by Elise Faber
“Um…” Her mouth was parted, tempting him again. Her cheeks flushed.
“Zero,” he murmured, dropping his head, darting his tongue over her bottom lip.
It took a second for his reply to penetrate, but then she started smiling again.
“Cloudless,” he whispered.
Her breath slid out of her. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Because she was the cloudless sky after an eternity of being shrouded by shadows, the clearing horizon after a storm. She was sweet and bright and for the first time in his life, he wanted to keep a woman, even if that might mean facing some of those fears from his childhood. Namely, that he never wanted to create a family that might be left behind, left worrying at home, left alone if something happened to him.
He’d been careful of distance, careful to keep things casual and light, so fucking cognizant of the risk of tying someone to him when he did the job he did.
But that one date with Misty had him thinking that having someone waiting at home might be all the more motivation to return safely, to get the job done quickly and smartly and then get back to the bright, cloudless skies his woman gave him.
Chance kissed her nose again, chewing on that thought, knowing it was true, and went back to cracking eggs.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope.” He found a fork, ignoring the noise of protest she made, and got scrambling. Once they were good, he returned to the fridge for some milk and cheese, both of which he added to the bowl. Bacon on the griddle, eggs whisked and ready. “What do you have on the agenda today?”
Her nostrils flared when she inhaled, her narrow eyes fixed on him.
Then she seemed to realize he wasn’t going to budge, even with the adorable glare she was tossing his way, because she sighed and said, “I need to drop the cupcakes at school then go open the shop. I’ve got a class in the afternoon with a bunch of nine-year-old boys and girls, then two more—a beginner and an advanced course. Then I need to make an appearance at the bake sale, do the requisite schmoozing, and pick up my cupcake holders. Then I need to go back to the shop and prep for my classes tomorrow. Whew,” she added, smiling up at him. “And now I’m tired even though the day has hardly begun.”
“What can I do to help you?”
She froze.
“Are you going to ask what again?” He tugged a lock of her hair before turning the bacon on the griddle. “Because I think it’s cute, but I also think it’s obvious, honey. I’ve got a couple of days off. I came back to Stoneybrook to spend them with you. So, I’m selfish. I want to take advantage of our time together.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you spent your vacation at home?”
“In Atlanta?”
She nodded.
“No.”
“Um…”
“I’ve already decided I’m moving up to Stoneybrook, Cloudless. Decided it a while ago. Mom and Dad are close, and Soph is here. My brothers aren’t far away either, and certainly a fuck-ton closer than me living several states away.”
“But your work.”
“Told you, I’d already planned to move into the area, as my work takes me up this way far more often than not. Which I’ve made certain of since I’ve been planning on moving to Stoneybrook for a while, and aside from a few cases that I’ll need to travel back and forth for, most of my work and connections are in this area.” He turned back to the bacon, saw it was nearly done, and dumped the eggs in the pan. “I’ll always have an odd case or two on the burner that will require me to travel, but while I love my work, I also like being nearby and connected to the people I care about.”
She was quiet, and when he slanted a look in her direction, he saw her shoulders rise and fall on a breath.
But when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to talk, he focused on the eggs and said, “Just in case you were uncertain after things went down two weeks ago, I put you in the category of people I care about.”
Another breath.
Another rise and fall of her shoulders.
“Um…”
Fuck, now she was being cute again, and now he had to kiss her again, and that meant risking the bacon and eggs, and for all his talk of being a functioning adult—including his ability to cook for himself—eggs and bacon was pretty much the only thing he could make for breakfast, aside from toast, cereal, and oatmeal, and he didn’t think those were quite “cooking.”
“Cloudless,” he warned.
She blinked up at him.
Fuck it.
He’d risk the bacon and eggs.
He bent and kissed her.
And no surprise, forgot about the food, forgot about trying to keep his “cooking” skills under wraps. He got lost in the cute and soft and sweet, then got lost in the way she leaned against him, her breasts against his chest, her thighs around his hips, her tongue meeting his.
She moaned, and he lost it, sweeping her up into his arms and dropping her onto the kitchen island. He yanked at the tie on her robe, tugging the pink fabric off her shoulders and exposing the thin tank top and panties she wore beneath.
Hard nipples, pressing against the white fabric, breasts pillowing over the low neckline.
Soaked underwear, so fucking wet that the fabric was nearly see-through, or at least giving him a glimpse of pink folds beneath.
His mouth watered, and for a moment he couldn’t decide if wanted it on her breasts or her pussy.
Then she released a shuddering breath, jiggling those tits, and he moved. Nudging the pencil-thin straps down her arms, he yanked the stretchy material. It resisted for a moment, then her breasts popped free.
He bent and sucked a nipple deep. Her fingers came to his head, wove into his hair, gripping him tightly and holding him against her as he used teeth and tongue and suction to drive her wild. Hips bucking against him, hands clenched in his hair, nipple so freaking hard. His name tumbled off her lips as he released her, as he kissed his way to her other breast and suckled. At the same time, he snaked a hand down beneath the waistband of her underwear, spearing it through her folds and slipping two fingers inside her, using his palm against her clit just the way he’d discovered she liked.
“Oh,” she moaned, gripping tight at his hair, lifting him from her breast. “Inside,” she begged. “Inside me.”
Yes.
Yes.
He wanted that.
Reaching down, he unbuttoned his jeans, yanked down the zipper, and pulled out his cock. An arm around her waist, hefting her up enough to tug off her panties. He stepped between her thighs, started to press home into all that hot, wet tightness.
Wet.
Wet.
“Fuck,” he growled, trying to go slow, even though that was fucking torture.
“No,” Misty groaned, gripped his ass, trying to press him deeper.
“Trying not to come, baby.” He fumbled for his control. “Trying not to fuck you too hard.”
She pulled him in again. “I like hard.”
“You deserve sweet,” he said.
Her tits were bouncing in time to her rapid breathing. “Yes.” Each word was punctuated by a breath. “But I want you to fuck me hard.”
And that was when he stopped fumbling for control.
He lost it altogether, yanking her toward him as she ordered, “Now.”
That he could do.
He pressed home, the wet, tight heat of her surrounding his cock, sucking him in, pulsing around her. So fucking hard. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on, this close to exploding with one fucking stroke under his belt.
The only consolation was that Mist was right there with him, her hips jerking up toward his, her hands pulling him in. “More. Harder,” she chanted, over and over again.
He moved faster, harder, pounding into her, knowing he wasn’t going to last long.
His fingers went to her clit, pressing hard as he thrusted deep, not showing her any mercy when she moaned and jerked. This wasn’t a gentle a
scent. He was about to tumble over the edge and so he was yanking her up alongside him, not letting her slow, not going easy and gentle.
Her body went stiff. “Chance.”
The fracture was in her voice, in his name.
She was close, thank fucking God.
He pounded into her, harder and faster, feeling his own orgasm singeing its way up his spine.
“Chance,” she moaned again.
And he felt her start to convulse around him, her pussy clenching him tight, and now she was yanking him up, thrusting them both over the cliff into oblivion.
She exploded.
He was right there with her.
Pleasure spiraling out through his body, making his legs wobble and shake, forcing himself to brace against the island, or else take them both to the tile floor.
“Holy hell,” she breathed.
“I second that,” he murmured, kissing her bare shoulder.
They stood there for a minute, his cock still hard and buried deep, their breathing slowly evening out.
Then she sniffed.
Then he sniffed.
His gaze darted to the stove, toward the black smoke rising off the griddle, the frying pan, filling the kitchen with it.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
The smoke detectors went off, blaring through the house.
What a goddamned clusterfuck.
But then Misty grinned, her mouth coming up to find his. “I’ve got another pound of bacon in the freezer.”
Okay, he could revise his previous thought.
Not a clusterfuck.
Not even remotely close.
Not when he had this woman in his arms, in his life.
“Bacon,” he said, slipping out and helping her down.
She was still smiling when she said, “Freezer.”
“Smartass.” A kiss to her nose.
“Hungry smartass.”
He smacked that ass, smart or not, moved to the stove and turned it off, yanked the pans off the heat. “Go clean up. I’ll take care of breakfast.”
Her grin turned into a smirk, but she simply righted her tank, picked up her panties and robe, and turned for the bedroom.
Chance snagged her arm, tugged her back to him.
He’d take care of breakfast.
He just needed to taste that smirk first.
So, he did.
13
School Tongue
Misty
“Going to tell me what’s going on with that?” her friend Shan asked, nudging Misty with her shoulder and nodding to their right.
Well, Misty’s right.
Shan’s left.
Because her friend had cornered her the moment Chance had gotten drawn into conversation with Shan’s significant other, Finn (only one of the biggest movie stars in the world, no big deal), and their daughter (Shan’s biological, Finn’s adopted since Shan’s ex was the biggest tool bag on the planet, and Finn had never seen Rylie as anything but his).
To her credit, Misty didn’t pretend to not know who Shan was talking about.
For one, Shan wouldn’t let her get away with pretending, and that would only draw out the interrogation.
For another, Misty wanted to share.
Needed to get it off her chest.
“That’s Chance.”
“Yes,” Shan said, waving her hand through the air. “I know all about Soph’s brother and your date, which was supposedly fabulous, according to Soph, but what your sister-in-law didn’t see these last two weeks, since she’s on a freaking private island, is that you’ve been moping around like someone set your yarn collection on fire.”
Misty shuddered, that thought too horrible to bear. “Not funny,” she said. “And also, you’ve spent plenty of time on private islands yourself.”
Shan grinned, something that had been absent on her friend’s gorgeous face far too often before she met Finn. “That’s true. Also, nice try at distraction.”
She wasn’t really going for distraction, though she couldn’t deny that her half of the conversation up to that point had brought it. “I like him, Shan. A lot. Too much, considering we’ve had one and a half dates and I spent our reunion yesterday pelting him with skeins of yarn and yelling at him in equal measures.”
“One and a half?”
“Yup.” She was considering last night only half a date, considering only half of them were awake.
Shan’s brows lifted. “Explain.”
So, she did.
About the date—the escape room through to dinner, including the fabulous sex, the way she’d felt complete in a way she had never expected, especially after one evening together. Then she told Shan about the morning after and her being so damned hurt about him not sticking around, how he’d been gone for two weeks on the job, him showing up at the shop, his shock and then his explanation and apology. Finally, she told her friend about him hanging out with her while she’d baked cupcakes, how he’d licked the bowl and ordered dinner and then had fallen asleep on the couch, not wanting to disturb her. She dished about that morning, the way it was so easy for her to talk to him, the burned breakfast, and the kitchen island sex.
“Wow,” Shan murmured. “Make sure you disinfect that before you have me over for dinner next time.”
Misty swatted her friend. “Asshole.”
Shan grinned. “I need kitchen island sex.”
“Isn’t countertop sex what got you pregnant the second time?”
That grin didn’t fade. “Yes. Or at least I think so. But no reason it can’t do the job again.”
Misty’s heart leaped. “You’re thinking of trying again?”
Shan bit her lip, nodded. “We’re past the thinking stage.”
Misty squealed. “Seriously?”
Shan nodded again. “We’ve lost it, haven’t we?”
“In the best freaking way possible,” Misty assured her. “You and Finn are fabulous parents.” She did some shoulder nudging of her own. “And I imagine that trying is half the fun.”
That got Shannon grinning. “Damn right it is.”
“Especially when you’re married to a big ol’ movie star.”
“That too.” Shan sobered. “You good though, honey? That was a shitty thing for him to have done, leaving without a word. You believe him when he said that he truly thought he told you?”
Misty paused to consider that even though her ready answer had her wanting to immediately say, “Yes, of course, I believe him.” But she owed it to herself—and Chance—to truly consider that. Because if some part of her had been swept up in him the day before, in the attraction, the power of his charm, and if that part of her didn’t truly believe his explanation, then what they were building might be destined for failure.
So, she took the time.
She thought and pondered and thought again.
And then she met her friend’s stare, knowing that the words she was speaking came from her heart. “I saw his face. I saw how distraught he was when he realized I’d been hurt,” she said. “And I know how he treated me on our date, last night, and this morning. I know him being Soph’s brother and me being Rob’s sister complicates things. He loves his family, loves his sister. He wouldn’t want to hurt me, just for that alone. And,” she whispered, blinking when Shan grabbed her hand and squeezed, oddly touched and near tears, “he wouldn’t want to hurt me. Because he cares about me. Me.”
The last was said with some wonder.
Not that Misty thought she was unworthy of that.
But because she felt the same about him.
She cared.
“Well,” Shan said, blinking and looking near tears herself. “I like the way he looks at you.”
Misty smiled. “There’s that.”
Shan leaned in. “And I like the way he noticed that you’re about to burst into tears, even though he was deep in conversation with my very sexy husband, and he’s already heading this way.”
“What—?” Misty started to turn to look for
him, but then a pair of arms were around her, lips were pressed to her jaw.
“You okay?” was the soft question in her ear.
Shan smirked. “I’ll go grab your cupcake holders.”
A shiver slid through her, Chance’s warm chest pressed to her back, as though he thought she was cold and needed his warmth, rather than his words in her ear, that small touch of his mouth had her shuddering, her pussy throbbing. She tried not to melt into him. Tried and failed, that was. Because he was there and his strong body was big and surrounding hers, and…it was wonderful. Clearing her throat, she shook herself out of her fog and caught Shan’s arm. “But the cake auction hasn’t started yet.”
Shan pecked her on the cheek. “And you’re not going to be here for it.”
Chance chuckled.
Her friend’s gaze drifted over Misty’s shoulder, and narrowed, presumably on Chance’s. “You hurt her again, you answer to me.”
Mist felt Chance nod.
Shan repeated the gesture then turned away again. “Going to get those holders,” she said.
They were quiet as Shan moved away, Rylie skipping over to take her mom’s hand, Finn and baby trailing behind. Misty spun in Chance’s arms. “You got the patented Teacher Look from Shan.”
His mouth hitched up. “That I did.”
She winced. “Sorry about that. Shan is a good friend and—”
He bent, pressed his smiling lips to hers for a kiss that wasn’t full of tongue and heat, but one that was long and intense enough that she knew—based on their location (the school auditorium) and based on the percentage of the population of Stoneybrook currently in said auditorium (a solid seventy-five percent)—everyone would be talking about her and Chance and The Kiss.
But The Kiss was so good that Misty found she didn’t care.
At least until a growl sounded behind them and she all but jumped out of her skin. Chance just swept his thumb over her bottom lip, barely flinching when Finn—the source of the growl; apparently he was feeling protective—jabbed Chance in the side with the stack of cupcake holders. Shan was behind him, arms wrapped around their littlest munchkin, Rylie having run off somewhere.
Chance released her, took the cupcake holders, somehow managing to tuck them under one arm while threading the fingers of his free hand through hers (something that would also get the gossips talking).
