by Pippa Grant
It’s just him and me, together, riding wave after wave of pleasure, taking us deeper under this spell, and I don’t ever want this to stop.
Ever.
Never ever.
He moans and dips his head to my shoulder, tensing with every aftershock that rumbles through my body.
The last of the spasms leave me boneless on the bed, and I suddenly break into a fit of giggles.
Ryan lifts his head and cocks an amused brow at me, his eyes sleepy and satisfied. “You found my performance amusing, Ms. Sunderwell?”
“No,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. My lungs are still heaving despite every other muscle and organ in my body being turned to happy, satisfied goo. “I’m trying to imagine a dildo doing that for a woman.”
He huffs out a laugh and shifts so that he’s not in danger of crushing me before pulling me close. His heart drums steady and strong against my ear, and I cuddle closer.
This afterglow stuff rocks.
“I think you have sex toys beat,” I tell him.
“You most definitely have sex toys beat.” He strokes my back and presses a kiss to my head. “Thank you for letting me be your first time.”
“Thank you for being my first time.” I pause, because the Cassie of two weeks ago wouldn’t have had the bravery to say everything else I want to say. But I don’t want to be the Cassie of two weeks ago.
I want to be the Cassie of today.
“I’m glad I waited for you,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around me, and one big hand cups my breast. “Me too,” he whispers back. “Me too.”
Twenty-Two
Ryan
* * *
Like most mornings, I wake up with a thirty-pound raccoon asleep on my head and a crick in my neck from being pushed off my pillow in the middle of the night.
But this morning, I’m too ridiculously, outrageously, obnoxiously happy to care.
I float into consciousness with a smile on my face, a grin that gets bigger when I realize the warm weight on my chest is Cassie still snuggled beside me, her legs tangled in mine and her arm draped over my ribs. Memories from last night rush in, feeding the happy flames until I’ve got a bonfire roaring inside of me.
I’ve had my share of amazing nights with incredible women, but nothing like this.
Nothing like her.
I glance down, watching Cassie’s eyelids flutter in her sleep, wondering how it’s possible that she keeps getting prettier every time I look at her. Even now, with mascara smudged beneath her lashes and her hair in a wild tangle around her face, I could stare at her for hours.
But unfortunately the cranky bastard waking up on my head with a grumpy clacking sound has a limited tolerance for lolling about in bed. At least not until I’ve fetched his breakfast first.
“Five more minutes,” I whisper, brushing George’s paw away from my forehead.
He chitters in response and transfers his attention to my nose, squeezing the tip before trying to dart a digit into my nostril, something he knows drives me up the fucking wall.
“No, George,” Cassie murmurs sleepily. “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.”
George gurgles in surprise—apparently only just realizing we’re not alone in bed—and rolls off the pillow, landing on the floor with a thunk and squeak.
Cassie props up on her arms, eyes wide. “Oh no, is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” I say, grinning as George croaks irritably from the floor, making it clear he would disagree with that statement. “He’s like a cat. He always lands on his feet. Or his ass. But considering the size of his rear end, that’s a pretty soft place to land.”
Cassie giggles. “I was wondering about that. I did a little Googling, and I don’t think raccoons are supposed to be quite so…fluffy.”
George croaks again and we both burst out laughing.
“I know,” I say, still grinning so hard the muscle in my jaw is starting to ache. “The vet is always on me to put him on a diet, but if I cut portion size at home, he just goes looking for more food in the nearest dumpster. I should probably take him on longer walks. Or get him back on his tricycle.”
“No way.” She pulls on her glasses while she narrows her eyes at me. “You’re messing with me. George can’t ride a tricycle.”
“George can ride a tricycle,” I say, lifting two fingers in the air when she puckers her lips doubtfully in response. “Scout’s honor. I modified Blake’s old trike with a longer handle for him. We can take him out for a ride later if you want.” I curl an arm around her waist, pulling her soft, warm body closer, wishing she hadn’t pulled my tee shirt on before we drifted off last night. The only thing better than waking up with Cassie in my bed would be waking up with Cassie naked in my bed. “I mean, assuming you’re up for spending more time with us.”
Her lips curve in a shy smile. “Yeah. I would like that. I had a good time with you last night.”
“I had a wonderful time with you last night,” I say, letting my hand drift down to cup her ass through the tee shirt fabric. “Best night ever.”
Her grin stretches to take up more real estate on her pretty face. “Whatever. I bet you say that to all the girls.”
I shake my head, voice serious as a heart attack as I promise, “No. I don’t.”
“No?” she whispers, leaning in closer. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I say, threading my fingers into her hair. I’m seconds away from a good morning kiss when George leaps onto the end of the bed with a hiss that’s downright menacing.
Cassie jumps away from me, clutching the sheets to her chest while I glare down at my sorry excuse for a wingman. “No, George. Mind your manners. I’ll get your breakfast in a minute.”
At the word “breakfast,” George’s ears perk up and Cassie laughs. “I hear you, George. I’m pretty hungry myself.”
I’m feeling empty too, I realize. “We never ate dinner last night, did we?”
Cassie shakes her head, her eyes dancing as she says, “No. We were too busy with other things.”
I grin. “We were, weren’t we? Way more fun than dinner.”
“Way more fun,” she says, laughing as her stomach lets out a long, gurgling growl. “But I could go for an energy boost.”
“We definitely need to keep your energy up,” I agree, tossing off the covers and swinging my feet to the floor. “So I can help you use it up again later.”
“Sounds perfect.” Her lips press together for a beat before she says in a rush, “Thank you for making my first time so perfect. It was better than I ever imagined it could be and I know that’s all because of you.”
I lean in, hands braced on the mattress. “Not true. It takes two, Sunderwell. Chemistry isn’t a solo operation.”
She winces. “That reminds me… I should head home and get dressed for work. I’m helping out in the lab while half the staff are home hiding from the press.”
“Can’t you play hooky? I’ve got the day off and nothing to do but make you a big breakfast and spoil you rotten.”
“I think you already did that last night,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink.
“That wasn’t spoiling you, that was my pure and complete pleasure,” I say, voice going husky as I recall how hot it was to have my mouth between her legs, tasting her sweet, salty heat, making her come for me.
She blushes even brighter red in response and it’s so cute I can’t resist pressing a kiss to her dimple, a display of affection that summons another outraged squawk from the end of the bed.
“Fine, fine,” I grumble, winking at Cassie as I pull away. “Hold that thought. I’ll be back with breakfast in bed and no obnoxious fur baby. If I can’t convince you to stay, at least let me feed you before you go.”
“I could probably be convinced to stay.” She watches me pull on a pair of pajama pants and cross to grab a shirt from the bureau with obvious appreciation, maki
ng me wish George had stayed out raising hell last night instead of coming home like a good trash panda. The look in Cassie’s eyes makes me want to take clothes off, not put them on. “If you’ll help me with some brainstorming in between fun stuff. I want to get a list of app ideas off to my virtual assistant in Bangkok by tonight. That way he can start coding the framework that I’ll dress up with all the pretty stuff later.”
I nod as I back toward the door, heading toward the sound of George banging his silver bowl on the floor in cacophonous objection to my lollygagging. “Totally. Sounds like fun. You helped me with my art, now I can help you with yours.”
She beams at me. “Yeah. It is like art. Just art with numbers instead of a blowtorch.”
George howls like he’s being slowly disemboweled and Cassie laughs and slides out of bed, making shooing motions with her hands. “Go. Feed him. I’ll come make coffee. I’m too excited about my day off to stay in bed.”
I’m sad about her not staying in bed, but not for long. The sight of Cassie padding around my kitchen in nothing but a tee shirt that barely skims the top of her thighs is not something I’m going to complain about.
Thirty minutes later, she slides onto a stool beside me at the kitchen counter, grabbing a fork and tucking into the eggs and bacon I whipped up in the cast iron skillet. She gives a happy moan. “Oh, man. I don’t think breakfast has ever tasted so good.”
“It’s the cast iron skillet,” I say around a bite of sinfully good smoked bacon. “And starvation. That’s part of my game plan. Make sure you’re so hungry anything I feed you will taste restaurant quality.”
Her eyes dance. “Speaking of restaurants… Since we have the whole day, I was thinking maybe we could go for a bike ride together first, before we take George for his. I mean, it doesn’t seem right to have eggs and bacon without a cinnamon roll.”
I grin. “I like the way you think, Sunderwell.” I lean in, bringing my lips a whisper away from hers. “I like the way you kiss even more.”
“Ditto.” She kisses me, slow and sexy, her tongue teasing against mine, confirming that everything is indeed better with bacon. Even smoking hot kisses.
After breakfast, I dress and take George out for a brief weed of the garden while Cassie runs back to her place to shower and call into the office to announce that she’ll be working remotely. While I’m watering the cucumbers, I check in with the town InstaChat page to see if there have been any new developments only to find the gossip mill running wild. News of Cassie’s conversation with the sheriff has gotten out and the warring camps are escalating the conflict to outright warfare.
One look at Cassie’s face as she wheels her bike down her drive makes it clear she’s seen it, too.
“I shouldn’t have looked,” she says, lips turned down hard at the edges. “I can’t believe anyone thinks Savannah or I had anything to do with the fire or trashing the square or anything else. We would never put people at risk. Or intentionally damage the company she worked so hard to build.”
“I know that,” I say, without the slightest shred of doubt. Last night wasn’t just sexy as hell, it was also intimate, revealing. Cassie dropped her walls and let me in, revealing the pure sweetness at the heart of her. She isn’t capable of the kind of deception people are accusing her of, which is probably why this is so hard for her to understand. “People see the world as they are, not as you are, you know? It’s not your fault they’re so eager to see the worst in others, even when it’s not there.”
She frowns, blinking beneath her furrowed brows. “You’re right, but it still makes me sad. I didn’t realize there were this many bitter people in Happy Cat. They should change the name to Cynical Cat.”
“Pessimistic Cat, maybe?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, Cranky Badger. Do away with the cat part altogether.”
I smile. “I think that’s redundant. Aren’t badgers always cranky?”
“I don’t know, I’m not on intimate terms with many badgers.” She cocks her head, shifting her attention to George, who is washing baby tomatoes he stole from the Honey Gold vine. We keep a water dish outside for just this reason. “What about you, George? Do you know many badgers?”
George pops a tomato in his mouth and chews, seeming to consider the question. Cassie smiles in response. “I wish he could talk. I have a feeling all the stuff milling around in his head would blow our minds.”
“I’m not so sure. I think he’s mostly thinking about what he just ate, what he’s currently eating, or when he’s going to eat again.”
“To be fair, that’s probably also true of half the people in this town,” she says, grinning guiltily as she props her arms on her handlebars. “Including me. I don’t care if I’m persona non grata around here. I still want cinnamon rolls. And more coffee.” She taps her new cup holder, the one I installed for her the day after our first date. “Thanks for this, by the way. You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome.” I grin. “Let’s head out. I’m done here.” I shut off the hose and turn to her, wiping my damp hands on my jeans. “But I think we should make a promise to each other—no checking InstaChat or email until tomorrow morning.”
She stands up straight, pressing her lips together in a determined line. “You’re right. No need to let gossip spoil the day. And who knows, maybe by then they will have moved on to something else.”
Not likely, I think, but I keep the pessimistic thought to myself. Today isn’t a day for dwelling on small-minded people or law-enforcement officials more concerned with making convenient connections than the right ones. Today is for enjoying the company of a woman who is quickly becoming one of my favorite people.
By the time we get back from our bike ride and coffee treat, we’re feeling no pain, too high on sugar, caffeine, and last night’s orgasm hangover to give negative things an ounce of our attention. And then Cassie suggests a swim and a picnic down by the creek and the day gets even better.
I have the pleasure of rubbing sunscreen on her fine back and watching her stretch out on a towel wearing nothing but a red, 1940s pin-up style one piece that is by far the sexiest piece of swimwear I’ve ever seen. We jot down notes for her app design in her notebook over chicken salad sandwiches and exchange war stories about our worst jobs ever—mine, cleaning the fry cooker at The Little Chicken; hers, fetching coffee for a gaming designer who left water bottles full of urine all over his office for her to dispose of.
“And he made me recycle them,” she says, gagging softly as we wander down to the water’s edge. “So gross.”
I wince in sympathy, but can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. Why are guys so gross?”
She squeezes my hand. “Not all guys. You’re not gross. Not even a little bit.”
I cut a glance her way. “You haven’t seen the inside of my garage.”
“I don’t care about the inside of your garage,” she says. “Just the inside of you. The heart and all that.”
“All that is in fine working shape. Especially when you’re around.” I draw her close in the chilly spring-fed creek, warm her up with a kiss, and drift off for a nap an hour later with her lying on my chest in the summer sun, certain life doesn’t get much better than this.
It’s an idle thought, but when I wake up, it’s still drumming softly inside my head.
Life doesn’t get much better than this…
Much better than someone who makes you laugh and makes you think and makes you feel like everything is right with the world because she’s there beside you.
The suspicion that I’m in deeper than I would have imagined possible after a few dates teases at the back of my mind, becoming something close to a certainty. And then Cassie and I take George for his tricycle ride and she laughs all the way down to the end of our road and back, that gorgeous, free and easy laugh only the people she trusts get to hear, and I’m going, going…
“But he needs a helmet,” Cassie says, beaming at my ridiculous raccoon as he picks up
speed, chasing a leaf down the blacktop. “Got to protect that big beautiful brain of his. I’ll order one tonight. Two day delivery.”
Gone.
I’m gone.
She’s worried about my fur rascal’s brain and she’s already got my heart in her hands.
I stop, turning to her in the sunset light, memorizing the way she’s smiling at me, so wide open and fearless it takes my breath away. I want to remember every second of this, of the moment I realized I’m in love with the girl next door. She returns my lingering look, the softness in her eyes making me hope she feels it too, how close we are to something incredible.
Close, and getting closer with every passing day.
And now, hopefully, with every passing night.
“Stay over again?” I ask, taking her hand. “I promise to feed you this time before I have my way with you.”
She traps her lip between her teeth as she nods. “Yes, but I have a special request, if that’s okay?”
I reach out, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Of course. Anything your stomach desires. I’ve got chicken and pork chops in the fridge that I can throw on the grill. Or if you’re in the mood for vegetarian, I can grab a few things from the garden and—”
“Not that kind of special request,” she says. “Though any and all of that sounds amazing, I just… I thought maybe…” Breath rushing out, she reaches into her purse, whipping out a plastic box with a hot pink dildo inside. “Maybe you could teach me what to do with this? I mean, I have a basic idea, but…”
My brows lift. “Well, I would. But I confess I’ve never used one.”
“You haven’t?” She blinks and a second later rolls her eyes. “Oh. Right. Why would you? You have a perfectly good…” She waves a hand in the general direction of my cock, making me laugh.
“I do,” I say. “But it doesn’t seem that complicated. I’m pretty sure we can figure it out.”
She arches a brow. “Yeah? You think? If we put our heads together?”
“And all our other parts.” I gather her into my arms, letting my hands slide down the small of her back to cup her bottom through her shorts. “Thanks for asking me. I’d be honored to help you figure out what you like.”
