by Ciz, Alley
Chapter Seven
Holly curled up in her favorite oversized chair in Lyle and Kyle’s living room, full glass of wine in one hand, Kindle in the other. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions, making it seem longer than the eighteen hours she had been awake. She needed the escape both the alcohol and the steamy hockey romance offered.
Once again Stud Muffin—she refused to ask the Samsons for his name—invaded her thoughts with the same confidence he'd swaggered into her kitchen with that morning.
The guy was a freaking walking, talking romance novel hero. It was like he was plucked from one of her favorite Belle Willis books and dropped into her life.
Holly had to stay focused on herself and not her love life.
She would not think about cocksure men who kissed like they taught all the classes in the course catalog—from Kissing 101 all the way through to the doctorate program.
Nor would she remember how gently he cupped her face while he plundered her mouth. Yeah, plundered—she was a romance junkie and she could use old school romance terms all she liked.
She certainly wasn't pondering the muscles of his well-defined body or admitting how hot it was when he effortlessly maneuvered her body to align with his.
There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her to confess to feeling up those delectable muscles.
Nope.
Not gonna happen.
And dammit, there went another pair of panties. The guy was fucking lethal. Just the memory of him was enough to generate copious amounts of laundry. There was ab-so-lute-ly no way she could consider going on an actual date with him. She wouldn’t survive it.
“You know,” Kyle said as he and Lyle entered the room, “for a girl who is supposed to be lost in the world of swoony bad boys, or whatever it is you’re reading this week, you sure look like you’re thinking really hard.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks heated at being caught thinking of her Muffin. Hehe. Thinking of him as Muffin, without the preceding Stud, only made her think of her vagina, which then led her to thoughts of what he could do to it, and that was a slippery slope she didn’t need to travel.
“Want to share with the class, Sweets?” Lyle asked, a familiar devilish twinkle shining in his turquoise eyes.
“Just working out a few new flavor combinations I want to try tomorrow,” she lied. These two were so in love, if they had even a hint of the attraction she was feeling toward SM they would go all supernova matchmaker on her. They would be like if a Jewish Bubbie got together with a Greek Yaya and had a baby, and that baby was raised by an Italian family. They’d have her married off and pregnant faster than it took for one of her cakes to cool enough to frost.
“Bullshit. But we’ll let it slide because we have more important things to discuss at the moment,” Kyle retorted as he pulled Lyle in to snuggle against him on the couch.
“And that would be?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“We found you a place to live,” Lyle answered.
“You’re kicking me out?” Sure, she wanted to find a place of her own when she could afford first and last months' rent—the only plans she had as far as her future was concerned, besides helping revamp EP’s bakery business—but she was nowhere near ready for that.
“First off”—Kyle held up a finger for emphasis—"we would never. You know you are welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like. But be honest, Hol. You’re itching to not be surrounded by our wedded bliss twenty-four seven.”
All the tension radiating through her body drained at his reassurance. She finished her remaining wine in an attempt to rid any lingering worry.
“Even with you guys paying me way more than I think you should, I’ve only been here two weeks. I don’t have enough saved up to pay the security deposit needed for a place. Even if it was a studio, I’m a few months out.”
“What if you didn’t have to pay a security deposit?”
“How is that possible?” She twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “I don’t expect to live a lifestyle like we grew up in, but I’m not going to the ghetto.” She scrunched her nose like she smelled something foul.
“Where the hell do you think we live, Sweets?” Lyle’s face twisted comically. “We don’t have a ghetto.” He rolled his eyes so hard she was surprised they didn’t fall out. “That’s your parents’ influence bleeding out.”
Ouch.
“Roommates, Hol,” Kyle said when it became obvious his husband wasn’t going to be any help.
“Like scouring Craigslist? I’m cramping your style so bad you want me to risk ending up in someone’s freezer when I inadvertently start living with a serial killer?”
“And you say I’m dramatic?” Lyle placed a hand to his chest with a flourish.
She'd lived the first twenty-three years of her life curbing her impulses, forced to be a proper lady. She was allowed to let her emotions flow free now—for no other reason than because she could.
“We have friends that have a room that’s been sitting empty for almost a year. They would love to split the rent three ways again.” Kyle continued as if neither of them spoke. “They’ve already said the room is yours if you want it.”
“Why would they do that? They don’t even know me.” She wasn’t used to people doing nice things without strings attached. No, her world had been filled with more strings than the cover of that one *NSYNC album.
“They know you’re friends with me and that’s good enough for them. All you have to do is meet and see if you like them. If you do, we can move you in this weekend.”
She was floored. It seemed too good to be true. Instinct had her preparing for the other shoe to drop—there was always a catch. But then she remembered she wasn’t trapped behind a wrought iron gate in a gilded mansion. Not everyone in the world was like the Vanderbuilts, in fact, most people were genuinely good.
“Okay.” She took a deep, fortifying breath. She could do this. She could make new friends. It was time for this baby bird to leave the nest and learn to fly. “When can I meet them?”
“We already told them you’d swing by The Steele Maker tomorrow.”
“The gym?” Her voice squeaked like a dog’s chew toy. Stud Muffin. He worked out at the gym. What if she ran into him there? With her luck she would. But she wasn’t sure if it would be considered good or bad.
“Yup. They both work there, so it’ll be super easy for you. All you have to do is walk across the street when there’s a lull in orders.”
Why did she think this wasn’t going to go the way her friends expected?
Chapter Eight
Cardio day dawned bright and early. Vince had a love/hate relationship with it during training camp. One of the ways to break up the monotony of having to log time on the treadmill or stationary bike was to run the five miles from his apartment in The Hightower to The Steele Maker.
He popped his Bluetooth headphones in his ears, left his gym bag by the front door for Deck to grab, and headed out.
He stretched during the elevator ride. By the time the doors opened in the building’s lobby, Muse’s “Uprising” was playing in his ears and he was off.
When he ran to the gym, he always left earlier than the rest of their crew in the building, but that morning he made sure to leave extra early so he could swing by EP and see his girl. Yes, his girl. Because whether she knew it or not, that’s exactly what she was.
His normal relaxed pace of an eight- or nine-minute mile was increased closer to six by the driving need to get his eyes on Holly as soon as possible.
Brandy’s “I Wanna Be Down” played through the café speakers as he pulled open the main door. Lyle had always been a fan of the throwbacks.
With a wave to the weekday barista, he strode around the counter for the kitchen. Before he even stepped inside, he could hear Holly singing along with Ariana Grande, telling Santa to not have her fall in love if the guy wouldn’t still be around the next year. She wouldn’t have to worry abou
t that if she gave in to their mutual attraction.
Her love for the big man’s holiday had him convinced it would be a very merry Christmas indeed.
He leaned against the doorjamb, pushing his hand through his damp hair, and settled in to watch as Holly fluttered around the kitchen, taking trays of scones from the oven and placing them on the cooling racks to the left.
Unlike the previous times he'd stopped by, this time she didn’t startle when she caught sight of him. The look she sent his way made him think she was expecting him to show up—again.
She was damn cute with her bandana headband and three-quarter sleeved baseball shirt reading 'Holiday Baking Team' with pictures of Santa hat-wearing gingerbread men on it. Time to step up his comical t-shirt game.
“Morning, Cupcake,” he greeted her with his most charming smile.
“Stud Muffin.” Her pink lips tipped up as she tossed a white kitchen towel she’d been using on the counter behind her.
“Ahh…I see you used my full name today.”
“Well, when I call you just Muffin it makes me think of the phrase ‘buttering your muffin’ and that makes me think of vaginas, and personally I don’t really want to be thinking about female genitalia this early in the morning.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, crossing the distance separating them. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to butter your biscuit since I met you.”
He bent down so his nose brushed against the soft spot behind her ear, breathing in the sweet scent of sugar lingering on her skin. She sucked in a breath as he trailed the tip of his nose along the now fluttering vein running along the side of her slender neck. Her scent was intoxicating.
He wanted to devour her like the peach filling in a pie-eating contest.
He trailed butterfly-soft kisses down the side of her neck that had her pushing against the hard muscles of his stomach, pressing his cool, damp shirt against his heated skin.
He let out a strained, “Shit,” pulled it over his head, used it to wipe the sweat from his brow, then tossed it to the ground. He straightened and stared at her for a moment like standing half-naked in an industrial kitchen was an everyday occurrence.
His stomach muscles jumped as her fingers traced inside the deep cuts defining them, and a guttural groan escaped. He had her in his arms and lifted off her feet in a blink with a growled, “Mine.”
He barely registered her shriek as he slammed his mouth on hers, the heat of the oven under his hands the last thing he was conscious of before getting lost in the kiss.
Tongues stroking.
Teeth biting.
Mouths sucking.
This wasn’t a kiss. No, this was mouth-fucking at its finest. He owned her body with a single kiss.
He shifted to anchor her against the stainless steel appliance with his lower body so both hands could cup her face. His fingers tangled in her hair, the bandana knocked askew as he angled her to fit.
“Fuck, you’re delicious,” he rasped against her lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth, biting down on the plump pillow then licking away the sting with his tongue.
She whimpered, clutching his sweat-soaked hair between her fingers.
“You were made to be mine.”
Fuck. My. Life.
The thought played on repeat in Vince’s mind as he continued to use his mouth to mark Holly as his own. He was due to be at The Steele Maker any minute, but fuck if he was able to pull himself away from this girl. Nothing, nothing else mattered except the sweet taste of her on his lips.
Not training.
Not his upcoming fight or his shot at the belt.
No, all he cared about at the moment was how to get more of her.
And fuck him sideways, if that didn’t say how ass-over-head he was for this woman he barely knew—he didn’t know what did.
His hips ground, the heat of her center as hot as the oven doors he braced against.
Teeth nipped.
Tongues stroked.
Hair was pulled.
He was so screwed, and not in any of the ways he had been imagining since he set eyes on her two days ago.
Two days? Had it really only been two days since he’d first seen her?
Fuck. He could give Maddey's novels a run for their money with the creativity of his thoughts lately. Most of them about how to bring Holly to a screaming orgasm.
Well, sonofabitch. I’ve turned into one of Maddey’s best-selling books.
He would never live this down with The Coven, but hell if it wasn’t already too late for him. Her flavor was birthday cake, and he wondered if the rest of her tasted as good as her mouth. He would take a lifetime of ripping from his friends if it meant he ended every night with Holly in his bed and him buried inside her.
A part of him worried he was too rough, but her fingers clenched in his hair said not to worry. So did her hips grinding against the erection trying to escape the confines of his boxer briefs and pants. And also the whimpers periodically escaping her mouth.
Each breathy sigh she released was like a physical caress to his aching dick.
“Not that I’m not enjoying the show, but I think it would be some type of health code violation if you two have sex in here.” Lyle’s voice popped the bubble of lust surrounding them as effectively as a needle to a balloon. “I’m not sure though. What are your thoughts on the matter, babe?”
“I think you might be right. I mean, it’s bad enough our Man of Steele is half-naked, but if they actually get to the full-blown act. Ooooh, baby.” The Samsons watched them like an HBO drama.
While the happy couple discussed them as though they weren’t standing in front of them, Holly tried to hide by burying her face in the space between his neck and shoulder. Not that he would complain about her snuggling against him, but the way her warm breath blew against the lingering sweat on his skin sent tingles running down his spine and did nothing to help deflate the current situation he had going on south of the border.
“Well, my darling husband, you know I’ll never complain about one of our boys removing clothing. Why else do you think I opened up my place across from the gym? I do love seeing all those bulging muscles on display.”
“True. But maybe they should limit it to The Steele Maker and not here.”
“Lyle. Kyle,” Vince said once enough blood returned to his brain for him to form words.
“Vince.” They returned in unison, matching knowing smirks on their faces.
“You mind giving us a minute?”
“You’re not actually going to have sex if we do, are you?” Kyle quirked a brow.
“No. The kitchen is safe from sexual activity…for now.”
Holly shuddered in his arms as he tacked on the last part. It was all the confirmation he needed that he would be laying her out and licking frosting from her delectable body.
His eyes stayed locked on the doorway until the two busybodies made their exit and he was once again alone with the only person he wanted.
As much as he didn’t want to, he uncoiled her legs from around his waist and lowered her to the ground, making sure she didn’t brush against him.
Needing a moment to beat his libido back into submission, he scooped his discarded shirt from the floor, tugging it over his head and back into place before facing Holly again.
She was retying the bandana around her head when her eyes, blown out to the thinnest rim of color from lust, found him.
“So, your name is Vince?”
“It hasn’t changed from yesterday.”
“Ahh.” The left side of her mouth kicked up playfully. A mouth he was pleased to see was swollen from his kisses. “Well, you see, that’s the thing. You never told me your name. We didn’t actually do the whole introduction thing since you found out my name from Lyle. I guess it’s fitting I learned yours from the same source.”
Well, shit. She knocked him more off-balance than he thought if he couldn’t remember to do something as
simple as telling a woman his name. It was Get The Girl 101 to introduce yourself to a pretty girl you were interested in. God help him if his sister ever found out.
“Steele, if your fine ass isn’t out here in ten seconds, I’m sending Madz in to get you.” Lyle’s voice called from the great beyond.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “I better go before that threat turns into calling for reinforcements. But I’ll stop by later, Cupcake.”
He wanted to kiss her again, but if he did he was never getting out of there, and then he would have a majority of The Coven busting in on him making out like a teenager with the girl he was crushing on. Not in his top five of things he wanted happening.
He settled for a wink and walked out of the room. Before he cleared the threshold, she said, “Bye, Stud Muffin.”
The goofy-ass smile those words produced stayed on his face the entire short jog to The Steele Maker.
Nine
Coven Conversations
From the Group Message Thread of The Coven
QUEEN OF SMUT: Well, well, well. Looks like Vinny boy has himself a little crush.
QUEEN OF SMUT: *GIF of Bugs Bunny with heart eyes*
PROTEIN PRINCESS: I take it he was in EP again?
QUEEN OF SMUT: *GIF of Jensen Ackles pointing and quirking his mouth as if to say you are correct*
MAKES BOYS CRY: Oooo. I love Jensen Ackles.
THE OG PITA: Me too. He’s my total hall pass.
YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: Oh 100% agreed. Madz you should see if you can get him for one of your covers, then we can spend all day ogling him
ALPHABET SOUP: Why is it that we always get off track and not focus on the original topic at hand?
MOTHER OF DRAGONS: Because our friends have the attention span of squirrels *squirrel emoji*
ALPHABET SOUP: For reals. And they can’t even blame it on pregnancy brain like us.