Summer Lovin: A Dating Season Novella

by Laurelin Paige

  “Well, I guess a party is not a party unless your grandmother rides off on the back of a motorcycle,” I muse on our way back to the house.

  “A party is not a party until the guest of honor receives her gift.”

  “My gift?” I stop in the same spot we were in before Grannies Gone Wild happened. “This isn’t a gift party. I can’t accept a gift.” I shake my head. “You’ve done too much for me.”

  He places a finger on my lips to halt my words, and leans down to whisper in my ear, “I need to see you in my bedroom for a moment.”

  Well, then. I take back everything I just said.

  He opens the door for me, and the party’s still going strong in the backyard. Laughter and music filter into the living room from the open patio door, so I feel less guilty about leaving the guests to detour and sneak into Austin’s room.

  “You didn’t have to get me anything. Granny Mae is the best gift ever.”

  “You might change your mind when I give you this.”

  The lock booms like a cannon as it clicks into place. He rests his back against the wood and gives a chin nod to the flower still in my grasp. “What were you saying about your rose before we were interrupted? Did you forget about what you asked me?”

  The air seizes in my lungs. “It’s not that I forgot, but it kind of seemed like the universe sent a signal that maybe the timing isn’t right.”

  He pushes off the wall and moves closer. “Ask me again.”

  Every step he takes closer increases my heartbeat until it’s banging against my chest. “Will you accept my rose?”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

  He takes it from me and then his lips are on mine and my hands are in his hair, free to roam and explore without fear or guilt binding them.

  Our moans mingle, and it’s like kissing him for the first time. Every swipe of his tongue against mine creates a new sensation I’ve never experienced.

  It’s like discovering what it’s like to be with him all over again. The growling sound from his throat, the caress from his fingertips against my breast, the ache in my chest that seems more poignant.

  He walks me back toward the bed and breaks away when the back of my knees hit the mattress.

  “I’m going to give you your gift.”

  “Oh. Now?”

  He nods and wets his lips. “I think you’ll want this gift. Are you ready for it?”

  “Really, it’s okay. You don’t have to,” I say greedily, wanting to continue the make-out session with him. “We don’t know how long they’ll be gone, so let me kiss you senseless a little longer?”

  He reaches between my legs and palms the epicenter of my lust, rubbing the heel of his hand against the electrified bundle of nerves.

  I’m sure I’ll love his present, but his magical hand has me under a spell. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, so I shove my selfish desires away. “I’m ready and then I’ll kiss you senseless with gratitude?”

  His teeth scrape against the shell of my ear while he continues to work my body into a frenzy. “My gift is to kiss your pussy senseless.”

  My thighs clench at his dirty talking. This moment seems surreal. Like it’s too good to be true, and the universe is messing with me and I’ll wake up in the morning to realize it’s been a dream.

  “Climb on the bed.” His bossy tone leaves no room for disagreement.

  Not that I was going to, mind you. It would take an army of clowns to stop my lunge onto the soft-as-a-cloud mattress.

  “You can’t make a sound,” he says, removing the bottom half of my clothes with skillful hands.

  He trails the rose along my skin, from foot to thigh, caressing it over my panties before he leans down to remove them with his teeth. It’s a perfect combination of romance and caveman. Heaven help me.

  “Fuck,” he murmurs, staring at my most private part. “Lie back so I can taste you.”

  My pulse races as I follow instructions, granting him access to feast upon me.

  “Did you know rose petals are edible?”

  “I knew this,” I whisper.

  His dark eyes flit to mine with a devilish glint in them. He plucks a petal and drops it on my bare pussy. “I deserve her”—he plucks another—“I deserve her not…”

  He continues on until the last petal remains and I reach in and stop him from removing it, because it’s not true. “You deserve me. Trust me.”

  With a groan, he dives between my legs, like I’m an altar for him to worship from. My heart thrashes as he teases me, lifting each rose petal with a sensual tongue flick and eating them until there is nothing left between us.

  “God, I can’t wait for you to come on my face.”

  He hooks my leg over his shoulder, and I quiver with anticipation as he plants lingering kisses and quick nips along the sensitive area of my inner thighs, working his way to the sweet spot that’s already dripping for him. It’s like he’s circling prey, building the excitement before moving in for the kill. His tongue drags along my seam and I fist the comforter in my hands, arching my back.

  “You’re so wet,” he says, sucking my lucky lips into his mouth.

  “I’m so turned on, I may come before you get started,” I pant out.

  He moans, and then finally ends the torture. My whole body exhales as he sucks, nibbles, blows, and licks with a voracity that increases the warm feeling low in my belly to an inferno. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out, and prop on my elbows to watch him—to memorize this moment. He looks up at me with hooded eyes drunk with desire, and ah, God, inserts a finger. It’s too much.

  Too good.

  There is no time to warn him I’m coming; my body shatters into a million blissful pieces.

  He gathers them all and breaks me again when he groans and slides in another finger, rolling my orgasm into another.

  “Wow,” I whisper when my body calms.

  He moves up, eyes never leaving mine, and I wrap my legs around his hips, grinding against the swell in his jeans.

  “I want to give back,” I say.

  The way he bites his lip and the strain on his face tells me he wants it too.

  “Not now. I want to wait until the third date.”

  As disappointed as I am, I respect his decision. It’s super hot fooling around like this, but there’s a party going on.

  He kisses the disappointment away, and we ready ourselves to rejoin the guests.

  “How did Logan take it?” he asks on our way to the door.

  “I haven’t told him yet.”

  He tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. “Why not?”

  “Because I feel the right way to do it is face-to-face.”

  His brow furrows. “So you’re still dating both of us.”

  “No! I’m only dating you! He just doesn’t know that part yet.”

  “You just described dating two people.”

  “It’s more a case of timelines not matching up?”

  “You don’t understand timelines, do you?”

  I sigh. “It’s tempting to avoid the conversation in person because it makes me uncomfortable, but I think he deserves more than a phone call. The internet experts say it’s best to break up in person and I agree.”

  “The internet experts?”

  “Yes. It’s respectful and kind.”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  I don’t believe his okay.

  “Is that the male version of ‘it’s fine’ when it’s not really fine?”

  “No. I get it.” He drops a kiss to my forehead and swats me on the butt. See? Romance and caveman.

  “Do you? I could easily text or call him, ghost him, but I don’t know, talking to him in-person seems like the right thing to do. The adult thing.”

  He doesn’t seem to understand how monumental this decision is, blowing it off as though we’re still in the place we were a few days ago, but I know the difference. I’m all in. And I show it by kissing away the frown on his face before returning
to our guests.

  Three

  It’s weird to dodge a sexcapade with Logan right after pruning the nether region specifically for the guy in the next room. But that’s exactly what I’m doing as I dress for an outing with Granny and Charlotte. I’ve no right to complain about feelings of discomfort regarding Logan’s amorous advances, because if I insist on doing the right thing, then I have to take my lumps.

  “So, is it bad to ask if Laid With Love is coming soon?”

  I laugh off Logan’s loaded question, but my attempt to seem casual sounds a little too high-pitched and nervous to my ears. “Well, I still have lots of details to work out, like what recipe I’ll include with the products to keep it on brand.” Even though I know he wasn’t really going for an actual business summary with his question, I continue on, hoping to distract him from his horniness. “I also need to finalize the design, and figure out packaging. Ryan can help with the design. I’m thinking I want something sleek and minimal. Black and pink with a tiny heart dotting the i. Hm. What else? Do I want a new logo to separate the two divisions or the same with different colors? So many decisions. So summing up, yes, it’s bad to ask.”

  None of my ramble succeeded in distracting him from his aim, which is to orgasm. “Well, as you know, I’m a very bad boy.”

  Normally, I’d ask how bad, encourage him to fill my ears with filthy talk, but times have changed. He doesn’t know times have changed, so now it’s just awkward when I don’t press him to elaborate on his claim of naughtiness.

  Instead of hopping onto the bed and sliding down my panties, I have to roll my lips inward to stop myself from ending things right here and now. I know Austin thinks I should just do it on the phone and get it done, but that’s the coward’s way out of the relationship.

  Perhaps I should at least give him a hint about what’s coming? No pun intended. The articles I read about breaking up with a person you actually like said not to do the “we need to talk” thing because there’s nothing worse than the dread that follows hearing that phrase from someone you care about. As much as I want to not string him along, I agree with their advice because I’ve been in that position. When someone says that to you, it’s obvious what follows.

  “How’s Arizona?” I ask to navigate away from this landscape painted with sexual undertones to a shade more neutral.

  “It’s so damn hot.” His voice lowers into a raspy hush. “The kind of heat that makes you feel as if your body will catch fire if you don’t get some relief. You know what I mean? You’re almost ready to beg for some wetness to extinguish the burn in your body.”

  “I’m not a big fan of that kind of climate. My temperature limit is probably eighty-five degrees with no humidity.” I shimmy into jeans and a vintage Rolling Stones tee as he continues to make the arid weather sound like a lover tormenting him. And if he could only get some relief, he’ll survive another day. Usually I’d say something risqué like how can I relieve that for you, tell him to stroke his cock, use all my sexy romance novel tricks, but that can’t happen anymore.

  “Did you know petrified wood is their official state fossil?”

  As I slip on red flats, I want to kick myself with them for my choice of words.

  “Wood, huh? So the semi in my pants could halfway qualify.”

  There’s really no good segue into another topic but I try anyway. “Speaking of wood…would you believe I have to go?”

  “Really?” Swear he moans a little. “That’s a shame, because I’d love to come.”

  Man, he’s good. Gotta give props to his ability to sway the conversation back to phone sex. If he ever quits the music industry, this might be a lucrative gig for him.

  “I’m sorry. Charlotte arranged for us to look at a few commercial spaces today for my shop with Granny Mae before she leaves tomorrow.”

  He takes it in stride and after I assure him I don’t have time to finger myself, we hang up. Ugh. How will I continue to sidestep his phone-sex advances until he returns? And not to brag, but I know there will be more because…

  That’s all we do on the phone? My brain backtracks through our conversations since he’s been away and the ratio of dirty talk ones versus just regular chit-chatting is alarming.

  On my way to the kitchen, I realize something else important. Even if there were no Austin, and I didn’t plan on breaking up with him, I’d almost be perturbed there were no questions of value about my new endeavor. Of course, how can I be bothered by the shaky construction of our relationship when I helped build the lewd foundation on which it rests?

  Oh, well. Doesn’t matter. In a few weeks, when he returns, it’s all going to come crashing down.

  “You have to come back for my baby shower, Miss Mae,” Charlotte pleads with her. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, sugar. If I have a date with a new beau, I’ll cancel it.”

  We are simultaneously planning the baby shower while looking at rental spaces for Mae’d, and I am triple-tasking trying to muster up the courage to tell my grandmother about my new plans for the business.

  “I’ve already set up the Pinterest board for the baby shower,” I inform Charlotte as we wander around a warehouse style space that is affordable, yet spacious.

  “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Charlotte balks.

  “No. I found the perfect theme.”

  “She kept me up half the night talking about that site and showing me pictures of cookies,” Granny says, walking over to inspect the counter running along the back wall.

  And she kept me up the other half snoring, but I don’t even care because she’s here with us.

  “What’s the theme?” Charlotte asks, checking out a sunlit nook in the far corner with a glass curio case.

  “Baby Is Coming. That’s it. That’s the theme. You love Game of Thrones—well, the good seasons—and look at this…”

  I whip out my phone and show her the adorable cookies custom-shaped like onesies and decorated with deer, lion, wolf, and dragon insignias, as well as precious rectangular ones with Baby Is Coming written on them.

  “Oh my God. I love it,” she says, giving her full approval on everything I pinned. “Okay, that’s settled. Now, what about this space? This area would be perfect for the Laid With Love line, don’t you think?”

  I wave off her words, trying to signal her to zip it, but it’s too late.

  “What’s Laid With Love?” Granny Mae asks.

  Charlotte cringes. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Oh, nothing. Chloe wanted—”

  She realizes her mistake and tries to correct it, but it’s not her fault I haven’t told sweet Granny Mae about my dirty idea yet, so instead of hiding the truth, I cut her off. “I want to expand the business with something I can make quickly, with less of the painstaking painting details.”

  “Well, that sounds like a smart idea. What kind of things? She said Laid With Love. Is that some sort of bedding?”

  “No.”

  She rests her elbows on the counter, chin in hand. “Is this some kind of guessing game? I could guess all day, or you could just tell me?”

  Charlotte bites back a laugh, and I blurt it out. “It’s sex toys.” Granny slowly blinks, but lets me continue. “A coworker of mine started a side business selling them and I went to support her, and while I was there, I was thinking about Mildred’s order for the bookstore, and thought this would be a perfect add-on to sell. Plus…making the items for Mae’d is time-consuming, so with this additional income, maybe I can get ahead. But your name is attached, so…if you feel weird or reluctant, I don’t have to do it.”

  She leans up from the counter. “Why would I feel weird? I think it’s a fantastic idea. I’m so proud of you, Chloe, and everything you’re accomplishing.” Her voice breaks a bit. “You’re a successful businesswoman. The ladies at Bingo are going to shit and fall back in it when I tell them about this.”

  I cross to
her for a hug. Gah. Everything is falling into place for me.

  “Phew,” Charlotte says. “I was going to feel horrible if it didn’t have a happy ending. Now that we don’t have to hide Laid With Love, what do you think about this space?”

  “There’s a drain in the floor and those back stairs are really steep,” I say, picking apart the wide area. “I couldn’t let the baby crawl around in here. Should we have a mimosa bar?”

  “Chloe, there will be a kiln in there,” Charlotte says. “Why on earth would the baby be crawling around recklessly? The drain is the least of your problems. Definitely yes, on mimosas.”

  “All babies are reckless,” Granny Mae adds, ominously. “Chloe was dragging herself across the floor with one arm before she could crawl.”

  “Good thing I’ve trained with you,” Charlotte mutters. “Add that to the baby rules—no crawling before Mama is ready.”

  “Don’t worry about training,” Granny Mae clucks like a mother hen. “You can plan everything perfectly, but babies make their own rules.”

  “I think following the rules are more for me to feel like I’m doing things right,” Charlotte says, absently rubbing her barely there baby bump. “It’s scary thinking of all the sacrifices. I’m going to live in a fortress of baby gates.”

  “Don’t fret.” Granny rubs her back. “Your instincts will kick in when the baby is in your arms. Don’t underestimate the effect of love. People seem to forget that’s what binds us together. We make sacrifices for those we care about. Take Austin…” She points at me. “Overheard him apologizing for missing a meeting with some finance person because he picked me up at the airport. Heard him say he was doing something for a very important person.”

  Ah, why is he so good to me? Truly, it’s me that doesn’t deserve him.

  “Speaking of Austin,” she continues, “what are you doing about those boys?”

  Since she opened the can of worms, I fuss to them for a bit about whether I’m truly doing the right thing with Logan or being a righteous coward. “He deserves face-to-face, I’m sure, but what do I do in the meantime? It feels like I’m stringing him along. Past Chloe would have stopped taking his calls all together until he came back to town. I feel simultaneously guilty and extremely mature about this whole breakup. It’s a strange place to be in.”