by Frankie Love
“I do, actually. In the garage.”
“Well come on, I get hangry so we need to get going.”
Chuckling, I do as she suggests, grabbing the bike I bought at Kodiak’s shop and buckling the helmet under my chin. “Lead the way.”
She jumps on her bike, the hem of her dress fluttering as she settles down on the seat, her bare thigh sending a jolt of desire through me. Damn, she looks adorable on her cruiser. Like she is in an old-fashioned movie, brought to life.
“I’m only a few miles away,” she tells me, and I ride beside her, the roads empty and the evening settling around us.
“You like living outside of town?” I ask.
“It’s my parents’ rental, actually. They are letting me crash there until I figure out what I’m doing with my life.”
She says it both simply and with a slight hint of pain. As if she isn’t doing what she wants at all.
“What about you?” she asks. “You like living out here?”
“I do.” I exhale the mountain air. “I lived in Seattle for so long, I thought I was a city boy through and through. But this little town got a hold on me. Won’t let go. That make sense?” I look over at her and she looks at me, and damn, when our eyes meet, I feel something more than the burn in my legs. I haven’t ridden this bike in weeks.
“I totally understand. I love Linesworth — I can’t imagine leaving. Being gone for college was painful enough.”
“What did you study?” I ask.
“Accounting.” She groans. “Can you picture me behind a desk?”
I smile. “How did you end up with a food truck, then?”
“I like to cook, so I thought, why not? I want to be my own boss, and I want to do that in Linesworth.”
“Why aren’t you cooking, then?” I ask her. “Why open a bakery on wheels?” I want to ask her more pointed questions — like why go into business making muffins when there is already so much competition down Main Street, but I don’t want to upset her.
“I ran numbers. The start-up for baked treats was less than the cost for full meals.” She steers the handlebars to the left, pulling into a piece of property with a tidy cabin overlooking the river.
“I suppose an accountant would run numbers,” I tease, both of us getting off our bikes and taking off our helmets.
“Apparently I needed to run more than numbers,” she says, grabbing a bottle of wine from her wicker basket and walking to the front door. I follow her inside, curious about where she lives. “I didn’t consider the fact there is nothing proprietary about muffins and lattes. Especially when there are so many other great places to get them in Linesworth.”
I swallow, grateful I don’t have to bring this up for her. Tillie is smart, she knows what’s up. It makes me like her even more.
“Trouble is, I feel stuck,” she admits. She shrugs, dropping the conversation. “What do you think of the place?”
I look around — her place doesn’t look like her at all. It’s all log furniture, tables and chairs that look like they belong in an outdoor magazine, not her life. Matilda is bright and exuberant, funny and snarky and prim. Proper in a way that makes me want to make her naughty, and perfect in a way that makes me want to see her darker side. But this place looks like a rental house filled with secondhand furniture that has seen better days — not her home by a long shot.
I cringe. “Please tell me your bedroom is at least more you.”
“More me?” Her eyes widen. “What does that mean?” She walks to the kitchen and I follow her, watching as she takes a corkscrew and opens the wine bottle, then pours us each a glass.
“This place doesn’t look like your home, is all.”
“And what would my home look like, Benji?” she asks, leaning in, her elbows on the counter. Her tits pressed together in a sexy way that she doesn’t even realize.
“Not this.”
She smirks. “I know the smoke may have blocked my view, but it isn’t like your cabin is anything special. The place was empty.”
“True. I’m just not ready to commit to anything.”
She snorts. “No surprise there.”
I clench my jaw, knowing what she thinks of me. That I am nothing but a player. But she’s wrong. I want to be hers.
“So can I help with dinner?” I ask as she pulls out a waffle iron and plugs it in. She swiftly grabs the fixings for the batter, and pulls out a packet of chicken tenders from the fridge.
“Oh, you just sit back and watch, Sausage King. In fact, you should live Chatter this. I’m sure the ladies who follow you would love to see another girl making you dinner.”
“You know I don’t just do things for my followers.”
“Oh yeah?” She rolls her eyes, laughing, pouring oil in a pan on the stove top. “Then why do you post so many captions mentioning your package?”
“It’s marketing. It brings in customers.”
“You sure you aren’t obsessed with yourself?”
I shake my head, laughing. “I’m sure. In fact, before I opened that food truck, I didn’t even have a Chatter account.”
“Really?” Her voice lifts, seemingly surprised.
“Really.” I move into the kitchen and wash my hands before standing beside her. “Come on, put me to work,” I say.
She pushes her hip to the right, meeting mine, and she turns her head, smiling up at me. “Fine. But I’m still not sure I can trust you. Your motives, your good looks — all of it seems a little too good to be true.”
“You don’t believe in happy endings?”
She balks. “Well, I mean, I do. I live for them, actually. I just…”
“Just what?” I want to pin her to the countertop, kiss her hard. I want to give her a real happy ending. The one she’s been waiting for all her life.
“Just, you make me nervous, Benji,” she says, softer now.
“I don’t want you to be nervous with me,” I say.
“Here,” she says, taking my hands and giving me a piece of chicken. “Batter that, then place it in the oil. Should be hot enough now. I’ll make the waffles.”
“What is your special ingredient?” I ask as I follow the directions.
She smirks. “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be special, now would it?”
We work side by side in the kitchen quietly. I watch Matilda as she works, methodically, without making any sort of mess or mistake. I see the accountant in her for the first time. Thoughtful, precise. And smart. Because by the time we’ve dished up dinner, and she drizzles warm maple syrup over the plates of heaven, it is clear she has cooked up something special.
Siting at the table in the dining room, she watches as I take my first bite. It’s delicious, both savory and sweet, and I immediately go for another forkful.
“Damn, this is incredible.”
“Yeah? It’s my signature dish. I could make it every day if I had people willing to eat it.” She laughs, taking a bite herself. “I’m glad you like it. I admit, I was a little nervous making dinner on a moment’s notice for the Lumberjack King of Linesworth.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
As we eat, she shakes her head, laughing, not seeming to realize that this meal is literally insanely good. “I’d never. You came into town and blew away the competition. I didn’t stand a chance next to your innuendo.”
“Do you like my sausage?” I ask her.
Her cheeks turn red and she bites her bottom lip. “Honestly, I’ve never had your sausage.”
“But you do like sausage, don’t you?”
She swallows. “Is this a metaphor or are we still talking about your food truck?”
“What do you want me to be talking about?”
She sets down her fork. “You asked about my bedroom earlier. Do you still want to see it?”
I look at her from across the table. She is beautiful and slightly nervous and brave in ways that turn me all the way on. I stand, taking her hand. “Guide the way, Waffle Queen.”
&nbs
p; 6
Tillie
I’m not the sort of woman who says what she wants. Who sets down their fork and asks the ridiculously sexy man across the table to come see their bedroom? But I did and he stood and took my hand and now we are walking down the hallway toward whatever comes next.
God, I’m ready for it. All of it. Benji is not the kind of man I thought I would fall for, but then he looks at me and I melt. And I know there have been a hundred girls who melted for him before me, but right now, I don’t care. No one else is here. It’s just him and me in the middle of nowhere, in a cabin built for two.
I push open my door and reveal a bed that screams happily-ever-after.
“A princess live here?” he asks, looking around, taking in the big bed with a pink velvet headboard, a plush cream-colored duvet, about twenty pillows and netting wrapped round the entire bed.
“The rest of the house isn’t my stuff, but this bed — it’s my little nest.”
He smiles, biting his bottom lip, and I want to know exactly what he is thinking. He runs his hand over the netting, pulling a corner back. “You crawl in here and go right to sleep?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t go right to sleep, Benji.”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes deepening as he looks me over. “No?”
“No. I like to close my eyes when I get under the blankets and spread my—”
He steps toward me, cutting my words off with a kiss.
The kiss.
A kiss I will always remember. A kiss I wouldn’t dream of forgetting. A kiss that has me whimpering, my knees going weak. A kiss that comes in hot bursts of pleasure; a lip-parting kiss. His hands press against my waist and my body melts against his like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Maybe it was just me imagining it. Dreaming. The ridiculous fantasies I’ve concocted as I’ve lain awake in this bed, imagining him and me. Us. This. God, it’s happening now.
“You want this?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
“Yes. Very much.”
“Are you a virgin?” he asks, cupping my cheek with his hand. His question is gentle, and I know he truly wants the answer.
I nod. “Does that change things…?”
He nods. “Of course it does, Matilda.” His firm hands run over my back, cupping my butt, and I close my eyes, so ready and willing. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
I choose to believe him in this moment, to believe that in his eyes, I am beautiful. I choose to let go. Of inhibitions, of fear. I choose to hand that all over to this strong and ruggedly handsome man who is utterly in control of the situation.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “I don’t want to mess up. I want it to be perfect.”
He smiles down at me, that sexy smirk filled with devious desires. A smile that turns me on in the most implausible way. “It will be perfect, I promise.”
I lick my lips, trusting him, this moment. It doesn’t matter what comes next — what matters is that right now, I believe in a hundred impossible things. Mostly, the two of us, here, alone.
He lifts the hem of my dress up, over my head, and I pull in a sharp breath. The late evening sunset filters through the window. Soft pinks and purples, the light creating a warmth I need deep in my belly. I let go, and let him in.
He pulls off his clothes and I watch this man become vulnerable before me, naked and offering himself to me, and it takes my breath away. I close my eyes as he unhooks my bra, and I drop my shoulders as his palms cup my breasts, holding them like they are a treasure.
I’ve never thought myself sexy, but under his touch, I feel like to him, I am.
“God, you’re so perfect,” he says and I refuse to shake my head and say no. I am taking this night for all that it is: mine.
“Thank you,” I say. “You are pretty dang perfect too.”
He grins, that cocky ass grin that makes me weak in the knees. Benji knows he is hot, knows he was made to make women happy. He strokes his shaft, and I swallow, taking it in.
“So now that you’ve seen my sausage, you sure you can handle it?” he asks, dimples showing.
I laugh, shoving him with my hand. The moment could be tinged with nerves, but his joking relaxes me further. And I realize I need a man like this. Benji. A man who makes me not take everything so seriously. I get worked up, pent up, but when I’m with him, I feel myself letting go of so much.
“I want to try,” I admit.
He draws me to the bed, under the netting, and lays me down on my back, my head on my pillows. He lowers on top of me. “Then lets get you ready for it.” He kisses me deeply, and I feel his thickness against my belly, my pussy warm, wet. My nipples hard and tight. His tongue runs across mine and I moan in pleasure as our kiss intensifies.
I bite my lip as he runs his hand softly over my skin, lowering his mouth to my entrance, and he blows hot air against me, making my back arch as the delicious sensations flutter through me.
“Oh, Ben,” I moan, longing for more. He gives me what I need. His tongue runs over my slit, making me melt into the mattress, my knees falling open as I offer him all of me.
He takes it. Licking me up and down, and teasing my clit with fast circles. He adds a finger to my pussy and I close my eyes in pleasure.
“You’re so fucking tight, girl,” he groans, kissing my belly. Looking up at me. His beard tickles my skin and I smile, meeting his gaze.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
He chuckles, adding a second finger and making me gasp in delight. “It’s a good thing.”
My skin prickles all over as the sensation of his hand against me intensifies. My pussy is so wet, and when he dips his mouth back to me, he begins licking my release, his tongue fluttering over me and making me squirm.
He stills my knees. “Don’t you go anywhere, now, girl. It’s just about to get good.”
“Get good? Then what was that?” I pant.
“The warm-up,” he says, fingering me more quickly, and I moved on my elbows as he causes me to cry out, as a wave rises within me, making my head fall back.
“Oh, don’t stop… don’t… oh God…” I can’t speak because an orgasm runs through me in the most satisfying way and I’m moaning loudly, his name on my lips. He is kissing my pussy again, fingers and tongue opening me up in a way I didn’t know was possible.
“You like this?” he asks, leaning over me as the sensation settles over me.
I nod. “Very much so.”
He cups my cheek. “You are so fucking wet.”
I feel his thick cock on my skin and I have a deep need to have him inside me, filling me up in an altogether different way. “I’m wet for you.”
“Yeah?” he asks. I reach down and stoke him and he growls in my ear. “Fuck, Tillie. I want you so damn bad.”
“Good,” I say, kissing him again. “Because you have me, Benji.”
7
Benji
Being with Matilda is something more precious, more wonderful, than I could have imagined. She is eager, and willing. Wanting to please me, and also be pleased. It makes me want to be a softer man, a more gentle man — the kind of man who will scoop her up in my arms and kiss her slowly and make love to her all night, into the morning. The kind of man who thinks one-night anythings are for douchebags. The kind of man who knows what matters.
And she is all that matters now.
Tillie.
“What?” she asks as I run my hand over her soft skin.
“I’m just feeling fucking happy, being here, with you. Like this.”
“You’re just saying that because you like my waffle.”
I chuckle, caressing her cunt. “I do love you waffle. It’s sweet, and buttery and—”
She presses her hand to my mouth. “No more food puns when we are discussing my pussy. Unless…” She rolls onto her knees, examining my cock. “Does that turn you on, Sausage King?”
“For the record, I never called myself the Sausage King.”
She smiles, naked and delighted, licking her lips as she begins to stroke my cock. I groan, because it’s impossible not to. “I think it does,” she says exaggeratedly. “I think the idea of me filling my mouth with your sausage gets you all hot and bothered.”
“Oh, it does, Tillie. Believe me, it does.”
“Let’s see.” She leans over, opening her sweet lips and taking me between them, sucking my length, nice and slow. She pulls me out, twists her lips. “Is that right?” she asks. “Is that how I do this?”
Her question sends a thrill through me. I love the fact that she is asking me how to suck my cock. I love the idea that my girl wants to please me so damn well. Thing is, she has no idea that no matter what she does, and how she does it, I’m already hers. She can’t mess this up. Not now.
“Come here, let me touch your ass as you suck, okay?”
She nods. “You like my butt?”
I pull her creamy ass closer, so she straddles me backwards and I run my hand between her legs. “I love your ass, yes. And in this position, I also love the access I have to your cunt.”
She looks over her shoulder. “Do you have any idea how hot this is?” she asks.
I laugh. “I do, in fact. Because it’s the hottest fucking sight I’ve ever seen.”
Her cheeks turn bright pink, and her eyes are bright too. “This is the most fun I’ve literally ever had.”
I shake my head, loving her innocence, her honesty. It makes me want to treat her like the precious cargo she is, for the rest of her life.
She begins to suck me, and I begin to finger her wet pussy. The moment is so fucking sensual that I feel my balls tighten, my cock standing rigid. Her sweet lips suction tight to my cock and I hold on, not wanting to come in ten seconds flat.
I begin to lick her the way she deserves, slowly, with intention, circling her clit and making her moan my name.
“Oh, Ben, yes, yes,” she cries, fondling my balls as she rides my beard, nice and hard. I hold her hips, her ass in my face, her sweet cunt against my mouth, and I make her come, hard.
