“Please, ’cause you can’t cook for shit.”
“Like you can.”
“I’m not as bad as you.”
“No longer the case. I’ve been gettin’ lessons.”
“Who the fuck from? Ronald McDonald?”
“Adelyn’s taught me some stuff. I know how to make homemade pizza.” Well, maybe I could if I had the recipe for her crust. Which I don’t.
“I’ll believe that shit after I see it.”
“Okay. You’re on. Homemade pizza tonight. Got a Benjamin that says you’ll eat the hell out of it.”
“You’re on, fucker. I’ll bring chips and dip so we’ll have something to eat after you fail.”
“On.”
I know I don’t have bread flour. Or yeast. Or that special salt she used. I’m definitely making a grocery store run but I don’t want to forget anything.
Can you give me a list of the ingredients for the pizza crust?
Shit. The sauces. I forgot about that.
And the sauces.
I should ask for the instructions while I’m at it.
Hell, I need the entire recipe with all the steps. For everything.
That’s going to be a lot of typing. She’s swimming. She probably doesn’t want to stop to fuck with me about a recipe.
I know you’re busy w/ your friends. Maybe send me a pic of the recipe?
Dammit. She’s going to wonder how I know she’s busy with her friends.
No biggie. Just hanging by the pool. The list is pretty long so I’ll be over in a min.
Fuck. She’s coming over. I get to see her.
I don’t hate that.
Great. Thanks.
As promised, Adelyn is knocking on my kitchen’s French door in no time. “It’s open.”
Oh, hell. She’s wearing a thin white cover-up over my favorite black bikini. It’s wet so there are two damp circles over her chest, leaving very little to my imagination about what’s underneath. But of course, I’ve been lucky to see everything underneath. Touch it. Squeeze it. Suck it into my mouth. I don’t have to use my imagination.
“Hey. What’s up?” Her voice is soft. Her cheeks red. Her expression sheepish. I think she’s embarrassed about last night. But she shouldn’t be. I’m happy she came over. I’m happy she tasted like wine; I think it’s what made her brave enough to kiss me.
“Having Porter and Tap over tonight to watch the game. Thought I might show off my new ability to make homemade pizza. Except I don’t know how without a recipe.”
“Oh, fun. Got a notepad and pen I can use?”
I pull out the kitchen drawer where I keep stuff like that. My junk drawer. “Yup.”
She spreads her right arm on the counter and bends over so her left hand is wrapped around the notepad, writing on it from the top. “You’re left-handed.”
“Mmm . . . hmm.”
All the time we’ve spent together and I’m just now catching that.
She’s bent over my kitchen counter writing the recipe. Is she doing that to me on purpose? If she is or not, I don’t deny myself the view of looking at her perfectly outlined ass peeking through her wet cover-up.
All I’d have to do is ease down her bikini bottom and I could be buried deep inside her in probably five seconds. Six, tops.
“Get Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. Comes in a purple bag. Costs a little more but it makes the best crust.” She turns to look at me and catches me staring at her ass. “What brand did I say?”
She knows I was ogling. Not listening. “Purple Mill.”
“Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. Purple bag.” She lifts a brow. “Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She goes back to writing the recipe on the notepad and my eyes return to roaming her body. They leave her ass and hesitate at her neck. So many thoughts gather in my head.
Could I hold her down by the throat?
Own her?
Control her?
Two weeks ago, I thought no. Not just no. Fuck, no. I wanted no part of that shit.
But today I feel differently.
I’ve had a little time to absorb the shock of it. I still don’t think I can choke her. It’s too violent. Brings back too many shitty memories. But could we try a subtler version of what she wants? Needs? Could she bend a little, if I did as well? And, together, we try to find a way for me to satisfy her needs while not exceeding my boundaries?
“It’s your first solo go at a pizza crust so call me if you have problems or questions. I don’t mind coming over if you need help.”
Fuck. I wish I could get her back over here after her company, and mine, leaves. “Don’t be surprised if you hear from me.”
“That’ll be okay.”
My eyes follow her neck to the curve of her shoulder. “You’re red.”
“Shocker.” She lifts her shoulder and pushes away the top of her cover-up and strap of her bikini to survey her skin. I’d love to keep pulling it down. “Hell, yeah, look at that. We’ve only been out for an hour, and I’m already burning. With sunscreen.”
“It doesn’t look too bad right now but be careful.” I was severely burned as a child. I still remember how painful it was. And how much Jimmy laughed about it. Told Lawry and me we were little idiots for playing outside in the sun all day.
We were kids. They were the idiots who never taught us what happened when you stayed in the sun too long.
Lesson well learned.
“I’m probably in the shade the rest of the day. I don’t want to risk a burn. ’Cause with me, it’s one of those things you don’t detect coming on. You figure it out after it’s too late.” I like the idea of her staying in the shade. A sunburn would definitely prevent any kind of get-together between the two of us later.
I take the notepad from the counter. “I guess I’m off to shop. I’m used to doing a bachelor sweep through the grocery store so it should be fun hunting down these ingredients.”
“It won’t be bad. The bread flour, yeast, salt, oil, and sugar are on the same aisle.”
“That helps.”
“I’d go with you if I didn’t have friends over. We haven’t hung out in a while so it would be really shitty of me to drop them.”
“It’s okay. It’s really nice of you to leave them to come over and help me.”
“They don’t mind. They encouraged me to come when you texted.” Shit. She didn’t . . . want to come over? Was last night their idea too? Have I misread this?
“Nice of them to share you with a bachelor in need.”
“They knew I wanted to come.” She crosses her arms, shielding my view of her bikini, and tits, through her wet top. Dammit.
“About last night.” She’s going to bring up the kiss? I hope so. I want to talk about it. “Umm . . . sorry I woke you. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.” Not where I was hoping she was going with this.
“Don’t be. It was great of you to bring the wrench over. I would have been searching high and low for it the next time I work on the bike.”
Come on, Adelyn. Bring up the kiss. It’s the perfect introduction for the conversation I want to have about how we might explore this relationship.
“So, I guess I should get back to Jill and Kristin.”
No. Stay. “Right.” I hold up the recipe. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
Adelyn grasps the doorknob and hesitates. “What is it?”
“Last night.” She lowers her face so she isn’t looking at me. Embarrassed, maybe? Afraid? The thing I know for sure is her confidence is shaken. I’m the one who did that so it’s my job to fix it.
I don’t give her time to overthink it or second-guess her decision. “The kiss. I liked it.”
She doesn’t look back, but I see her biting her lip as a smile tries to break through. “Good. I liked it, too.”
That’s all she says before opening the door and leaving.
T
wo weeks ago she trusted me enough to show me who she was. Show me her dark side. And I rejected it. Rejected her. I hurt this woman who’s already been so incredibly wounded. She didn’t deserve that shit from me.
So now I have to start over with her. Backtrack. Gain her trust all over again so we can pursue the possibilities of us.
I have work to do.
* * *
Braves won. Pizza was a success. Took Porter’s money. The night’s been a win.
But it’s not over yet.
Pizza turned out great.
I considered faking a disaster so I could call Adelyn over but decided it would be a waste since Porter and Tap were here.
I was wondering. Knew you could do it. Glad it went well.
I want to see her.
Thanks. You’re a good instructor. Your friends still there?
Please say no.
They went home after dinner.
Yes.
Feel like coming over?
Delayed response. Damn. Hope that isn’t a sign she’s coming up with an excuse.
Sure. Be over in a few.
It isn’t a few. It’s more like thirty.
I’m pretty sure Adelyn showered. Her hair is fluffy and she looks fresh, not at all like someone who spent the day sweating by the pool. But I’m not complaining. She smells so fucking good. The fragrance is a cross between fruity and floral but not overpowering.
“Have a good time with your friends?”
“We had a blast. It’s been way too long since we did something like that.”
“No Maurice?”
“Dear Lord, no. He’s in a different circle than Jill and Kris. And the two circles don’t overlap; he and his bold personality are not their cup of tea.” Understandable. He’s not really mine either.
“Do Jill and Kristin know about Martin?”
“They know him but neither have a clue he abused me.” She tilts her head and begins twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You don’t tell people that kind of stuff. Not even the best of friends.”
You absolutely keep your mouth shut. Strange how it goes with the territory no matter who’s experiencing it. “Guess it makes no difference if you’re a six-year-old little boy or a grown woman.”
“People don’t understand the shame that goes along with abuse unless they’ve experienced it.”
“I agree with that statement one hundred percent.”
“Enough about that.” I’m glad she’s changing the subject. I hate talking about the first six years of my childhood. And I don’t love hearing about the abuse she went through either.
“Jill and Kristin are single?”
“Yeah. Kris is a serial dater. Goes out with a different guy every weekend. But Jill . . . she’s been out of the dating scene since Tommy died. She was engaged to him.” Oh, right. “She’s been stuck in a funk since and either can’t, or won’t, move on. I can’t decide which.”
“Fuck. That’s awful. Was she your friend before she became your brother’s fiancée?”
“Yeah. I lived with her and her family my senior year.” I remember Adelyn telling me a friend’s family took her in when her parents left Birmingham.
“You don’t talk about your parents much. Do you ever see them?” They’ve not been to visit since I moved in next door.
“Not as much since they moved to Virginia. But they’re coming into town Tuesday. Five days of hellfire and brimstone from Daddy while Mama worries the shit out of me about getting married and having babies. In that order. I’m getting to be an old maid, you know. Should be fun.”
Sounds like Daddy is a real Bible-thumper. I bet he ain’t all about a queen in full drag singing Whitney Houston. “What do your parents think of Maurice?”
“That he’s one of God’s children so we love him. And we should pray often he stops his sinful ways and gets right with the Lord.”
Sinful ways. No way I’m gonna make the cut with Daddy. “Is that what they’ll say about me when they find out I’m a beer brewer?” Assuming I’ll get to meet them.
“Oh, God. It’ll be the same song, second verse. We should lie. Tell them you’re a school teacher . . . who also teaches a Bible study group at the Baptist church down the street.”
“Makes me sound respectable.”
“You have no idea how much my mom would love that. She’d probably propose to you on my behalf.”
“So how ’bout we don’t tell them I’m a teacher who teaches a Bible study group?” It would be a fail if Brother Maxwell tried to talk Bible trivia with me.
“And tell them what instead?”
Things feel right again between Adelyn and me. I don’t want to wait about seeing where this could go.
“We tell them I’m a beer brewer.” I point to the ink on my arm. “With lots of tattoos, which I’m sure will go over well. And I’m seeing their daughter.” Let’s see what she thinks about that.
“Only two of those three statements are true.”
No need to pussyfoot around this. I want her and she needs to know that. “What if I want them all to be true?”
Her eyes widen and she looks like she wants to say something. But nothing comes out. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
“I don’t know what to say.” There’s a tug of war happening right now beneath those hazel eyes.
“Say you want an us, Max. Say you’ll forgive me for being an enormous jackass. Say you’re willing to bend a little. Let me try a subtler version of what you want. Without the choking. At least for now until I gain my footing. And, together, we find a way to satisfy your needs while not going beyond my limits.”
“A compromise.”
“Exactly. A little give and take. Isn’t that what relationships are all about?”
“Are you saying you’re interested in a relationship with me, Oliver Thorn?”
“Yes, Adelyn Maxwell. I am. Very interested. I missed you when we spent time apart. I missed your friendship, your sassy mouth, your fun. I. Missed. You. Can we try again?” Her smile. That bright smile I’m seeing now is the one I have longed to see.
“Yes, Thorn. I want that, but my answer would depend on what you’re willing and unwilling to do.” Fair enough.
“I can’t answer that until I know the things you like.”
She pulls her hair into a ponytail and twists her locks into a knot on top of her head before releasing it and repeating the process again. “How do we go about this? Verbally go through a list or do some trial runs to see what you’re comfortable doing?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in my head.” I’ve been stuck on the part where she says yes or tells me to go to hell. And she said yes.
“Talking about it and doing it are two different things.”
“I wouldn’t think otherwise.”
She gets up from the sofa, takes my hands in hers, and tugs so I’m standing. “Take me to your bedroom. Let’s experiment. Compromise. See what happens.”
The walk to my bedroom is the longest ever. I turn on the lamp beside my bed and face her. Awaiting instructions. “I have bad news, Thorn. We’re not having sex tonight. I already know that’s in your comfort zone. Tonight is about finding out what isn’t.”
I thought we were here to explore. Compromise. How do we do that without sex?
I humiliated her last time. Made her feel insecure about herself and what she wanted. I guess I have to earn back the right to be inside her again. And I will. “Okay.”
“First lesson. An alpha male wouldn’t simply say okay if he were in the mood to fuck.”
“I was taught when a woman says no, she means it, so you’d better listen to her.” Libby Thorn would kick my ass if she ever thought I made the decision to not hear a woman tell me no.
“That’s true for every other woman in the world. But those women don’t belong to you. This is different because I’m yours. Or I may be depending upon how this goes.”
Adelyn and I are so compatible outside
the bedroom. I really want, and need, that compatibility to spill over into our sexual chemistry. I desire so much more with her than just a friendship. I want this to be more than just fucking.
I’m yours.
It’s strange, and hot as hell, to hear her say she belongs to me. But that can’t mean I take her whenever I feel like it whether she wants to or not. “Are you telling me to force you?” No way in hell I’m doing that. You can put rape and choke in the same no-fucking-way-that’s-happening category.
“No. I’m telling you to convince me otherwise. Make me want it when I think I don’t.” She turns and pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Grasp it. Wind it around your hand.”
I push my fingers into her long locks and fist her ponytail as she instructs. I feel like a fucking caveman about to drag his woman around. “Use it to pull me back against you.”
That seems painful. And disrespectful. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Or piss you off.
“It’s not painful when you hold all of it like that. Trust me, Thorn. I’ll never ask you to hurt me; I don’t enjoy pain. But I like a firm grip.”
I pull her toward me and her back collides with my front. And my dick. It convulses once, twice, three times before it begins filling with liquid steel. “Whisper in my ear. Convince me I want to stay and fuck instead of walking out the door to go home to my vibrator.”
Adelyn wants to be controlled. Owned. And I want to give this a fair shot. Maybe make both of us happy in the process. No way she’s going home and getting into that drawer beside her bed tonight. No way that vibrator is getting what belongs to me.
I push my free hand between her legs and rub. Up. Down. I pull the bunched ponytail in my hand backward and to the side so her head is tilted, neck fully exposed. I suck her earlobe into my mouth and then hover over the canal. I know what I want to say to her. I don’t need her instruction. Her scent, the touch of her after the time without her . . . She. Is. Mine. And she needs to understand that. “Your pussy is mine. No one else touches it. No one else licks it. No one else puts his dick inside it. Only. Me.”
Stout (Lovibond Collection #2) Page 12