Forked

by Melanie Harlow

  “Fine. I never had to think about money,” I snapped. “Yes, my college education was paid for. Yes, my parents bought me a car.”

  “A BMW,” he clarified, beating the eggs with a fork.

  “A BMW.” I watched him for a few seconds, wishing I could take a turn. I felt like beating something right now. “Why are you doing this?”

  His arm stopped, and he looked at me. “Doing what?”

  “Starting a fight.”

  “I’m not starting a fight, Coco. I was just commenting that I’ve never seen you wash a kitchen floor.”

  “Or mow a lawn or pound in a nail or use a goddamn drill.” My hands curled into fists.

  “No, now that you mention it.” Nick had the nerve to look amused. “What’s this about, cupcake?”

  His nickname for me, which I’d always loved, now sounded childish and silly. Like I was pretty and sweet, a pink-frosted birthday confection. He thinks of me as a helpless girl, just like my parents do. “You think I’m just a princess. You think I can’t do anything on my own just because I’ve never done it before. You think I don’t know how to work with my hands.”

  “Now that’s just not true.” He set down the fork and bowl. “I’ve seen you work magic on me with your hands many times. Come here.”

  “No.”

  “Come here, stubborn.” He pulled me in for a hug, and I didn’t resist for long, allowing his arms to twine around my waist, my forehead to rest on his solid shoulder. “I’m sorry I upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I’m sorry too.” My voice was muffled in his shirt. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, which was now mingling with my perfume on his skin. “It’s not really all about what you said. It’s this house thing—I’d be taking on a huge amount of work on my own, and I’m scared that my family will tell me I’m crazy, like Mia did. Not only because it’s a lot of money, but because of all the work it needs.”

  “I think that’s great.” He squeezed me tighter. “And you can do anything you set your mind to. I know you can.”

  I sighed. “You haven’t seen this house. Part of the reason I’m scared to ask my parents for help buying it is that Mia could be right. But I just love it so much.”

  “Show it to me.”

  “Show it to you? When?”

  Nick released me and reached for the sour cream. “Tomorrow morning maybe? We can drive through Indian Village before we get on the road.”

  “Really?” I clasped my hands together under my chin.

  Nick spooned some sour cream into a bowl and added a teaspoon of baking soda. “Yeah. Do you think we can see the inside? If I’m going to give you an honest opinion about the investment in terms of time and money, I’d like to see the entire thing.”

  “Maybe. Let me text my agent.” Hurrying toward the door where I’d dropped my purse, I pulled out my phone and saw that I had four messages, one from Erin wanting to know how things were going (which made me smile), one from Mia apologizing for being harsh with me today (which made me feel guilty), one from a vendor assuring me I could get all the outdoor furniture I wanted (which made me thank God) and one from Angelina, asking if we could change the whole party to a luau theme (which made me frown in confusion because she spelled it loo-ow. Took me a minute). She wanted me to call her immediately, no matter the time.

  I groaned.

  “Problem?” Nicked called over Johnny Cash’s rough-hewn twang.

  “No. But give me a minute, OK? Can we turn the music down slightly?”

  “Sure.” He picked up a remote and the volume decreased.

  I wandered over by the windows, my phone to my ear. Angelina picked up after one ring.

  “You got my message?”

  “Yes, but Angelina, I really think your first idea was the best for your event.”

  “But it doesn’t have a theme. I want a theme.”

  I thought fast. “Sure it does—Italian luxe. We’re going to make your parents’ front yard look like Donatella Versace’s living room!”

  “Hmm. I do like Versace.”

  “Trust me. It’s perfect, just the way we discussed.”

  “But Jodi Mannino’s party had a theme, and everyone’s still talking about it.”

  “What was her theme?”

  “Game of Thrones.”

  Oh dear God. She probably wanted dragons now. “Angelina.”

  “So maybe I should do a TV theme too. How about The Walking Dead? That could be crazy cool, like zombies and stuff walking around? But not me, of course. I want to be hot. So maybe not Walking Dead. Another show. Or a movie.”

  “Angelina.”

  “Or—oh! Oh! I know what theme it should be—Fifty Shades of Gray! We can have like whips and chains and things. I can dress like a dominatrix. That’d be hot.”

  My head was starting to pound, and I touched two fingertips to my temple. “Angelina!”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really think what we already have planned is the best. You hired me because you liked the Wedding of the Year, remember? That’s what I do best— beautiful, luxurious events that are glamorous and sparkly, just like you are.”

  Behind me, Nick started to laugh.

  “I guess. But it doesn’t seem very fun.” I could just imagine Angelina’s frosty pink pout.

  “It will be. I promise. And everyone will be talking about it for months to come—until your wedding, which will be an even bigger, more beautiful, more outrageously over-the-top bash. Girls will be telling their planners they want everything you had, but they won’t even come close.”

  “I like that.”

  “Good. By the way, I got Nick Lupo for you.”

  The squeal that she emitted was so ear-piercing I had to hold my phone away from my head.

  “Oh my God,” Nick said, laughing again.

  I turned around and saw him with the electric mixer in his hand, waiting for me to hang up before he turned it on. “So really, it’s all coming together just the way you planned. Let’s stick with it, OK?”

  “OK. For now,” she said, causing me to glare at my phone. “And you really got Nick Lupo?”

  “I really did.”

  “What did he say? Was it hard?”

  Hell yes, it was. Smiling now, I sauntered back toward the kitchen. “He was a little bit difficult to deal with. You know TV stars, they’re temperamental and all.”

  Nick snarled, reaching out as if to choke me.

  “And his ego is pretty massive.” Moving around the island, he put his hands around my throat, gently throttling me. “Like Eiffel Tower massive. But we made a deal.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him. Who cares if he’s temperamental? He’s so fucking hot.”

  “He’s all right.”

  Suddenly Nick turned me into a headlock and tickled my ribcage with the other hand, right underneath my left breast where he knows I’m insanely ticklish. I shrieked into the phone and squirmed in his grip.

  “Will you stop? No, not you, Angelina. But I have to go, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.” I ended the call and tugged on the elbow around my neck. “Stop it! You just made me yell at my client!”

  He growled in my ear, then let me go. “Good.

  She was cutting into my Coco time. Which is very limited.”

  “Your Coco time.” I rolled my eyes and scrolled through my contacts to find my agent’s number. “OK, give me two seconds to text my real estate lady and then you can have me back.”

  “Can I really? Have you back?”

  My stomach cartwheeled as I looked at him. He was giving me the Elvis grin, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Best to play safe. “Yep. For two whole days.” I dropped my eyes to the screen again.

  But my phone was shaking.

  While Nick creamed the butter and sugar—was there anything that tasted better than butter and sugar? Or maybe it was just that he let me lick it off his finger—I sifted together the flour, baking powder, and salt. After adding the eggs, he h
ad me mix a half-cup of cocoa with an equal amount of hot water, rolling his eyes when I tried to use the dry measuring cup. Then he had me alternate adding the dry ingredients and sour cream while he kept the mixer going.

  “Now the vanilla. One teaspoon please,” he said, checking the recipe. “And then the cocoa mixture.” I added the ingredients, and he laughed. “Now it says to beat vigorously.”

  I cocked my head. “Is there any other way?”

  When the batter was prepared, Nick dipped the spatula in the bowl and held it out to me. “Want to taste?”

  I closed my lips around it, and when he went to pull it out, I held onto it with my teeth. Then I reached up to take it from him, licking every last drop of rich, chocolaty goodness off the blue rubber tip, sucking it like a popsicle, running my tongue along every inch of its surface.

  All while looking him in the eye and moaning appreciatively, of course.

  “You’re killing me.” His expression was tragic.

  “Mmmm, good. Can I have some more please?”

  “You can lick the whole damn bowl that way if you want to, but let me get the cakes in first.”

  Smiling gleefully, I hopped up on the counter while he filled two cake pans with batter, tucked them into the oven, and set the timer. “Twenty-five minutes.” Grabbing the mixing bowl, he set it next to me. “And I know exactly how I want to spend them.”

  Peering into the bowl, I was delighted to see it still had plenty of batter left in it. He took the spatula, scooped some off the side of the bowl, and I thought he was going to feed it to me, but he didn’t. He smeared it on my thigh.

  And licked it off.

  S l o w l y.

  At the feel of his hot tongue on my leg, my stomach tightened, and I held my breath.

  Next, he pulled down a black lace strap of my tank, fully exposing one breast, smearing it with batter. My nipple was already hard and tingling, and when his lips closed around it, sucking off the chocolate, I gasped and arched, my fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He circled the stiff peak with his tongue, taking it between his teeth and biting gently before dragging his mouth up to my neck.

  “Get down,” he breathed softly in my ear, one hand curling around my waist.

  I let him pull me off the counter, my bare feet landing between his. Our mouths opened wide to one another in a long, deep, chocolate-flavored kiss. I slid one hand up the back of his neck and one down the front of his jeans, finding him hard and thick beneath my palm. If I hadn’t been sure before about doing it again, I was now.

  He lifted his mouth from mine. “Turn around and spread your legs.”

  I turned around and he slid my boy shorts to my ankles. I wore nothing under them. Leaning forward, I braced myself against the counter and opened my feet wider, rising up on tiptoe. Expecting to feel his cock between my thighs, I was surprised by cool batter against my hot skin. He spread it on my ass and licked it off, making me giggle and moan in delicious agony. He rubbed it along the backs of my legs and knelt between them to eat it off, his fingers and mouth and tongue teasing and tantalizing me, inside and out.

  Closing my eyes, I moved against him, torn between wanting to come just like this and wanting to feel him pounding into me from behind.

  My body decided for me, growing hotter and tighter as I spiraled higher. “Nick,” I gasped, collapsing forward onto my elbows as colors danced behind my eyelids. He moaned, pushing his fingers deeper, and I came so hard I felt it in every muscle, every inch of my body reverberating with pleasure. My legs weakened, and it felt like he was holding me up with one hand and his tongue.

  “God, you’re so wet. And I love your ass.” His breath was hot between my legs, his fingers gliding in and out of me. “I want to fuck you like this.”

  “Do it,” I begged.

  He got to his feet and I heard the glorious sounds of a belt coming undone, jeans being unzipped. Then he stopped.

  “Fuck, I don’t have a— “

  “I don’t care. I’m on the pill. Just do it.” I arched my back and looked back over my shoulder, hoping my body looked irresistible. “Please.”

  He placed the tip of his cock at my entrance, sliding it in just enough to torture me. “Please what?”

  “Please fuck me.” I tried to push back against him, make him give me more.

  But he held me steady, using his hands on my hips to hold me where he wanted me. “I love the way that sounds coming out of your mouth,” he said, pushing deeper. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it before.”

  I smiled, exhaling with relief as he glided in and out. “I guess I was too shy to tell you what I wanted back then. Or maybe I didn’t know yet.”

  “So tell me now.”

  I looked back. “Fuck me. And don’t be gentle.”

  He began to move my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he jerked me back onto his cock. “I was always so scared to be rough with you,” he said, the strain in his voice telling me how he struggled to keep control. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” But each time he hit the deepest spot within me, I felt a sharp little twinge, and once or twice it was enough to make me gasp.

  “Good. Because ever since I saw you today, I’ve been thinking about fucking you just like this.” He reached up and tore the elastic from my hair before fisting a hand in it and pulling so hard I cried out. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said through clenched teeth, his hips driving forward now in powerful thrusts that made my teeth clatter, “otherwise I can’t promise not to tear you apart.”

  “I want you to,” I managed between hard, short breaths. “I want you to tear me apart. I want it to hurt.”

  And as he cursed and groaned and fucked me so hard against his kitchen counter my skin would bruise, I was shocked to realize it was true—I wanted him to hurt me. Beyond enjoying rough sex, I wanted pain at his hands, wanted it bone-deep and razor- sharp. Wanted him to inflict damage on my body and make me feel unsafe, unsteady, unloved.

  Safer that way.

  Yes, I thought, gleefully, deliriously, maniacally, as he wrenched my head back. Yes, as he squeezed my breast too hard, pinched my nipple too tight. Yes, as he dropped my hair and clutched my neck, gripping hard. Yes, as his climax seized him and he groaned, pushing my hips painfully against the granite, his hand a collar around my throat. Yes, just like that. Make it hurt.

  But as his breathing calmed, he released his hold on me. Bracing his arms on the outsides of mine, he kissed my spine between my shoulder blades and laid his forehead against it.

  “Coco.”

  I was hot and sweaty, but my arms prickled with gooseflesh. His voice was too soft, too tender. If you tell me you love me right now, I will fucking kill you. “Yes?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Oh, God. No. Please.

  “Wait, Nick. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t say anything that…you might regret. This weekend will be fun, but it’s just this weekend, remember? I don’t want us to get carried away and think it means more than it does. I don’t want to

  confuse things by saying—or hearing—anything too serious.”

  He picked up his head. “Jesus, Coco. I was just gonna say that my dick is so fucking happy right now. That too serious for you?”

  My mouth hung open, and my face burned even hotter. I just made a total fool of myself.

  Nick burst out laughing as he slid out of me and zipped up his pants. “Let me get you a towel, OK? Hold on.” Chuckling, he opened a drawer, pulled out a hand towel, and wet it at the sink.

  Pulling the lace strap onto my shoulder, I straightened up and turned around, hoping that my facial hue was at least one shade paler than Russian Red. Nick went down on one knee in front of me, running the towel up the inside of one leg.

  “No, I can do that.” I took the towel from him. “Please. Just let me.”

  “Are you sure?” He looked up. “I don’t mi
nd.”

  “I’m sure. And I’m…” I sighed, squeezing my

  eyes shut for a second. “Really sorry for lecturing you just now. I thought you were—never mind.” Shaking my head, I quickly swiped the towel up my other leg, scooped up my pajama bottoms, and headed for the downstairs bath. “Be right back.”

  Inside the bathroom, I used the towel to clean up, shaking my head. How dumb was I? And how conceited? Thinking that a few random fucks meant that he was in love with me again. He wasn’t in love— he was just having a good time, like he always did. And honestly, I was too. It had been so long since I’d had sex, especially good and rough like that. Nick and I’d had plenty sex when we were together, but I knew myself and my body much better now. I had sexual preferences I’d never have been able to voice back then, either because I didn’t know them or was too self-conscious to do it.

  My body shivered involuntarily as I recalled Nick’s reaction to my request. It was fucking perfect. You couldn’t tell just any guy you liked rough sex—I’d tried it a few times. One guy thought it was a free pass to be selfish, and I ended up feeling like a piece of gym equipment—overworked and dripping with someone else’s sweat. Another guy, one with Mommy Issues, didn’t get what I meant at all. “Like, you want me to hit you? I don’t think I can do that. I’ve got some childhood trauma.” And then there was the one who ran to his closet and came back with a leash and collar and asked if he could take me for a walk around the house on all fours before he fucked me. And would I mind barking?

  Um…no. No judgies, but no thanks.

  After rinsing out the towel, I pulled my bottoms back on, washed my hands, and opened the door in time to hear the oven’s buzzer going off. The heavenly scent of chocolate cake hung in the air— chocolate cake and sex.

  Not a bad combination on a Friday night.

  “Are they done?” I asked as I reached the kitchen. Earlier I’d seen a stacked washer and dryer in the pantry, so I ducked in there and set the towel on the washing machine.