by J. S. Scott
“You understand why I had to leave, don’t you? I never meant for things to end. I wasn’t ready for that, but I needed to go to school.” He murmured the words, his lips pressed against the top of her head.
So much for not talking about it, but at least she didn’t have to look at him while she did it.
“I know you had to go to school. I don’t know what made me say that. Forget it okay.” And she did know. He’d been twenty-two with a chance to move to Paris and study at one of the best culinary schools in the world. Of course he had to go. It would have been insane not to.
“You just stopped writing to me. I didn’t understand why, but I still came home at Christmas expecting to see you. I thought if we were in the same country at least, we could work things out. I never imagined you’d just be gone.”
They both sat very still, her in front of him and him with his arms around her, holding her, but she could tell he was waiting for an explanation. She wasn’t sure she had one to give – not one that would make sense to him anyway. Angry sex aside, she owed it to him to at least try.
“You know how hard it was for my dad with the farm, right?” Her dad hired Eric to help out for the summer because the farm was more than he could manage by himself and they couldn’t afford full-time help. “That fall after the harvest he just quit. He asked Caleb if he wanted to farm, but he’s allergic to work. I said I wanted to do it, but I don’t have a dick so it didn’t count.” She sounded bitter and sitting in Eric arms, the last thing she wanted to do was sound bitter. She’d made her peace with her father’s decision, mostly. “The developers had been after him to sell for years. This time when they asked he said yes. He sold the farm. I went to UNC and Caleb ran around until he got the idea for Blake Enterprises. I don’t know why I didn’t write you to tell you what was happening. I really don’t, but I had to leave.”
She’d missed him so much when he left, but the business with the farm had been ugly. After the way her dad acted, she’d been so hurt. She’d always worked harder than Caleb and the fact that her dad only cared about whether his son wanted his legacy had broken something inside her. She had to get away. It hurt too much to stay. The real question was why had she come back?
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and something inside her relaxed. “I just figured you didn’t want me anymore. I was twenty-two and a guy. It never occurred to me that it might have more to do with your life than mine.”
She wouldn’t let herself think that they had a chance at anything beyond hot sex and Christmas, but she’d be grateful if this time when they parted ways, he wasn’t angry with her. She turned her head and raised her mouth for a kiss. He brushed his lips over hers, tightening his arms around her.
“If you hadn’t gone, you wouldn’t be the world famous TV chef with all the fancy restaurants,” she said, smiling and teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue.
“I am very famous,” he said, dragging her bottom lip between his teeth.
“I had heard that about you.” She licked into his mouth and the kiss that had been playful morphed into something much hotter.
“I heard you weren’t wearing any panties under that T-shirt,” he said, shifting out from behind her so he could roll her under him and fit himself between her legs.
“Some Neanderthal ripped them off.” She sucked in a breath as he settled himself over her, his face inches from her mound.
“Did he now? How fortunate for me.” Keeping his gaze on hers, he caught the bottom hem of her T-shirt between his teeth and started to tug it up her body, over her hips, baring her. With excruciating slowness, he lowered his head and bit the fleshy mound above her sex. It wasn’t hard enough to be painful – not exactly – although Julie was pretty sure his teeth would leave a mark, but it completely focused her attention on his mouth and her sex.
His hands cupped her hips, pinning her to the sofa while he spread her open with his thumbs. As she watched, he wrapped his lips around her swollen clit and sucked. Her body thrummed to life, hungry, achy and needy, like he hadn’t been buried inside her less than half an hour earlier. It didn’t make a difference. She wanted him every bit as much as she had an hour ago, maybe more because now she knew for sure that the reality of having him inside her was even better than her memory.
He teased her opening with the tip of his tongue, circling before plunging inside. She slid her fingers into his hair, fighting the urge to pull him closer but at the same time needing to touch him. With long delicious licks, he explored every inch of her swollen sex without ever quite giving her what she needed. Her clit throbbed and her hips bucked as he tortured her with his mouth. Every time she got close, he backed off until she lay whimpering and writhing on the sofa, one hand fisted in his hair while the other clutched at the cushion.
“Enough, God enough. Please.” She pleaded, but her body was trembling, practically vibrating with pleasure and aching need. She wasn’t sure if she was begging him to stop or to never stop.
“Shh baby,” he said, pausing to kiss and nibble his way along the crease where her hips met her body. “You can take much more.”
She groaned and then he slid two fingers inside her in one smooth stroke and the groan turned from frustration to earthshattering pleasure. While he worked his fingers inside her, rubbing gentle arcs in her tight channel, his mouth found her clit again, sucking with a deep pulsing rhythm. Her head fell back and her lips parted as he stroked and suckled, drawing her climax closer with each touch.
She felt swollen, achy and she needed to come. Raising the T-shirt over her head, she bared her breasts and cupped them while her fingers plucked her tight nipples. She felt his groan against her sex and it almost sent her over the edge.
“That’s it,” he said, lifting his head to watch her. “Touch yourself like that. Pinch your nipples for me.” He kept up a slow steady rhythm with his hand while he watched her roll and tug the rosy peaks. Knowing he watched her made the sensation that much more intense and in moments she felt her body start to tighten in anticipated release.
Eric latched onto her clit with his skilled mouth, holding the tender bud gently between his teeth while he flicked the bundle of nerves with his tongue. She cried out as the orgasm rolled over her, threatening to swamp her with the intense pleasure of his fingers inside her and his mouth on her. She felt her greedy sex milking his fingers and wished it was his cock instead of his hand. She didn’t have long to wait.
Before the climax faded, Eric shucked out of his sweatpants and grabbed a condom from the table behind the sofa. He rolled it down his hard length, but this time when he entered her, it was with excruciating slowness. He filled her inch by inch, giving her body time to adjust. When he was finally seated as far as he could go, his balls resting against her ass, he hooked one of her knees behind his elbow and started to move.
“Look at me, Julie,” he said, his voice strained. “I want to watch you.”
She kept her gaze on his face, sucking in a breath every time he nudged her womb. It was a pleasure so intense it bordered the line between pleasure and pain. His strokes became erratic and she knew he was close, fighting for his own control. She lifted her head to lick over the dusky circle of his nipple, and he clutched the back of her head, holding her to him. He kept her head tucked against his chest, anchoring her to him while she licked and teased him, and he fucked her with long punishing strokes.
It was different than before. Their lovemaking had lost its angry edge, but it didn’t make the pleasure any less intense. When she felt him start to thicken and swell inside her, the orgasm that had been skirting the edges of her body, broke over her, and she started to come. Her body tightened around his cock, triggering his climax. He held her to his chest as he drove inside her, roaring her name with his release.
He collapsed on her before getting up to deal with the condom, and she had just a moment to hold him, stroking his back before he got up and walked away.
*****
“Get up for a
minute,” said Eric, bumping Julie from the sofa so he could stretch out. “Here. Let me hold you.” He snagged her hand and tugged her down to lay on top of him.
They jostled to find out how they best fit together and to spread the cashmere throw over their bodies. After a bit of giggling and a few elbows to the ribs, he managed to get her settled in his arms with her head resting comfortably on his chest. He ran his hand over her hair, loving the silky feel of it spread over him and Julie in his arms. This far exceeded the Christmas Eve he’d expected to have. The warm soft weight of the woman in his arms was the best present he’d gotten in a long time. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, suddenly overwhelmed by how quickly things had changed for them.
He didn’t have any allusions about them going back to the way things were between them a decade ago. They’d practically been kids, and they sure as hell hadn’t known anything. But tonight proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was still something between them and he wasn’t willing to let her go until they figured out how deep it ran.
“This is nice,” she said, pressing a kiss to his chest.
The firelight flickered over her, bringing out the chestnut lights in her hair and softening her face. They may both be older and wiser, but she still looked as fresh-faced and young as the summer they met. Curled on his chest, she looked more like the sweet innocent she’d been than the hellcat he’d fucked senseless on his kitchen counter.
At the memory of her perched on the counter naked and spread open for him, his body started to respond and he had to concentrate to keep from getting hard. He’d had her twice, but it didn’t matter he wanted her again. After she’d had a chance to rest.
“Shh,” she said, sounding sleepy and content.
“I didn’t say anything, baby.”
“You’re thinking. Really loud. Stop it.”
He smiled and kissed her, snuggling her tighter into his arms.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
She raised her head enough to look him in the eyes. “I am, too.” She brushed her lips across his and then settled back onto his chest.
Eric glanced at his watch. Almost one o’clock.
“Merry Christmas, Julie.”
“Mmm,” she said, sounding barely awake. “Merry Christmas.”
Chapter Five
Eric woke up in his bed alone and had a moment of dread. He’d carried Julie to bed last night and made love to her again when she’d roused. They’d fallen asleep curled around each other, so where the hell was she? Before he could really worry that she’d disappeared from his life – again, he smelled the tea.
That had always been a challenge for them, and it seemed like the years apart just amplified it. She’d always gotten up with the sun, even on weekends, and he sometimes had trouble making it to bed before the sun came up. The promos and morning shows he’d endured to build his brand meant he was up early most mornings, but when he could sleep in, he seized the opportunity.
Struggling upright, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slipped on his sweats. He hit the bathroom and then headed down the hall in search of coffee and Julie. He found both in his kitchen. She was sitting on a stool at the island he’d fucked her on last night surrounded by strips of white paper.
“Morning, beautiful,” he said, nuzzling her neck and breathing in the warm scent of woman and the lingering soft floral scent of her perfume or shampoo. She’d commandeered another of his T-shirts and a pair of sweats. The sweats were so big on her; he could see even sitting that she’d rolled the waistband and cuffs.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, smiling up at him, obviously much more awake than he felt. “I hope you don’t mind. I found the paper and scissors in the drawer.” She looked a little sheepish and he bent to kiss her again, taking his time with the tender skin behind her ear. She leaned into him, letting her head fall back against his chest to give him better access to her throat.
“Of course, I don’t mind, cher, but what is it that you’re doing?” The paper strips were folded into something that resembled quilt squares with long tails.
“Making Christmas stars. You didn’t have any decorations, and I didn’t have a present for you. I thought I could make you one.”
While he watched she folded one of the tails around and fed it under one of the intertwined strips. She gave it a tug and it formed a perfect curl and point. He stood dumbstruck as she repeated the process until she was left with a perfect white paper star.
“My mom and grandma used to make them,” she said, handing him the tiny thing.
He held it on his palm, marveling at the simple elegance of the design. It was a beautiful little thing. In so many ways, it was like her, breathtaking in its simplicity. Perfect. At least the way she used to be. He had to admit, he didn’t know much about who she was now. He had a hard time imagining his Julie working in technology security.
“I love it, cher. It’s beautiful,” he said charmed. She turned up her smiling face to him and he kissed her again. “But I don’t have anything for you.”
“How could you?” she said with a laugh. “You didn’t know I’d be here.”
Which was true but it didn’t stop the fact that he wanted to give her something as special and thoughtful as her present to him.
“You could cook for me, you know. Having world famous chef, Eric Auxtres make my Christmas breakfast would be pretty cool.”
Eric laughed at her TV announcer voice and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her neck and nipping at her earlobe. “What if world famous Chef Auxtres had you for breakfast instead?” He heard her breath catch and felt her heart beat faster under his lips.
“That could work,” she teased, “But I am very hungry. I think we should eat first.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, giving her ear a tug. “But you had your chance.”
Eric dropped a pod into the coffee maker and pressed the strongest setting. In moments, rich dark espresso filled his cup. He took a swallow, so eager for the caffeine he almost burned his mouth and then opened the refrigerator to look for something to make for Christmas breakfast. He settled on sourdough French toast topped with Greek yogurt and homemade orange scented fig preserves. Pulling out the eggs and cream for the custard, he fell into the rhythm of cooking.
He spent so much time lately, working on his brand, doing product endorsements and making guest appearances, he rarely had time to relax and cook the way he wanted to. Whisking the eggs and cream, he added nutmeg, cinnamon, and a pinch of cayenne. While the cast iron skillet heated, he dropped a hunk of butter in to melt, chasing it with a splash of oil to brown the toast. He sliced thick slabs of bread, inhaling the sour yeasty smell before dunking them in the spicy custard mixture. In moments, he had big slices of French toast sizzling in the skillet. He looked up from the stove in time to see Julie watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I mean I knew you were good at what you did. I’ve always known you would be, but I’ve never seen you cook before. You look good, chef. It’s obviously what you’re meant to do.”
He heard appreciation tinged with a little wistfulness in her voice and wondered how far away she was from getting to do what she was meant to do. And what that was. He’d always assumed she’d be a farmer. They’d talked about her going to college to study horticulture. Working side by side in her father’s field, he’d never seen her as happy as she was with her hands in the dirt. It seemed a shame that she hadn’t been able to take over the family farm the way she’d wanted to. Farming was a hard life and unless you started out with family land, it was almost impossible to make a go of it.
He flipped the bread and wondered again what had gone wrong with her family. Christmas morning certainly wasn’t the time to talk about it. Grabbing two thick white plates from the cupboard, he slid a thick slice of golden brown French toast onto each plate. He used the bread knife to slice the toast diagonally and stacked it against each other before topping it
with a dollop of yogurt and ladling on chunky fig preserves. The scent of citrus combined perfectly with the almost floral scent of the figs.
“Take a break and come eat,” he said, carrying the plates to the small kitchen table by the window. He grabbed his espresso, made her a fresh cup of tea, and brought it over to her.
“This looks so good.” She breathed in and smiled. “Remember Momma’s fig tree?”
“Of course,” he said. “That’s where I learned to love them. Roasted with bacon and blue cheese, sliced and topped with crumbled chevre on a white pizza or like this in preserves. The summer at your place made me a fig aficionado.”
“I remember all the ways you tried to fix them.”
“Some more successful than others,” he said.
“I wasn’t going to bring up the fig stew.”
She took a bite of her French toast, closing her eyes in pleasure. It had always been a joy feeding her. That hadn’t changed.
“Oh Eric, this is so good. I expected it to be, but God, it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like. Now eat. I’ve got plans for you.”
*****
They finished breakfast and carried their plates to the sink, but Eric stopped her when she tried to clean up.
“I’ll do it later,” he said, leading her by the hand to the living room.
He hit a button on the remote and the fire sprang to life. It wasn’t the same as a wood fire, but she had to admit it was dammed convenient. He spread the throw on the floor in front of the fire and piled pillows from the sofa at one end.
“Come here, cher,” he said, dropping to the floor and motioning for her to join him. “Come let me touch you.”
How could she turn him down? There was nothing she wanted more, but there was a voice in the back of her head warning her that every time they were together she fell a little bit harder for Eric. That wouldn’t do. Celebrity playboy chefs didn’t fall in love in a weekend, no matter what the history, and Eric had his pick of women. She’d seen them hanging on his arm in the tabloids like a flock of beautiful long thin birds.
