“Why?” I ask as I turn to face him, putting my right hand on my hip, the one that's covered in inked stars, tattoos etched into my flesh for each month I kept the bookstore open. Guess I won't be adding anymore. “Because that's what you'd do? Frankly, I'm flattered that you guys asked to bake with me. It's the most considerate thing anyone's done for me since I got here.”
I turn back to the book and flip open to my grandma's absolute favorite recipe: big soft ginger cookies. My dad hates them because they're boring and brown and ugly, but honestly, they taste about a million times better than anything he can whip up.
Sometimes … things are prettier on the inside than they are on the outside.
Except for the men from Inked Pages. They're just pretty period.
Frost comes up behind me, positioning himself against back, and presses a kiss to the side of my neck that makes me shiver. It's a far too familiar gesture for our level of acquaintance, but … I don't stop him. Instead, I encourage him to keep going by pushing my ass into his crotch.
“Just tell us how to help,” Aspen says, watching me carefully, his sapphire eyes locked onto Frost's hands as they slide around my waist. He just confessed he has a … a crush or something? … on me and yet, he doesn't look at all jealous to see another man hold me like this.
He does, however, look horny and hungry and desperate. There's a bulge in his pants and he keeps swallowing, like he's trying to fight past a surge of desire. Fuck. And did these guys—all of these guys—seriously ask me out yesterday?
It feels like a dream … or a nightmare? No, just a wicked hot truth. That is exactly what happened.
Why did I run away again? Because their offer sounds way too good to be true? Yup, that's probably it. I'm not one of those stubborn idiots who refuse to acknowledge a good thing, but come on? I'm a challenge and these guys are bored and they're stuck in my parents' house with nothing else to do. Why not take turns bagging the only eligible girl on the premises, right?
“We need flour, ginger, baking soda”—I start, listing off ingredients—“cinnamon, cloves, salt, butter, orange juice, brown and white sugar, eggs, water, and molasses.”
“Oh, is that it?” Frost whispers in my ear and I shiver.
“You remind me of my uncle,” Crispin laughs, which should be a weird thing to say, but he says it with such genuine warmth that I just want to know more. “He raised me and my three brothers,” he tells me, grinning big and moving to the fridge to grab the butter, eggs, and juice. “And he could bake, broil, or barbecue any damn thing. He knew what he was doing in the kitchen, and he let you know it, too.”
I smile as I step away from Frost, and move over to the spice cabinet, pulling the rolling drawer out and peering at the glass bottles. Vale manages to find the sugar and flour and puts the bags on the center island, watching me the entire time. I notice he rarely speaks, but his face—and his body language—say a whole hell of a lot.
“What about you?” I ask, trying to prompt Vale into talking. He watches me as I put the spices on the counter and dig out some cookie sheets, mixing bowls, measuring spoons and measuring cups. “What do you think about all this? You haven't said a word.”
“I try not to talk unless there's something I really want to say,” he tells me, an angel with his pale hair and cream cashmere sweater, black jeans and white snow boots. He looks almost ethereal, a Christmas spirit dressed in a pop rocker's body. “I'd rather watch you, instead.”
“How about you start creaming that sugar and butter,” I say as I dole out the rest of the instructions for the cookie making party.
“I'd rather cream you,” is what I think I hear Vale say as he moves over to the microwave to soften the butter, but I'm not entirely sure. I decide to ignore him and focus on the cookies; just the process of preparing the ingredients for these babies make me think of my grandma and that brightens my mood considerably. Sometimes, I feel overwhelming sadness when I think of her. But at times like these, when all the best parts of her come to mind, I smile.
After a few minutes of working in silence, I snap my fingers.
“Ah, I forgot the music!”
I head over to the iPhone dock in the corner and switch out my dad's music for my own. If I were baking by myself—my usual routine—I'd put on Inked Pages. But it seems a little weird to play their own music with them in the room, so I land on another playlist with some pop rock Christmas tunes. We start off with This Christmas (I'll Burn It To The Ground) by Set it Off. Next up is There Will Be No Christmas by Crown the Empire.
“Excellent choice,” Vale says, sticking a finger between his lips and sucking off the butter, nice and slow. Clearly, he's baiting me. Is it sad that it's almost working?
“Thank you,” I say as I direct the boys through the steps of my grandma's favorite recipe, enjoying the way they take direction from me. Not like when I cook with my family and everyone ignores me, regardless of the fact that I'm the one with the most experience.
“Have you thought about our proposal?” Aspen asks after we finish making the dough and start to roll little brown balls across the sugar covered counter to coat them. The room smells like cinnamon and cloves, butter and sugar. I can't get enough of it. It feels so … homey and cozy in here, baking with these four guys I just met.
How weird is that? Why should I be more comfortable with strangers than my own family? I can even hear my cousins and siblings playing charades in the living room. But for the first time in a long time, I don't feel lonely and distant. Whatever their motives, Inked Pages came to seek me out this morning. They were interested in hanging out with me.
“The dating thing?” I ask as we place cookies on the sheet and my hand bumps Vale's, sending a shiver of pleasure through me. Our eyes meet and I wonder what he sees in my brown ones, if I'm as interesting to him as he is to me. “I don't even … how would that work?”
“Well, Crispin was telling us about your bookstore …” Aspen says, looking up at the Southern charmer standing on my right, across the counter from Vale. Frost is on my left with Aspen directly across from me.
“My bookstore,” I say softly, listening to Nothing For Christmas by New Found Glory, slowly rolling a cookie against my palm, my eyes focused on Aspen's apron, but my mind far away. “Yeah, well.” I sigh and shake my head, trying not to think of the front door bell ringing, Grandma waltzing in with coffee, looking around and smiling at what I'd accomplished … We decorated the hell out of that place for Christmas, too. It was fucking magical. “At least I had the sense to sell it and walk away before I lost it to the bank.” I put my cookie on the tray and scrape some more of the sticky dough from the bowl. “Well, it's not sold yet … it's still for sale, but … that doesn't matter anymore.”
I smile at the guys and roll the little ball in the sugar.
“Crispin said you were planning on moving in here?” Aspen continues, like he's aiming for something with a gentle, subtle sort of approach.
“You should consider dating us,” Frost blurts and Aspen tosses a piece of dough at his face. “What? Why dance around the subject? We only have two concerts left this year and then we're off the road, staying in San Francisco which is where you happen to live. So why not?”
“Got a taste of something you liked?” I ask which is supposed to be a joke, but just heats up the air between me and Frost instead. “I put our apartment up for sale, too, the place I shared with my grandma. I'm not going back.”
“Why not, Cherry Pie? Take a chance. Frost here, he really likes you. And Aspen? He's smitten as a puppy.” Crispin grins and pushes some hair off his forehead, smearing flour across his skin. “You said yourself you hate it here?”
“I'm not moving back to San Francisco to date some random guys who'll drop me like a hot potato as soon as they get bored. My shit's already boxed up and I've paid to have it shipped out here after the holidays.”
I wipe my hands on my apron and grab two of the finished trays, transferring them to the upper of the tw
o ovens built into the wall. Vale is right behind me with the other two, and I scoot side to let him slip them into the bottom oven.
“Hey,” Donner says, moving into the kitchen and punching through the door so hard I'm surprised she didn't break my nose when she made me bleed at the rest stop. “Boss lady needs to see Aspen and Frost.”
“We'll clean this shit up,” Crispin says with a nod and the other boys exchange glances, rinsing their hands at the sink and slipping their aprons off as they leave the room with their badass bodyguard … who's wearing a sweater with a baby polar bear on the front? 'Kay.
“You guys don't have to help me with this stuff,” I say as I gesture at the mess. “I'm sure getting stuck here really fucked with your plans. If you need to join Aspen and Frost, you can go.”
Vale steps up to me as I turn, standing in front of me, so close that I lean back, the edge of the counter digging into my ass.
“You're used to being alone, aren't you?” he asks me, reaching out and brushing some hair from my forehead. The motion makes me swallow hard. I am used to being alone, but why should I tell him that? I don't even know this guy. But as soon as he touches me … words flood my brain, like Vale is my muse or something.
He lifts me up and sets me on the four and sugar mess of the countertop, sliding his hands up the sides of my thighs, dipping his fingers underneath the gold of my party dress. If he goes any further, he'll know I'm not wearing panties.
Crap.
That's good. That's really good. I need to write that shit down.
“Does it matter?” I ask as Vale presses even closer, smelling like sugar and butter, the faintest hint of sweat from the warm kitchen. Oh my god.
“Why wouldn't it matter? You don't want to be alone and … there are four of us.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, sneaking his tattooed fingers to the apron strings tied around my neck. I close my eyes as he unties them, switching to the ones on my waist.
The apron falls to the floor and I feel suddenly … naked.
Naked in body andsoul.
These guys … they've known me for days and they're nailing me. Er, I mean, they're nailing all my issues, wants, needs, desires, and insecurities. Is it because they're musicians, artists? They just naturally have those … those empathetic souls that let them into the closed-off realm of my psyche?
I'm uncomfortable, but … intrigued.
What would it be like to have my own tribe of people? Four men dedicated to me, worshipping me, kissing me, fucking me … Ah. Wow. Why am I protesting again?! I must be stupid, a glutton for punishment.
“Can I fuck you?” Vale asks. Not one to mince words, is he? Guess he really does wait for something important before he speaks. His gold eyes look down into mine as I put my hands against the soft cashmere of his sweater. “I've wanted to since I saw you stumble out of that bathroom.”
“That was like, three days ago and I had blood all—” I don't get to finish my sentence because Vale captures my chin in ridiculously gentle hands. Firm though. Firm and gentle. Ahh. As soon as he does that, I feel myself start to go weak in the knees.
“Three days ago, blood … doesn't matter. I'm just telling you what I wanted. The moment I saw you, I wanted to fuck you.”
I lick my lips and Vale's gold eyes follow the motion.
“What about Crispin?” I start, and hear his sultry Southern laugh behind me.
“Oh, don't worry about me, Cherry Pie. Unless … you're curious to find out a few of the benefits of dating four men at once?” He comes around the island and pauses next to us, wiping his hands on his apron and grinning. “Ever had two at once? It's a hoot.”
“A hoot?” I ask as Vale turns my face back to him and kisses me.
Holy fucking Frosty the Snowman.
This man … his kiss is commanding but gentle, like a king who knows his orders will be obeyed. He has no need to be cruel, but he could, if he wanted to. Right now, though, he touches me like I'm the most precious treasure in the world, kisses me like I'm his queen.
My lips part and I let Vale in, his tongue sliding across my own with a sensual slowness that makes me groan and lean back against the counter. Keeping the heated contact between our mouths, he curls his hands under my thighs and lifts me up, setting me on the kitchen island and stepping between my thighs.
I'm truly not wearing panties, so … I can feel the hard bulge in his jeans against my bare cunt.
Vale slides his hands down the sides of my neck and holds them here, cupping me in his tattooed fingers as he works his tongue against mine, taking his time, his mouth tasting of butter and sugar. He's sweet and sinful all at once, and I feel myself surrendering to the pressure of his lips, his tongue, the slow cruel way he rolls his hips against mine.
Oh, shit, it's the most perfect form of torture—just enough to whet the appetite but never enough to feel full.
As Vale kisses me, Crispin steps behind him, putting his arms around the other man and pushing my dress up my thighs. I wiggle to help him with the movement, my bare ass rubbing around in the sugar that stains the countertop.
I don't even give two wild fucks that one of my brothers or sisters, my cousins, my parents could walk in here and see us. I'm practically a ghost to them anyway, so I doubt they'd even notice.
Crispin presses a kiss to Vale's neck and he shudders, opening his gold eyes to look at me and smirking.
“Is that a yes, Cyan Fallon?” he asks, raising a blonde brow, his colored hair draping over his forehead. I can't speak with his warm hands on the thundering beat of my pulse, my lips wet from his kisses, so I just nod. This isn't fucking like me at all.I destroyed Frost in that bathroom, kicked his bad attitude with my own. Well, okay, so it was a truce but … still. Right now, I feel … tender and vulnerable, exposed.
“It's a yes,” I say and Vale nods, dropping his left hand to fish a condom from his pocket. As he takes his other hand from my neck to undo his pants and push them down, Crispin scoots to his right and comes close to me.
Even with the strong scent of the baking cookies filling the kitchen, I can still smell Crispin's apple and mulled cider scent when he leans in, puts his fingers under my chin and lifts my face. His kiss is completely different than Vale's, eager and curious but not sloppy, oh no—there's nothing sloppy at all about Crispin Fox. When he kisses me, I groan and push into his mouth, sliding my tongue against his and curling my fingers in Vale's sweater.
I'm so wrapped up in Crispin's kiss that it takes me longer than it should to realize that Vale's gripped my hips and pulled me against him, using one of his tattooed hands to guide the head of his cock to my opening.
“Cyan,” he whispers, and I break away from Crispin for a moment, flicking my eyes to the drummer's gold ones. He smirks at me, the expression gentled only by the warmth in his gaze. With a powerful roll of his hips, he slips inside my warm folds with a rough groan. Oh. It's so much less practiced than everything else he does, that sound. It warms me up from the inside out, the heat spiraling up from the slip and slide of his cock in my heat.
Crispin moves behind Vale again and reaches out, grabbing my calves and lifting my legs, giving Vale better access as I instinctually wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of me.
“Yes, Cyan,” he murmurs against my mouth, kissing the corner of my lips and holding my ass in his tattooed hand. The other he lifts up, threading his fingers through my hair so he can control our next kiss.
As we fuck, our motions these slow, desperate rolls of hips and pelvis, Crispin reaches around Vale again, running his tongue up the other man's neck and pulling my gold dress down and over my breasts. I'm not very well-endowed, so I didn't bother to wear a bra.
I'm so fucking grateful for that now, as Crispin's big warm hands palm my tits, his thumbs teasing the tender pink peaks into a frenzy. My back arches of its own accord, pressing my breasts into his hands, moans tumbling from my lips and against Vale's hot, wet mouth.
The pleasure gets to be too muc
h and I surrender completely to Vale Kesselring's mouth, letting him guide my tongue with his own. He tastes every part of me, like he can't get enough, running his tongue along my fucking teeth, licking my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. When Crispin adjusts himself slightly and reaches between us to find my clit, I buck my hips in a violent motion and Vale clamps a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.
I can feel my pussy pulsing, fluttering, squeezing Vale tight between my thighs. He keeps moving, fighting the powerful clamp on his cock, making me whimper and moan and writhe. My body lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every single nerve ending alive and wanting.More, more, I want more.
If it's this good with two men, then what would it be like with four?
Vale works my body with these deep, powerful undulations, focusing his attention on my cunt and my mouth. Crispin picks up the slack, using my own natural lubricant to rub my clit in sensual, lazy circles. I thrash against their attentions, wondering where the hell the wild beast that rutted with Frost Manderach went. I feel as pliant as a fucking kitten right now … a slave to the overwhelming climax claiming my body.
When the bassist for Inked Pages puts his lips over my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth, I lose it completely, coming with a violent scream that's just barely stifled by Vale's hand over my mouth. Wow. Second time in a week I've had to make sure my lips were covered during a naughty rendezvous. Might be a record.
My body takes Vale's along for the ride, locking down so tight on him that he has no choice but to succumb to the pleasure, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders and thrusts, moving as long as he can before he collapses against me.
It's Crispin that holds us both up … just as the timer for the cookies goes off.
“I'll get those,” Vale says, sitting up slowly, eyes twinkling as he glances at Crispin and raises an eyebrow. He slides out of me, and I groan because shit, that felt good, and my body … she's not ready to be done. As I look over at Crispin, I find him with the full, thick curve of his cock in his hands. As he watches me, he strokes his palm—wet with my juices—down the velvety length with a ragged sounding groan.
Billionaires, Boarders, and Bastards: A Limited-Time Collection of Reverse Harem Romance Novellas Page 8
