Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “How’s it taste?”

  “Like you,” I say, “but sweeter.”

  “Is there any leftover icing?” he asks.

  “I think so. Why?”

  “It’s only fair that I get to taste you too, but sweeter.”

  I blush when his insinuation occurs to me. “What makes you think I’d let you put sticky, dyed icing on me?”

  “You’ll let me, because I’ll promise to clean off every last bite—with my tongue.”

  I clench my teeth against the flutter making its way through me. “Are we being inappropriate considering we’re at a child’s birthday party?”

  “Life is about to get very hectic for us. Have to squeeze it in where we can, right?” As he says it, he crushes my front even more tightly to his. “Stay the night. We can teach Bell to ride the bike later.”

  I bite my bottom lip. How can I say no with his arms wrapped around me, his sweet-frosting mouth on mine, his sugarcoated promises to lick me clean? A month ago, when he wanted to stay with me, I couldn’t do it.

  Now, I tell him I will.

  I can’t imagine spending tonight without him.

  EPILOGUE

  Andrew’s head pops up from under the cotton-white, puffy comforter. He makes a show of licking and smacking his lips. “My favorite flavor. Apricot vanilla crème pussy.”

  I laugh, sated from my first orgasm of the night, third of the day, fiftieth of the trip. Fifty might be an exaggeration, but our vacation feels as though it’s been one, long marathon fuck—with some watersports and whale watching in between.

  The curtains of the Honeymoon Suite flutter with a breeze from the balcony. We’re not married yet—it’s on our to-do list—but the hotel doesn’t need to know that. This way, we score all the perks . . . like the free champagne we guzzled on night one.

  Andrew lifts up onto his arms to hover over me. “I can’t believe it’s already our last night in paradise. Are you bummed about going home?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  “No. I know you’re not.” He drops a quick kiss on my lips. “Neither am I.”

  “St. Maarten has been dreamy,” I say. “But next time, let’s bring the kid.”

  He grins. “Yeah?”

  “She would’ve loved snorkeling, Andrew. She’s going to flip when she sees the underwater photos.”

  “Speaking of flipping, I’m going to need you to get on your stomach.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him. “Should I even ask why?”

  “So I can spank you. How many times have I asked you not to bring up Bell when I’m naked and about to have you? I lost my hard-on.”

  I shake my head, laughing. I know from experience that one spanking will instantly put him back in the mood. “That’s so inappropriate.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s life with an eight-year-old. Messy as fuck.”

  “Almost nine,” I point out. “Can you believe it’s been two years since we met?”

  “Um, yeah, I can.” He rolls his eyes. “I thank my lucky stars all the time that you thought I was a plumber and ripped me a new one.”

  His tone is sarcastic, so even though I know how grateful he is for me, I smack him on the ass. And then I wince.

  “Hurt your hand?” he guesses, reaching around to grab my wrist. He kisses my palm.

  I nod. “All that yoga you’ve been doing.”

  “Now you’re really asking for it,” he says. I’ve been explicitly warned against mentioning yoga—according to Andrew and his friends, it’s for chicks only. Except that he started joining me for private classes a year ago. There’ve been a few arguments during which I was tempted to run to the shop and announce Andrew’s new hobby to Pico and Randy. But I don’t want him to stop. Yoga has made his body even firmer and leaner, and I enjoy those benefits as often as I can.

  I pat his shoulder. “Well, since you’re done for the night, I think I’ll go to sleep.”

  He grins wolfishly. With my wrist still in his grip, he lifts my arm over my head and pins it to the mattress. “You know very well I’m not finished. I plan to do this for a lifetime and still not be done.”

  Andrew lugs our things up the sidewalk to the house, but I lag behind, eyeing my rose bushes. Without even a glance back at me, he calls, “You can inspect them with a magnifying glass later.”

  He knows me so well. I planted them when I moved in, and I’ve cared for them meticulously since. I want to make sure the gardeners were good to them during my absence. Bell’s almost as diligent as I am about tending to them, but she’s still a child. My orange-pink Brothers Grimm roses, which Bell chose just for the name, are my pride and joy. For the first time in my life, I own a piece of the world, something tangible.

  To my surprise, the front door hasn’t flown open yet. I can imagine Bell must be bursting at the seams to see us. We’ve spoken on the phone twice a day every day. As eager as she’s been for us to return, Andrew and I have made strides getting her to understand we’ll always come home. We’re not going anywhere. She still gets upset when we leave, but it’s not nearly as bad as when Andrew and I started dating.

  When Andrew reaches the door, I jog up the walkway to block him from going inside. “I should warn you,” I say. “There’s a surprise for you in there.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “How’d you manage that?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I admit. Considering our history with exes, Andrew and I are completely transparent with each other at all times. This surprise took a lot of secret phone calls and money transfers, but I know without a doubt it’ll be worth all the sneaking around. “Come on. You’ll see.”

  As he reaches for the handle, the door swings open. “What’d you bring me?” Bell screams.

  So much for her separation anxiety.

  “Nothing!” Andrew screams back at her.

  Her face falls a mile. “What? Not even a little shell?”

  I drop my shoulder bag and open my arms. “I brought you presents, baby.”

  She runs into my embrace. I lift her up and immediately smell her hair. It reminds me she’s real. I had no idea I could miss someone as much as I did her—or Andrew for that matter. When I have to go into the city for business, all I want is to come back to him.

  “How was your trip?”

  I look up. Shana leans in the doorway, her arms crossed. She’s wearing her regular get-up of a black halter and dark jeans. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the cleavage, but somehow, I’m getting used to her.

  “Amazing,” Andrew says. “And the kid?”

  Shana nods. “Thanks for letting me do this. We had fun, didn’t we, Bell?”

  “Yep.” Bell squirms. I put her down. “Shana did fine.”

  I check Shana’s expression. She hates that Bell won’t call her mom. I’ve talked to Bell about it, but she gets squirmy. She isn’t ready. I haven’t mentioned to anyone yet, not even Andrew, that lately, Bell’s been calling me mom when she’s sleepy or emotional. Even if I wanted to share that, I wouldn’t be able to without bawling. It’s unreal. Special. And for now, it’s just between Bell and me.

  Shana, almost thirty, has gotten her act together as much as someone like Shana can. She’s no angel. She still causes trouble at Timber Tavern and regularly stirs up gossip. She was even arrested a year and a half ago for public intoxication—and promptly called Andrew to bail her out. He didn’t. But the last year or so, she’s been consistent with Bell, and as long as she continues to prove herself, Andrew and I will cautiously let her into our lives. Under Flora’s supervision, along with the help of Pico’s new wife, Myra, and of course, her son Sammy—Shana got to spend these last couple weeks taking care of Bell.

  She turned out better than Reggie, at least. He hit rock bottom the night he threatened Andrew and me—and kept going. He did his best to hurt us, but no lawyer would take him seriously when Reggie accused Andrew of being a bad father. He had no real evidence, and no charges could be pressed. I later learned that on top
of losing his job, he’d invested most of his savings in a failing start-up. Though I can’t excuse his behavior, I understand a little better what drove him to my place. Reggie thought I was the one thing he could control that night.

  Ultimately, he wouldn’t budge on avec. I had to let it go. It fell apart soon after I stepped down.

  Since I didn’t have anything left to fight for, the divorce went through smoothly without Reggie doing too much damage. He tried. He went to the press with the videos he had, but once I stepped down from avec, nobody cared enough to run a story about two people in New Jersey who’d once had sex in the privacy of their own home. It was an embarrassing few months while Reggie tried to slander us, but we burrowed ourselves in our home. We used that time to strengthen our unit.

  I moved in with Andrew a year later.

  Andrew drops our luggage in the living room, and Shana and I move into the kitchen to give him a moment alone with Bell. I’m sorting through a stack of mail on the counter when Shana clears her throat. “I guess I’ll take off.”

  I look up. “Thanks again for helping us out. How’d everything go with the,” I lower my voice, “you know?”

  She smiles. “Good. Pico and Randy oversaw the entire thing, and I cleaned it this morning. It looks great.”

  “I can’t wait to see his face.”

  “Um. There’s one thing I wanted to ask you,” she says, tapping a finger on the tile. “It’s not about Bell.”

  I set down the mail to give her my attention. She looks nervous, which is rare for her, no matter how tense things have gotten between us over the past two years. “It’s just—I haven’t mentioned it because I wanted to make sure I would follow through. When I graduated from cosmetology school, I started thinking about opening my own salon. Now that I’ve been hairdressing over a year, I want to pursue my own thing.”

  “Oh.” As much progress as Shana has made, I brace myself. If she asks us for money, I know Andrew won’t give it to her. I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that either, even though she’s fierce with enough street smarts to run her own place. I would know.

  “I just—I know you’re a PR consultant, but Denise said you helped one of her friends restructure her thrift store, and I was hoping maybe we could sit and talk about a business plan. Sometime. When you’re free.”

  I’m relieved. “We can do that,” I say. “As long as you’re serious.”

  “I am. It’s not exactly easy for me to ask you for help,” she points out. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t need it.”

  “True.” I’ve only ever wanted Shana to do well. She’ll always be in Bell’s life, and Bell’s happiness is as important to me as my own. “How about we sit and talk next month when you pick up Bell for the weekend? You can even stay for dinner.”

  “That’d be great. I don’t have much saved yet—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can pay me back when your salon opens by doing my hair.” As soon as I say it, we both laugh nervously. I’ve taken it a step too far. I don’t think Shana nor I would ever be comfortable in such an intimate situation. “Let’s just stick to business,” I suggest. “I’ll put next month on my calendar, and I’ll make sure Sadie’s here too.”

  Once Sadie had her little girl and avec closed its doors, she and I partnered up for PR consulting. We’ve had small business clients all over the tri-state area, from florists to cafés to a grungy but successful Jersey auto shop—despite its stubborn owner’s protests that they were doing fine without “bullshitting people.” We’ve even taken on a couple charities pro bono, something I’d never considered doing with avec.

  Between my biweekly visits and Andrew’s insistence on getting us a hotel in the city one night a month so I don’t feel trapped in the suburbs, I haven’t even had a chance to miss New York.

  We say goodbye to Shana, and as soon as the door closes behind her, Andrew’s and my attention goes to Bell. We can’t help it—she’s nearly vibrating with excitement. “Can we show him now?” she asks me. “Please? I’ve been dying all morning.”

  I nod my permission, and she grabs his hand, pulling him away.

  “Ah.” Andrew looks back, lifting one eyebrow. “The big surprise.”

  “I think we should blindfold him,” I say, covering his eyes from behind, sweet revenge for all the times he’s blindfolded me.

  He groans.

  “Maybe gag him too,” I whisper in his ear, earning myself a chuckle from him.

  We pass through the bedroom to the bathroom. Sensing our location, Andrew says, “If you guys put that goddamn Little Mermaid shower curtain in my room when I told you not to—”

  I remove my hands and watch his face. He blinks a few times, scanning the bathroom that’s double the size it was when he left. “What the . . .”

  “Surprise,” Bell squeals, jumping up and down. She runs over to the shiny new bathtub and perches on the edge. “For your bubble baths, Daddy!”

  He looks from the tub to me. “You did this?”

  “They installed it while we were away. Rush job.”

  He shakes his head, his mouth open. “I can’t believe it. This must’ve been a huge project.”

  “It’ll be worth it.” I lower my voice. “I’ve missed it, taking a bath with you.”

  “And look,” Bell says, lifting a bottle of Glenlivet from inside with both hands. There’s a red bow around the neck. “Adult juice.”

  Andrew grins, taking the whisky from her. He unscrews the cap and raises it in the air for a toast. “To my girls,” he says. “I’m the luckiest son of a you-know-what around.”

  “Bitch,” Bell says. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Language,” I say with a defeated sigh. There are years of damage done from growing up around crass men that even I can’t undo.

  Andrew takes a swig, then passes it to me. I do the same, and like every time we settle in with a glass of Glenlivet, the first taste reminds me of our first night together.

  Andrew sets the bottle on the counter and puts a heavy arm around my shoulders. “You’re the best, you know that?” he murmurs, pulling me into him. He kisses the tip of my nose and whispers, “What better gift could you give me then more naked time with you?”

  I tilt my face up to his, asking for a real kiss. He gives it to me, sliding his tongue along the seam of my lips and slipping it into my mouth.

  “Not in lust with you, babe,” he says.

  “No,” I agree. “You love me.”

  “You love me too.”

  We’re gazing into each other’s eyes when Bell speaks again.

  “Hmm,” she says to herself. “This stuff smells funny.”

  Andrew and I whip our heads to her. She’s picked up the bottle from the counter and is two seconds from taking her first sip of whisky. We lunge at the same moment, yelling in unison, “Don’t drink that!”

  There’s no doubt about it—Andrew and I have our hands full, and that’s not changing any time soon.

  I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Afterword

  Author’s note: I hope you enjoyed The First Taste, book two in the Slip of the Tongue series. Keep swiping to read book three, Yours to Bare. Stay updated on all my bookish news: Join the Mailing List.

  * * *

  Get the full Andrew Beckwith experience: The First Taste is available as an audiobook! Performed by smoldering duo Sebastian York and Andi Arndt.

  The First Taste on Audible

  Yours to Bare

  Slip of the Tongue 3

  FINN

  No matter how cruel it’s been to me in the past, I’ve never been able to flip fate the bird. I’m a romantic at heart. So when fate drops a leather-bound journal at my feet, I know I should walk away.

  I don't. I pick her up, bend her spine, spread her pages. From the first word, I’m a goner. The owner didn’t give me access to her most intimate desires, but I devour them anyway. Her private darkness, her candid, explicit poetry—it all goes down like warm milk. And from that po
int forward, I drink, eat, and sleep her.

  HALSTON

  I went to his apartment and let him take my picture. Just once, to see how it would feel. I’m not his to look at, to inspire, to touch, but when he watches me through his lens, it gives me a high I don’t want to come down from…

  My journal is the one place I can be myself—as long as I can tie it up and put it away when I’m finished. But when Finn undoes the bow, he pulls strings that could unravel each of us.

  1

  If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.

  The only coffee shop on Manhattan’s East Side that serves neither pistachio nor chocolate pastries is two blocks from my apartment. Pistachio’s not hard to avoid, but chocolate? Just proves you can find, or not find, anything in this city when you’ve got fate on your side. Maybe, finally, my luck is changing.

  I pay for a coffee and sit at my table by the window. Another reason I was meant to find Lait Noir—my table is almost always available or opening up as I get my drink. That’s a certain kind of magic in a café as small as this one. The white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows help to hide how crowded it is, but some tables are crammed with two or more people, and nobody seems to know the person next to them. Every other coffee drinker has a laptop, tablet, or newspaper. Me? I must be old-fashioned. I get out a spiral-bound notebook I’ve kept in my camera bag since last October.

  I blow on my drink. The heater’s on, but outside, people bundle under scarves, gloves, and coats. It’s the time of year when Macy’s bags make it all the way down here, even though the department store is a thirty-minute walk away.

  Whenever gigs start to run dry, I go back to page one—a running list of ideas:

  Travel the world with a camera, sending award-worthy shots to National Geographic.

  Become the go-to photographer for New York’s most notable events.