"I can make something."
"You cook?"
"I cook," I agreed with a nod.
"Well, then don't put your face on," he said, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Only Jamie seemed to grasp what he was asking. And I know this because she was trying her damnedest to keep her lips from twitching. "Can I get you a drink..."
"Sugar," he supplied immediately.
And then, she didn't even try to hide her smile. "Jamie," she said, offering her hand. "Spelled the masculine way. And my mother wonders why I ended up licking pussy," she said easily, making Sugar chuckle. She turned back to me, unable to stop her eyes from dancing. "Why don't you go get fly with your sweet honey buns," she offered, paraphrasing the song effortlessly. Did I mention how much I loved her? "I will get this, well, I can't say 'fine young gentleman' in this case, can I? This questionable leather-clad biker a drink."
"Don't embarrass me, Mom," I teased in a whining high school-girl voice.
"We're just gonna politic with some fly conversation," she said, not letting up on the Baby Bash. The poor man was never going to live that song down.
"Well, while you do that, throw a pot of water on for me," I said, wandering back into the bathroom.
As I stood there in front of the mirror... I actually decided against wearing my contacts. And ended up only throwing on some mascara and filling in my brows a bit before making my way out to find Jamie and Sugar in the kitchen, Sugar leaned back against the fridge, Jamie the island, both with similar laid-back body language, talking about something casually.
I realized I liked that sight too. Sugar getting along with my friend. It wasn't something I had ever seen before. In general, I kept my friends and my conquests as separate as possible.
"Alright," Jamie said, putting her beer down on the counter. "I will leave you two crazy kids to it. Savvs has Hannibal. I will grab him for you."
"You're the best," I told her as she headed to the door.
And as she closed it, I shit you not, she was humming the damn song.
"What were you guys talking about?" I asked, moving into my kitchen, feeling almost a little, well, shy? No. It couldn't have been shy. Maybe just... uncertain, on unfamiliar ground. I never cooked for a man I was sleeping with. I never had them in my kitchen watching me.
"You," he said easily as I turned away to check the water which was still stubbornly not boiling.
"All bad, I hope," I said, turning back, going to move past him to the fridge. But his hand moved out, snagging my chin, forcing me to stop and face him. "What?" I asked, tone just a tad snippy.
"You left them out," he observed, clearly meaning my contacts.
"Yeah. I don't always wear them at home."
"Why do you wear them at all?"
"Why do you care?"
"Stop being a pain in the ass. Just answer the question."
"I am blonde-haired and blue-eyed."
"And you hate being that... what? Cookie-cutter?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"I liked the brown," he said, making a knot curl in my stomach. "But I like the blue too," he finished, and just like that, the knot unraveled. Something must have been there in my eyes too, because his went almost a little confused before his hand finally dropped. "So, what are you making me?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"What I have in the fridge," I told him, moving away. "Which looks like... some chicken alfredo. If that works," I added, somewhat used to picky eaters. Jamie didn't eat much cheese. Ronnie hated the smell of fish. Savea didn't eat meat.
"I'll eat anything," he started, then saw the smirk I shot him from where I was grabbing an armful of ingredients. "Including that," he added with a wicked smile that made my sex clench hard.
So then I started cooking, throwing the chicken into a skillet to brown as I poured pasta into the water, and mixed the cream and cheese and spices.
I did this while he drank his beer, both of us in silence.
It wasn't until I was finally mixing the sauce ingredients into the pasta that I felt him move in behind me, putting his head on my shoulder. "Smells good," he said, reaching past me to stick his finger into the sauce, bringing it up over my shoulder to suck it into his mouth.
I swear I almost came right then and there.
"Fuck, woman," he sexy-growled at me. "You can cook."
"I told you I could."
"Mmhm," he said, moving back a step. "Where are the plates?"
"Are you going to set the table?" I asked, half-turning toward him. "Seriously?"
"Not if you don't tell me where the plates are," he said, systematically opening cabinets looking for them. "Ah, there they are," he said, pulling out two, looking down at them, then snorting.
"Which ones do you have?" I asked, knowing each of my plates had a different, silly saying on them.
"'According to serving sizes, I am a family of four,' and this one has two shadow pigs fucking and says 'makin' bacon.'"
They were the tamer of my plates.
"Alright, put them here. And pour me wine," I demanded, waving beside the fridge where I kept a row of bottles, waiting to have their rich goodness devoured.
"Ah..." Sugar said, making me turn to look at him holding up a bottle of red a little helplessly.
"What?"
"I've never opened a bottle of wine before."
"No way," I said, smiling because I was sure he was shitting me. "You're not serious."
"Hand to god," he said, shaking his head. "Bikers aren't known for their discerning palates. All beer and Jack."
"Alright. Well, you take the corkscrew, wind it into the center of the cork, and then pull it out."
"Or... you could just do it."
"Nope. I gotta see this," I said, waiting for him to finally cave and do it. "There you go. Exciting, right? I think losing my wine-virginity was more exciting than losing my actual virginity," I admitted, taking the plates over toward the living room. "So what about you?" I asked as we sat down.
"What about me?"
"How'd you lose your virginity?" God, why was I even asking?
"I was fifteen. A clubwhore."
"Makes sense."
He reached for his fork and started eating as I reached for the remote, having a weird thing about not liking to listen to other people chew. At least when there wasn't much of a conversation being carried out, or other noises to muffle it.
"No." That was all, just no. As soon as I turned on a channel.
"Why not?" I asked, looking at the screen, a bit surprised. I had yet to find someone - my sister who was allergic to gore aside - who didn't enjoy some Thrones.
"It's a fuckin' soap opera with swords. Hard pass."
"But there are endless tits and all the fucking!" I declared, not quite ready to accept his refusal.
"Got tits right here," he said, waving at me. "And I'd much rather participate in fuckin' than watch it on TV. Give me that," he added, waving at the remote.
"I think not. It's my apartment. I am the remote captain."
"You've just been relieved of duty," he told me, making a 'give me' hand at me.
"On what grounds?"
"Your shitty taste in TV. Give me the remote," he tried again, putting down his fork, clearly in this for the long haul.
"Not a chance, buddy."
"Buddy?" he asked, eyes twinkling in a way I knew meant I was totally, totally going to lose.
But me, I never went down without a fight.
He lunged.
I flew backward.
In a second, he was on top of me, an arm pinning mine on the arm of the couch above my head. But his other arm was holding him up.
"How you gonna get it now, huh, slick?"
His gaze moved down to my face.
And I knew right then he wasn't above playing dirty.
Because the next thing I knew, his hips were shifting, his cock pressing me right between my legs, making my h
ips rise up to demand more contact.
"Fuck," I hissed as his head lowered, lips attacking my neck. "Your food is getting cold," I sighed as he his teeth nipped my earlobe.
"Fuck the food," he growled, using his hand to yank my wrists up and around his neck as he planted his knees, so he didn't have to brace with his arm, which he wrapped around my waist and used to pull me onto his lap. "Told you you'd be riding me tonight," he told me as his hands went to the hem of my shirt, slowly dragging it up my belly, over my breasts, then up my arms. I didn't realize until it was too late, when I felt it snatched from my hands, that he was still playing dirty. "I believe this is mine. But it can wait until later," he told me as he tucked it to the side then reached behind me to unclasp my bra.
"You bastard," I told him, but the moan that ended on when he rolled my hardened nipple completely undermined the words.
He leaned forward, sealing his lips over my nipple until I was arching into him.
"Up," he demanded, whacking my ass.
And when a man growled Up at you in that sexy tone of voice, you got your ass up.
As soon as my feet hit the ground, his hands moved to my hips, snagging my pants and panties, then slowly dragging them downward.
"I'm famished," he said, making my body stiffen. Was he seriously going to eat now that I was freaking naked? "Come on," he said, reaching up to snag me behind the knee, pulling. "No, not your knees. Your feet," he explained. "I need a little snack before my meal," he told me, lips curved up wickedly as I finally realized his intention.
His hands anchored to my hips so I could brace my hands on his arms as I planted my feet on the cushions, fully aware that my crotch was totally in his face.
As soon as I was up, his hands slipped to my ass, lifting up, and yanking forward, making me lose my feet. My knees fell into the tops of the back cushions, crushing against the wood behind them.
But the pain was short and drowned in pleasure as his tongue started working circles around my clit.
He ate me like he was, indeed, famished.
Until my hands slammed so hard into the wall that I was afraid I cracked the Sheetrock.
Just right at that moment, his fingers slipped inside and tapped against my top wall.
And the orgasm slammed through my system, making me shamelessly rock against his mouth as he milked it for all it was worth.
I sat there for a moment after, my hands braced against the wall.
Until his head turned, and he bit hard into my inner thigh.
"Now, I had my snack. I want my dinner," he told me as I dropped down. "Nope," he said, snatching my clothes from my hand when I reached for them. "You don't need those."
"I don't?" I asked as he leaned forward to get his plate off the table.
"Nope," he told me, twirling pasta with one hand and reaching for the remote with the other, flicking to my guide, then selecting something.
"Seriously?" I asked, reaching for my own plate, always a bit overly comfortable with my own nudity, so eating naked wasn't really bothering me. If a man was cool having his face in your snatch, he really didn't care if your normally mostly-flat belly rolled a small bit when you sat down.
"Keep expecting it to be less funny as I get older, but it's still fuckin' good."
And just like that, 'Scotty Doesn't Know' started being lip-synced by freaking Matt Damon, of all people.
So that was that.
We sat there and watched Eurotrip while eating chicken Alfredo.
"Christ," he said after his plate was clean - and after picking all the chicken off my plate. His hand was settled on his belly. And I had this weird urge to pull up his shirt and see if his epic abs were gone, if men like him - with bodies of gods - got things like food babies. "What can I do to make you cook for me more?"
"Orgasms. I will always accept orgasms as payment."
"Well, I got you covered there," he declared, reaching for me, throwing me onto my back, and making good on his words. Four more times over.
Only after that, after we were both spent and jelly-limbed, did he get up, go off to the bathroom, and let me find my clothes again. As he found his own.
Not five minutes later, there was some very distinct jingling in the hall, like Jamie was purposely jiggling her keys around to let us know she was out there. And it was another minute or two of pretending to try different keys - when I knew she knew which one was mine because it had a bottle of poison key topper on it - before she finally pushed the door open.
"I guess that is my cue," Sugar said, snagging my chin, and yanking me in by it for a kiss. "Tomorrow night?"
"I'll trade you baked macaroni for three solid orgasms."
"I'll raise you one more for something chocolatey for dessert."
"It's a deal," I agreed, my body already humming at the idea.
"Jamie, nice meeting you. See you around, bud," he said, reaching down to scratch Hannibal's ears before heading out.
"On my couch?" Jamie sighed, shaking her head. "I'm taking your bed tonight. And you need to carpet clean that fucker before I sleep on it again."
I smiled at that, feeling light, happy.
"It's worth the extra work."
"Babe," Jamie said, tone suddenly serious.
"What?" I asked, moving to stand, collecting our plates, and bringing them to the sink.
"Talk to me."
"I am talking to you."
"Talk to me about Sugar." I stiffened at that, turning on the water, watching the liquid cheese slide off the plates.
"There's nothing to talk about. He's a good lay."
"Babe," Jamie said again, sounding closer. Not a second later, I realized I was right when she was beside the sink, reaching over to shut off the water. "Don't lie to me. I know something is up here. And I know that is new for you. So you're probably denying it instead of facing it up. Let's face it up together."
"I just... I don't get it," I admitted, reaching for the bottle of wine he opened and pouring a cup that nearly went to the brim.
"What don't you get?" she asked, reaching for the beer she had abandoned earlier.
"Why this feels different."
"Maybe, Peyton, because it is different."
"But why?" I asked, my tone pleading, my soul feeling it, the need for answers.
"Because he is different?" she suggested. "Sometimes, it just comes down to that. The right person at the right time."
"He's not the right person," I objected immediately. "And this is certainly not the right time."
"When will it be the right time, babe?"
I snorted into my wine. "Never."
"Funny thing about life, it doesn't give a shit about what we want. Or when we want it."
If that wasn't the truth.
"We're just screwing around," I insisted.
"For now," she said.
"For always. Until it gets old."
"What if it doesn't get old?"
"It has to. It always does."
"Does it?" she asked. "Do I get old? Does Savvy? Your sister? The Mallicks? Rivers? Sometimes, people come and stick. And you don't get sick of them. And sometimes those people are people you also happen to enjoy fucking."
The scary thing was... a part of me agreed with her.
"All I'm saying is this... don't sabotage something because you're scared."
With that, she turned and walked off to my bedroom before I could say I wasn't scared.
Because we both knew that would be a lie.
I was scared.
But when he showed up after work the next day, I had baked macaroni waiting for him. And chocolate cake. Which we ate... while watching my movie choice. He had handed me the remote with the stipulation that he would have veto power. Which he used six times until we settled on the first Bourne movie.
Then he made good on his promises for orgasms.
After which, he pulled me to his side, his hand stroking up my spine. Which I liked. More than I should have.
Until he got
a text that made him go stiff from head to toe, and then practically trip over himself on the way out.
We hadn't made a plan for the next night.
Which I found myself immeasurably grumpy about.
So much so that Jamie called in Savvs for reinforcement.
We drank and watched reruns of Two Broke Girls while eating black raspberry ice cream.
Savvs passed out on Jamie's shoulder around midnight. And just as I was starting to feel my eyes get heavy too, there was a knock at the door.
Jamie immediately went to stand, eyes a little worried.
"I got it. Don't wake her," I said, jumping up, going toward the door.
"Baby, open up," Sugar's voice called, sounding a bit tired, strained, not like himself.
I won't lie, my heart flew up a bit at hearing his voice.
My hands went for the locks, pulling at them almost a little frantically.
Then there he was, looking as worn-out as his voice sounded.
"I don't have your number," he informed me, looking over my shoulder at my friends. "Couldn't call ahead to see if you were in."
"Is that your sly way of asking for my digits?" I asked, smiling as I moved out of the way. "Just don't wake up Savvs. She's grumpy when she doesn't get enough sleep."
"Got it," he agreed, waving at Jamie who gave him a chin-jerk as we made our way across the apartment to my room.
"You alright?" I asked, closing my door, watching as he walked over to my nightstand, reached for my charger, and plugged his phone in.
"Long day," he said, shaking his head. "Help me forget it."
So then I did, the best way I could.
Naked.
With my mouth.
Then the rest of my body.
"What are you doing?" Sugar asked when I hopped up after, grabbing his cell, pulling it off my charger, and putting mine on.
"Establishing dominance," I said, then yelped as hands snagged my hips, dragging me back toward the bed where I landed on my belly. Over his lap.
His palm came down on my ass with a slap that echoed so hard back at us from the walls that I was sure Jamie could hear it back in the living room.
"Oh, it's on, motherfucker," I declared as the sting took over my asscheek and I turned my head, biting into his thigh muscle.
Sugar (The Henchmen MC Book 12) Page 15