He didn’t go right back to the heat of her, first he pulled her thong down to her knees, then he grabbed the pastry bag and squeezed a dollop of frosting onto his fingertip.
“Jase, please.”
She didn’t have to ask more than once. With his not-frosted hand, he tested to be sure she was ready, and thanked the gods of kitchen fucks that she was. Slowly, because that seemed to be the name of the game that night, he entered her.
He’d never been so ready for a woman before.
She moaned, dropping her head. But she knew the game and she didn’t move her hands from where he’d directed. He lifted the frosting on his fingertips to her lips. She opened her mouth, licking at the icing before he slid them into her mouth. She sucked harder and he started moving inside her to the rhythm she set with her mouth.
Time slowed further. The only thing that mattered was the two of them.
He panted along with her, on the precipice of something he knew was big but that he couldn’t understand. She flexed her internal muscles around him, nearly sending him spiraling.
With his free hand, he reached to her sweet spot, massaging the place he knew drove her crazy. Pushing her over the edge.
She fell first, and he followed.
Wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, he held her steady as she clamped around him over and over. Still, she didn’t move her hands. Her knuckles were nearly white from gripping the table.
Both of them out of breath, he withdrew and straightened her panties back where they went. “Sugar, you can move your hands now.”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to move again,” she replied, breathing hard.
He lifted her palms from the table, kissing each fingertip. “We can go upstairs, and it’ll be your turn to play with the frosting.”
A wry grin spread across her lips. “You are so on.”
Pastry bag in hand, she sauntered toward the stairs to her apartment. He took his time putting himself back together. She paused at the corner of the room, raising her eyebrows. He snagged the cookie with his name from the tray on the table and bit into it.
Tonight, he was getting all the cookies.
22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 2 Days
Jase sat by the cash register in his shop and did a quick inventory of the raspberry-ice-carrousel roses he’d managed to track down. After the clusterfuck of a dinner party the night before, he and Heather had ended up not-sleeping at her apartment. He had a whole new fondness for icing uses in bedroom adventures. He liked Heather’s place. It was comfortable and had real furniture. Unlike his makeshift bachelor pad with crates as end tables.
Then Dean had texted him that Claire was requiring he do a full-out promposal for her and he needed ideas. Fuck that. If Jase was going to plan a promposal, it’d be for Heather. Thus, the hunt for every raspberry-ice rose in the Denver metro area.
So far, he was pretty sure he’d come up with enough. Ten dozen ought to do it. And another few hundred rose petals for the bed. He’d already asked Babushka for her key so he could slip in before Heather returned from work.
Babushka had given him the third degree about what he was doing and why. Then he heard her tell Harry that he needed to step up and ask her before Morty did. Then Harry had called and ordered a bouquet of two dozen red roses and a box of chocolates the size of Babushka’s Buick. Apparently, that’s what Babushka required to agree to be his date.
Yeah, prom season brought out the crazies.
The cowbell on his door clunked and he glanced up. His mother, father, and Anna.
Fuck.
“Mom. Dad. Anna.” He tucked the slip of paper with the rough design of how he’d pull this off in his pocket. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
His mother was pretty pissed about the whole refrigerator situation. He knew because she had left him a multitude of voice messages over the past eighteen hours informing him.
“We came to talk to you about Heather.” His mother was wringing her hands, but he knew it was all for show. She didn’t get nervous, but she put on a good show.
“Talking about Heather is off the table.” He strode to the cooler and did a quick adjustment to the display—anything to avoid the discussion about his love life that was sure to follow.
“We’re just worried about some of the things that she’s done with Babushka.” Anna flicked her hair over her shoulder. “The strip club and moving her to the retirement home without talking to us about it.”
“Well, one, the strip club was all Babushka. Two, it was either the retirement community or moving in with the man who owns Pistol Polly’s. And, three, I like her so lay off.”
“Son, we’d like to open a conversation about this with you. We want you to move on, find a nice girl, but we don’t think that’s Heather.” His father crossed and uncrossed his arms.
His mother sighed. “It’s not that we don’t like her. We just worry about her influence. So far, it hasn’t been…”
“Great. It hasn’t been great,” Anna finished.
“You wanted me to date someone,” he reminded them. Hell, it was all they’d talked about for a year. They had meetings about that shit.
“We wanted you to meet someone. But Heather’s…” His mother twisted her face in illustration of how she felt about her.
And that was unacceptable.
“Look, Babushka is in some strange midlife crisis forty years too late. She’s pulled Heather into her crazy. You can’t blame Heather.” He pointed to Anna. “And you don’t get a say about who I’m dating or why or when.” And now his blood pressure was rising. “You all wanted me to start dating.” He stabbed the air between them. “And I didn’t want to, but then I met Heather and she’s fun and we’re enjoying each other.”
“You two already broke up once, can’t you just go back to that?” Anna asked. “Just think of all the reasons it didn’t work the first time. Saves a whole lot of trouble.”
Jase glared at the lot of them. “You are my family, and I care about you. But if you don’t knock this shit off, we’re going to have some serious issues. The kind that a family therapist won’t even be able to fix.”
Anna raised her hands. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it.”
“Yeah. Well. I do.” Apparently, he did.
“Do you remember when you came home?” his mother asked. “From over there.”
Of course he remembered. He’d been overseas on a mission for Uncle Sam. There were multiple explosives. He’d gone to work on one, his crew on the others. One of theirs had gone off. He was only steps outside the kill zone. He’d survived. They hadn’t.
Then he came home, and he found his wife had created a life without him. She’d moved on. He couldn’t.
“We all stepped in to help you. Set you up here at the shop. Made sure you were eating. Made sure you had a place to sleep—because you didn’t care. We made sure you found your way back to us,” his father said, repeating what Jase already knew. Hell, he’d lived it once. He didn’t need a reminder. “Your friends died. Your wife left. Life was hard…but we didn’t let you disappear, even when you checked out.”
Jase gulped at the realization of all his family had done for him. And all the time he’d thought they were meddling. Thought they were being intrusive.
They’d known exactly what they were doing—not letting him disappear into his own head forever.
“You trusted us then,” his father continued. “Trust us now.”
He had trusted them then. But they were wrong now. They were wrong about Heather.
“I am grateful for everything you all have done for me.” Jase hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and stared at the ground for a moment. Reminding himself where he was, what he was seeing, what he was doing—so he didn’t go back to that place. “But I’m ready to take over my own life. And that’s going to include Heather.”
It was 100 perc
ent going to include Heather. Because he was 100 percent into her.
Shit, when had that happened?
He thought back and…if he were honest with himself, it’d happened long before she’d walked into his shop with a stack of posters.
A length of silence hung in the air.
“If she means this much to you, and to Babushka, we’d like to get to know her,” his mother finally said.
Maybe his mother could be reasonable.
“For real get to know her, or so you can try to control us get to know her?” he asked.
“Jason, believe it or not, our entire lives are not spent trying to control yours,” his mother said.
He begged to differ. Believe it or not, he could count all the times they hadn’t tried to control what he did on less than one finger.
He glanced out the shop window just as Babushka marched up the sidewalk to Heather’s shop. She was leading a parade of the elderly. What the hell? He counted ten of them with her—walkers, canes, even a woman in an electric scooter. All Babushka was missing was a baton and her marching-band uniform.
He shook his head.
He did not need to know what his grandmother had planned.
“You should apologize to her, Mom.” He’d be firm on that one. Heather may not have understood what his mom and dad had said when they’d left the kitchen, but he hadn’t missed it.
“For what?” A mask of confusion fell over her face.
He shoved his hands on his hips. “She can’t speak Russian, but I can. And I heard what you and Dad said last night.”
At least his mother had the decency to look flustered. “It was a rough night.”
No kidding. Not all of their family gatherings ended with one of their children tied to an appliance, but when they did, it was because Babushka was stirring up shit.
He chanced a glance across the street, but they’d all gone inside.
“Mom, Heather does seem really nice,” Anna tried. At least one of them was coming around to his side. “And Jase seems happy. We should fix this. Make sure she knows she’s always welcome at the house.”
“She’s at her shop. I’ll walk over with you. Elizabeth?” Jase hollered over his shoulder. “I’m running out for a bit.”
He led his reluctant parents and sister to the front of Heather’s shop.
Anna laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jase, we really want you to be happy. That’s what all of this is about.”
“Then lay off and just let things be.” He pulled open the door and gave a wave to the cashier. He’d been around enough lately, she didn’t even question him going straight to the back.
Heather glanced up and her smile lit her whole face. It wasn’t lost on him that she was smiling like that for him. His mother, father, and Anna followed behind. Heather’s smile disintegrated.
It was apparently cockie day at the shop because she had trays and trays of them on the table in front of her. All the blood in his body dropped to his toes. He sucked in a breath.
Babushka and her comrades were decorating cockies.
“Jase, you brought your parents. And your sister. To my kitchen.” Heather stared daggers at him.
Some of the cockies were even decorated like policemen and firemen and…no. No more looking, because what he saw his mother saw. And his mother was not going to be okay with the penis-shaped firemen cockies on Heather’s tray. Although, he had to give it to Heather, the way she did that helmet was very creative.
He tilted his head. Yeah, he never would’ve thought to do it that way.
“We’re supposed to be making flower cookies for prom,” Heather said, unmoving. “But I have orders…and they were more excited about these.”
“Ve need to vork on the foreskins.” Babushka emerged from behind a rack of trays. “They look better in the bouquets.”
“What on earth?” His mother stared at the trays of cookies.
“They insisted,” Heather said, her face pale. “Babushka’s idea.”
Of course it was.
One of the elderly women icing veins onto her cockie glanced to his mother. “The thick ones are easier to handle. Go for those.”
“She means the cookie,” Heather said quickly. “They don’t break as easily.”
His father said nothing, his mouth simply opened and closed with no sound emerging. That was a first.
“They came to apologize for the other night.” He scrubbed a hand at his neck. “I didn’t realize it was bachelorette party day.”
Anna didn’t say anything, she just stood there, eyes wide. “Why are they decorated like policemen?”
“It’s a new thing I’m trying. So far customers love the unique icing.” Heather started strong with her enthusiasm, but she lost all her steam there at the end. Probably because his mother’s expression was equal parts horror and anger.
“This isn’t all I make,” Heather said quickly. “I mean, obviously, because I brought you the flower ones. We do all shapes. For weddings. Kids’ birthday parties. And different flavors. Lemon, chocolate chip, snickerdoodle. But these pay a lot of the bills. And they’re just for fun—”
“Vould you like to try one?” Babushka held up one that…yes, it was a foreskin penis. “They are delicious.”
And that’s the story of how his grandmother bit off the tip of a dick cookie in front of his mother.
Heather gasped. His father paled. Anna’s jaw dipped further, her mouth the shape of an O. His mother didn’t seem to be breathing.
And Jase? Well. There’s that moment one realizes they are utterly and truly fucked between their mother’s wish for them to be happy and the girlfriend who could not catch a break. This was that moment.
His girlfriend made policemen penis cookies. How was he going to get his mother past that? “It’s like I love your brain,” Jase said to Heather. “And then I don’t understand it at all.”
She shook her head at him, her eyes squinted in the most adorable what-the-fuck look he’d ever seen. Okay, perhaps he should’ve kept his trap shut.
“Mom, you totally have to apologize to Heather now.” Anna linked arms with his mother and pushed her forward. “Because when we get together for Thanksgiving this year, it’s going to be epic.”
Thanksgiving was the furthest thing from his mind. Turkey-shaped cookies, and Babushka, and her two boyfriends. It’d be a Russian-flavored Griswold celebration. He glanced to his mother. If he wasn’t mistaken, she still hadn’t taken a breath.
“Mom.” Anna tapped her on the back.
His mother gulped. She closed her eyes. Counted to five in Russian. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and left the kitchen. His father followed without saying a word.
“Shit,” Jase said. He didn’t even say it under his breath. There was no need.
Heather stayed in place, piping bag in hand, staring at the space his mother had vacated.
“Vat?” Babushka asked, a little penis crumb falling to the floor.
Yes, he’d been well and truly fucked by a penis-shaped sugar cookie dressed like a policeman.
“Well, I don’t know what it takes to get involved in this, but I definitely want to participate.” Anna sidled up next to the woman in the scooter and grabbed a cookie.
23
Chapter Twenty-Three
By the time Heather slogged up the stairs to her apartment, it was already eight o’clock at night, and if she had to look at another sugar cookie, she might stab her eyes out. Apparently, every bachelorette party in eastern Colorado was that week. She’d spent the entire day icing dicks. And freaking out Jase’s family. He assured her they’d come around, they just needed time. But given the look on his mother’s face, Heather was pretty sure time wasn’t going to fix what was broken.
After his mother walked out, Anna had stuck around and chatted. Turned out Anna was pretty fun. Also, she had a flair for using the flood icing and an inventive idea for prickly peckers decorated like a cactus.
Needless to say, it’d
been a long day, and all Heather wanted was a bowl of Cheerios, a shower, The Price is Right on repeat, and bed.
And Jase, she wanted Jase.
But Jase was busy with his renovations, and she was too spent to even walk across the street to hang out with him.
She stuck her key in the keyhole, but it was already unlocked. She pushed open the door.
“Candy?” she called. Candy was the only one with a key. Well, Babushka had one, too. But Babushka was tucked away with Harry at the retirement home for the night.
“Hey.” Jase was lounging on the couch, some book—it looked like the retirement home’s June book club pick—in his hands. He knifed off the sofa and dropped the novel on the coffee table. “I wanted to surprise you. Didn’t realize you’d have to work so late.”
“How’d you get in?” she asked, hanging her purse on the hook.
“Babushka lent me her key. I hope that’s okay.” His hands fell to his hips. He hadn’t changed after work—same The Flower Pot tee and pair of jeans he’d been wearing earlier.
She dropped her keys in the bowl by the door. “It’s always all right.”
Were they at the key-swap stage of their relationship? She should ask. See if he wanted to.
“Long day?” he asked. As though he hadn’t been there when his mom and sister had shown up in her kitchen.
She ran a hand over her forehead, probably making her bangs stick straight up. She did her best to fluff them. “If I see another penis today, I’ll lose my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound promising for our night. I brought you dinner.” He did his chin-jerk thing to her table.
If she wasn’t into the man before, the fact that he’d brought her a chicken bake did her in. He could totally have a key.
“Don’t worry, Eli made it. I wouldn’t subject you to my cooking,” he continued.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She kicked off her shoes and walked straight to him.
Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2 Page 17