on the cake. After high school and through much of my early twenties, I traveled abroad with various culinary programs, taking odd jobs with caterers, restaurants, and even signing a year-long stint with a cruise ship as a pastry chef. At twenty-seven-years-old my life was very fulfilling but for the one tiny hole in my heart that my dad once occupied. However, he was part of everything I did, quite literally in fact, because it was the nest egg he’d set aside for me in his will that made it possible for me to open For Heaven’s Cake and achieve that final goal in my career.
Opening the doors to my bakery, I stepped inside and flicked on the lights. A pleasant waft of sugar and flour infiltrated my senses. After all this time, the scent was something I should be accustomed to; it had seeped into my skin and embedded itself in my molecular makeup. The quiet hum of the cake and pastry refrigerators welcomed me home with a reminder to give them a spritzing or two of glass cleaner to sparkle them back to life. The chime on the front door swung with a sweet clinking sound, greeting me.
Since I didn’t open for a few more hours, I dead-bolted the lock behind me and walked through the bakery, eyeing the carefully chosen details with a smile. Two large crystal chandeliers hung from the copper tiled ceiling. The walls were pristine white subway tiles, and decorated with Andy Warhol-type art of larger than life cupcakes, cookies, and donuts. The floor completed the classy look with light gray and white vintage damask-patterned tile. In my office and in the kitchen—where all the magic happened—hung pictures of me and my parents, spanning their lives as a young couple, all the way through my childhood and present years.
The Hipster Chronicles Page 9
