by Amy Daws
“This is morning,” she retorts, propping herself on her elbows so she can get a better view.
“No breakfast sex for you, then,” I correct.
She laughs. “That’s okay. You’ll be too busy chewing your arm off anyway.”
I growl at her smart mouth and roll back on top of her, tossing one of her legs up on my shoulder as I do. I press my now wrapped tip inside her and husk, “I think we’re well past the arm chewing stage, don’t you?”
When I thrust into her, this angle allowing me so far in, she cries out as my cock nearly kisses her cervix. Her fingers bite into my arms. “Jesus, Miles!”
“That’s right, babe, let me hear you this time.” I drop my head to her chest and nibble at her T-shirt covered breasts. I should have taken the time to rip that off, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Her voice is hoarse when she replies, “You are so deep. This is so intense. I’m not sure I can—”
“You can,” I encourage, driving into her slow and hard. Deep and long. My ass popping back and forth with every thrust. “You can take me.”
“Oh God,” she mewls, her other leg tightening around my hip, her heel digging into my lower back. “This is incredible.”
“You’re damn fucking right it is,” I reply and realize with a sudden jolt that it’s not like this with everyone. I’ve slept with at least a dozen women since my split with Joce, and no one has come even close to feeling this good wrapped around my dick. Not even Joce.
I increase the speed of my movements, trying to chase my wayward thoughts away and relish this sweet, sweet fucking I’m in the middle of. Between the wet, erotic noises of our breaths and the plethora of moans and grunts and pants filling the room, we’re creating the best goddamn soundtrack to fucking I’ve ever heard.
Mercedes bucks beneath me, meeting me thrust for thrust. Growing quieter and quieter as she climbs along with me. We’re in sync. Perfect, liberating sync.
She wraps her hands around my neck and presses her face against mine, crying out her orgasm right into my ear. It’s a mixture of gasps and strangled breaths. It’s otherworldly sounding. It makes no fucking sense, but my dick likes it, and with one final burst of energy, I’m following her, blowing inside the condom and knowing there’s no way in fucking hell I’m not sticking around for pancakes with this girl.
I stride into the Rise and Shine Bakery, the cute spot on Broadway down the street from Dean’s downtown co-working space. The smell of fresh donuts and coffee make my tummy growl excitedly as I head to the counter to order two croinuts. Croinuts are a croissant and a donut combination that this Boulder bakery is nationally famous for. A buttery and savory yet sweet and flaky combination that is basically like an orgasm in a carb.
The adorable little blonde behind the register smiles brightly and replies, “You’ll have to take a number, I’m afraid. Our next batch isn’t due out for another hour and a half. Are you planning to be here a while?”
“Yes, I have no problem waiting,” I reply, clutching my satchel to my shoulder in confirmation.
She points at the little number machine that literally spits out a paper sheet with a number, so I give it a tug. I pay for two coffees and a brownie appetizer and move to find a table to wait for Dean.
Dean and I usually try to meet here once a week to catch up and check in on each other. This was the place where he asked me for advice on how to tell Lynsey he only wanted to be friends. They’d only been dating for a month or two, but he said that the more he got to know her, the more he looked at her like a sister instead of a woman he wanted to sleep with.
On the other end, I was getting panic-stricken texts from Lynsey saying Dean still wasn’t coming on to her and what should she do so he would just man up and fuck her already?
The two of them parting ways, at least romantically, was definitely for the best. They were way too similar. I was just grateful they were able to actually continue their friendship. It took a little time, more so on Lynsey’s part than on Dean’s, but now it’s almost like it never happened.
Ever since then, this bakery has become my sacred place with Dean. And it’s the only spot in town I don’t balk at spending $5.79 for a cup of coffee. Because…croinuts.
I make my way over to a dark red booth by the picture window that overlooks Broadway Street. I slide open my phone and see I missed a text from Miles.
Miles: My dick misses you.
Me: Your dick is insatiable. It’s been two days.
Miles: Whatever. How are the words flowing?
Me: Good. Not as good as the other night though. ;)
Miles: Maybe that means you need to do more research.
Me: LOL, maybe. Actually, I thought I’d come back to Tire Depot tomorrow maybe.
Miles: Am I getting replaced by the Customer Comfort Center?
Me: Why can’t I have my cake and eat it too?
Miles: I could think of something else I’d rather be eating.
Me: OMG, you are filthy.
Miles: Says the smut writer.
Me: If I say it, it must be true.
I throw my head back to laugh and nearly jump out of my seat when I see Dean standing next to me, looking over my shoulder. “Jesus, Dean, say hello or something!”
“I was literally standing here for almost five minutes,” he retorts, an unamused look on his face.
“And reading my texts? God, you nosy jerk. Sit down.”
“I need to go take a number,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder.
“No, you don’t. I ordered for you.”
I push the second coffee over to his side of the table, and he looks relieved as he shrugs out of his sports coat. He’s dressed in a matching navy linen suit today with a white button-down underneath. No tie. A bright pair of blue and white striped socks peek out above his expensive brown shoes. Even his dark hair looks expensive gelled neatly off to one side, a clean look that is in direct contrast to his masculine beard. I shake my head at how much money Dean must spend on his appearance alone.
Don’t get me wrong. I make a really good living. But I spend it differently than he does. And I genuinely like Target’s clothes.
He slides into the booth, draping his jacket over the far end of the table before pinning me with a look. “I saw his truck outside your place a couple of nights ago.”
“Whose truck?” I ask, feigning indifference.
“Miles, who else?”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know it was his truck?”
He scoffs. “Because I don’t know any other guy in Boulder who would drive a beastly vehicle like that.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a snob.”
“So he spent the night?” he snaps quickly, his hands reaching out to mindlessly move his coffee over to the side so he can fold his hands on the table in front of him.
My face contorts in disbelief. “What, did you come by to check back the morning after?”
He looks completely shameless when he replies, “Maybe.”
This has me rolling my eyes. “Stop worrying. It’s not serious. We’re just…fooling around.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Kate.”
“Why?” I ask, dumping extra sugar into my coffee because with the way Dean is acting, I have a feeling I’m going to need my energy.
“Because for one, this guy rejected you once already.”
“Thanks for the reminder!” I exclaim, stirring in the sugar with the spoon on the table.
“I’m sorry, but he did. And you were fucking pissy about it for days. A pain in the ass to be around.”
“Well, please let me apologize for having feelings in front of my friends.”
“It wasn’t your feelings I was mad at. It was that idiot, Miles.”
“You don’t know he’s an idiot.”
“Oh, please.” He sneers and drapes his arms over the back of the booth. Everything about him looks so pompous and arrogant that I
want to punch him. “He’s a mechanic at a Tire Depot. How bright can he be?”
I slam my spoon down on the table. “Are you frickin’ kidding me with this shit?”
“No,” he snaps, his jaw rigid beneath his beard.
“This coming from a high school dropout?”
“I earned my GED, and I’m self-educated.”
“In what? Being a fucking asshat?” I snap and move to stand.
“Sit down, Kate.” He reaches out to grab me.
“I will not!” I rear back and yank my wrist out of his hand. “This is total bullshit, Dean.” I fume, feeling so hurt and upset by his snap judgment of Miles. A man he doesn’t even know. It reminds me of the look I get from people who don’t support what I do for a living or who think I’m only one thing. Miles is so much more than what Dean is giving him credit for, and if he can’t see that, I don’t want to be around him.
I pin Dean with a serious glower and say, “I surround myself with people who are inclusive and nonjudgmental because I have a weird job. I write frickin’ erotic novels for a living, and I don’t want judgy friends in my corner because that makes me a hypocrite to the characters I write about. And Miles is so encouraging about what I do. More encouraging than you’ve ever been, and that counts for a lot in my book! And he’s not dumb at all. He’s actually really fucking insightful, and you might know that if you’d quit looking down your nose at people.”
Dean’s face turns beet red, panic setting in over his features as I move to walk away. “Don’t leave, Kate.” He stands up and pulls me back to him.
“No,” I exclaim, pulling out of his arms. “I’m sorry, but if you’re going to start acting like this, then I don’t see how we can continue our friendship.”
“Kate!” he repeats my name so urgently I pause to look at him. His eyes are wide and more terrified than I’ve ever seen them, a sort of panic taking over his entire body when he finally stutters out, “I like you.”
I shrug. “Well, I thought I liked you too until you turned into a douche-nozzle.”
“No, I mean, I really like you.” He closes his eyes and slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers, resignation all over his posture.
But for some reason, his words still don’t fully sink in. My angry expression morphs into disbelief. “Like you really like me like a best friend or you…?”
He pins me with a severe look and replies, “I like you as more than a best friend, and it’s not something I can ignore anymore.”
“Dean,” I say with a sigh, my stomach dropping like I’m on a damn roller coaster. “How long?”
“A couple of years?” he grinds through clenched teeth, drops back down into the booth, and runs a hand through his beard nervously. “But I was with Lynsey, and you were with that douchebag, Dryston.”
I slide back into the booth, and my jaw dropped when I reply, “You never said a word.”
“I was waiting for the right time.” He shrugs.
“But Dryston and I have been broken up for months now.”
“But he still lives with you!” he replies, leaning across the table with wide, urgent eyes. “And you were together for two years, Kate. You needed time to get over that shit. I wasn’t going to be the rebound guy. I wanted more than that. Then this fucking mechanic comes out of nowhere, and suddenly, you’re casual Kate. Wait, no…casual Mercedes.”
I lean back, my teeth grinding at him throwing that in my face. “You know why I told him my name was Mercedes.”
“I know it’s ridiculous to be spending time with a guy who doesn’t know the real you.”
“He does know the real me!” I argue. “He knows more about me than Dryston ever learned in our two years together.”
“But you’re hooking up with a guy who still doesn’t know your real name. How do you think that’s going to end, Kate?”
“I don’t know. We’re casual now, but maybe we could be more.”
“See! That’s what kills me. I thought Miles was just a rebound guy, but you’re trying to force him to be more, and I’m right fucking here trying to offer you more! This guy doesn’t even know your real name, and you’re shocked by my hope? Come off your high horse, Kate.”
“What high horse?”
“You’re so blind and self-involved. You should have seen this coming.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“It’s true. When you’re in the book world, you ignore everything and everyone around you.”
“It’s my job, Dean!” I exclaim. “I can’t help it. It’s not a freaking switch I can click off.”
He exhales heavily through his nose. “You honestly didn’t see the signs?”
I close my eyes tight and cycle back through our friendship. Dean is a flirt. He’s always been a flirt. He gets handsy, and he tosses my flip-flop out doors, and he gives me a lot of crap…a lot more than he gives Lynsey. He’s like a kid on the playground who pulls a girl’s pigtails because he likes her.
That realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
I look up at Dean who looks so defeated, it breaks my heart. But I have to be honest with him. “I like Miles,” I state with a simple shrug.
“But he only wants casual,” Dean retorts, leaning toward me and grabbing my hand. “I want so much more with you, Kate. I’d want it all. The good and the bad. You said Miles doesn’t want drama. I’ll take all your drama because I care about you.”
His words are killing me. Slowly slicing through me like tiny little pinpricks of anxiety because regardless of Dean’s willingness to commit, I don’t see him that way. I pull my hand out of his and reply, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
He pulls back and exhales heavily with a tight nod.
“I still want to be friends,” I add, but he cuts me off with a scathing look.
“I need you to go,” he states, his jaw tight with anger.
“Dean—”
“I’m not kidding, Kate. This went worse than I could have ever imagined, and I need you to go before you ruin this bakery for me. We all have our own little places we vibe at, and this is my Tire Depot. So please, can you just leave?”
Seeing the resigned look on his face that I cannot ignore, I grab my satchel off the bench before sliding out of the booth. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
He nods woodenly, and without another word, I turn and walk out, leaving Dean behind to wait with our numbers.
“Hey!” Miles exclaims, his eyes wide and surprised as I stride around the hood of some sort of vintage blue truck he’s elbows deep in.
He hits me with a megawatt smile, and I have to pause to stabilize myself on the toolbox beside me. Miles isn’t dressed in his standard Tire Depot coveralls. He’s dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a white tank top that looks about one size too small for his enormous pecs.
“I was just heading toward the comfort center, and I figured I’d stop and say hello since the garage door was wide open.”
He sets down some sort of complicated-looking car thing and pulls the bottom of his tank top up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, even his abs have dirt and oil on them.
His entire body is glistening with sweat and oil, and his bright blue eyes are electric as ever. It’s all doing serious things to my body.
I clear my throat and blink rapidly a few times to get control of myself. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the contraption he set down. I need to distract my thoughts from how badly I want to bone him right here in this dirty garage.
“A carburetor,” he answers, his mouth tipping into a half-smile.
“What does it do?” I ask like the good little student I never was.
“Uhh, kind of a lot.” He scratches the back of his head and lifts it up to show me. “Do you really want to know?”
I nod because I do. I really, really do. I want to hear him drop some mechanical poetry on me right frickin’ now.
He clears his throat. “Well, it mixes a proper ratio of gasoline and air inside an engine fo
r combustion to occur. The correct proportion is needed on the basis of a car’s speed, distance traveled, and other factors for better performance of the engine. Nowadays, most cars have fuel injectors, but the classics here still run with these.”
“Interesting,” I husk, moving in closer to him and pressing my back against the grille of the truck.
He moves in closer to me, his shoulder and leg brushing up against mine as he adds, “It’s kind of like how a candle needs oxygen to burn. Combustion of an engine can’t take place without the air the carburetor brings in.”
I pull my lips into my mouth and rub them together slowly, my gloss sticky in the summer heat. “Kind of like how an orgasm can’t be achieved without friction.”
His body shakes with silent laughter. “Sure, we could draw that parallel.”
“I’d like to draw that parallel soon,” I reply huskily.
His eyes heat at my very clear request. “Did you have something in mind?”
I wonder if a Tire Depot garage quickie is an option, but then shake that horrible idea out of my head as another thought bursts into light. “Yes, actually. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you ever go camping?”
His brow furrows at this request from left field. Clearly Miles was contemplating a garage quickie too. He clears his throat and replies, “I’ve been known to camp on occasion. Sam and I usually go to Rainbow Lakes a few times a summer. The fishing is really good there.”
“Fishing!” I squeal excitedly. Goddamn, it’s like this was meant to be. “I’d love to learn how to fish. Would you ever consider, I don’t know, taking me camping, Miles? In the interest of book research, of course.”
“Well, if it’s for book research,” he teases with a wink as he sets the carburetor down on a rolling cart. “Did you have a day in mind?”
“As soon as possible,” I bellow and purse my lips closed, rolling my eyes to the heavens. This is not playing it cool. I’m so not being casual Mercedes right now. “My schedule is really flexible, so whenever it suits you.”