by Maisey Yates
Right. Because you were such a sopping, sad mess you made his wedding cake even though it destroyed you to do it. And you’ve barely had a date since you met the man.
All true.
She growled into the empty room and turned her focus to whipping her frosting. That, at least, was physically satisfying. She dipped an unused spoon into the mix and tasted it. She hit Play on her kitchen stereo system and turned to the pantry humming while she rummaged for a can of pineapple juice.
She heard a sharp knock over the sound of her acoustic-guitar music and she stopped rummaging. She frowned and walked over to the door, peeking through the security window at the top.
Zack was there, looking back down the hall, like he was thinking about leaving. He had a brown paper bag in his hand, his work clothes long discarded in favor of a gray T-shirt and a pair of dark fitted jeans.
Her heart crumpled. Seeing him was almost painful. A reminder of how close they’d been physically. How far apart they were emotionally.
She braced herself for the full impact of his presence and opened the door.
He turned to her, smiling. “Hi.”
“I thought you were busy.”
That wasn’t what she’d intended to lead with, but it had sort of slipped out. Things just seemed to be “happening” around him without her permission a lot lately.
“It turns out it could wait.” He slipped past her and stepped into her apartment, depositing his bags of food on the counter and pulling white boxes from it without even asking for permission.
“Why are you … here?”
“It’s Monday.”
“And?”
“Football.” He shrugged as he opened the first container, revealing her favorite, Sweet and Sour Pork. Like nothing had changed.
It was comforting in a very bizarre way. And a tiny bit upsetting, too. She wasn’t sure which emotion she was going to let win. She’d give it until after dinner to decide.
“Right.” She turned and made her way around the counter, taking plates and utensils out of the cupboard and drawers. Zack dished up the food and neither of them spoke as they took their first few bites.
“You could turn the game on,” she said.
Zack walked across the open room and took her remote off the couch, aiming it at the TV and putting it on the local channel broadcasting the event.
“Who’s playing?” she asked.
“No idea.” He tossed the remote back where it had been and crossed back into the kitchen, taking a seat at one of the bar stools that lined the counter.
“Important enough to come over for, though,” she said, looking down at her plate and stabbing a piece of meat with her fork.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice rough.
“What … me? You missed me?”
“Yes. We always get together Monday. And I found myself wandering around my house. Thought about turning the game on. But you’re right. I don’t really care about football, probably a side effect of coming down from the high of being the world’s most entitled high-school jock. I didn’t really want to watch sports, but I did want to eat dinner. With you.”
“I missed you, too, Zack,” she said.
His smile. His presence. His arms around her while she slept. But she wasn’t allowed to miss that last part. That had to be done. Over.
As for their friendship … she didn’t know what she would do without him. But she didn’t know if she would ever get over him if he was always around, either.
But she had to be with him, at least until she left Roasted. She would worry about the rest then.
“Making cupcakes?” he asked.
“They’re going to be very tropical.” She took a bite of fried rice and stood up, walking back into the kitchen to grab the can of pineapple juice she’d been after when he came to the door. “Not sure about them yet.”
She punched the top of the tin and drizzled some juice into her frosting, stirring it in slowly.
Zack leaned over the counter and stuck his finger in the bowl. She smacked the top of his hand. “I will frost your butt, Parsons. Keep your fingers out of my mixing bowl.”
He held his finger near his lips and gave her a roguish smile. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” He licked his frosting-covered finger and her internal muscles clenched in response.
She snorted. “No. I don’t know. You know what I meant.”
“Yeah.”
Her heart fluttered, but it was a manageable amount. “Behave.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Can’t make any promises.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back down to her dinner.
“Heard anymore about the store in Japan?” she asked.
That got Zack rolling on statistics and sales figures and all sorts of things he found endlessly fascinating. She liked that about him. Liked that his job sometimes gave him a glint in his eye that made him look like an enthusiastic kid.
Then he launched into a story about the street performers that had been out in front of the restaurant tonight when he’d picked the food up, which reminded her of the time they’d been all but accosted by a street mime on their way to lunch one day.
She really had missed this. Sharing. Laughing. She loved that he knew her, that he knew all of her best stories, her most embarrassing moments.
The timer pinged for the cupcakes and she got up to check them.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, pulling them out with an oven mitt and setting them on the counter. “But hot.” She nearly laughed at his pained expression. “I have some cool ones, though. I know you don’t bake, but if you want to frost them you’re welcome to.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“Bear in mind they are highly experimental.”
He smiled. “Sounds exciting, anyway.”
“Or a potential disaster of epic proportions, but we won’t know until we taste them.”
She loaded up a frosting bag and handed it to Zack while she set her own up and got started on leaving little stars all over the surface of one of the cupcakes.
Zack sneaked his hand past her and dipped it into the bowl again. She grabbed the spatula and smacked the back of his hand, leaving a streak of white frosting behind. “I said stop!” she said, laughing as he examined the mess she’d left behind.
“But the frosting is the best part.”
“You didn’t try the cake yet.”
He shrugged and raised his hand to his lips cleaning off the frosting she’d left behind, then he moved his finger near her mouth. “Taste?” he asked.
In that moment, it felt like her vision tunneled, reduced to nothing but Zack. The game, the sounds of the whistle, the crowd, the announcers, faded, blood roaring in her ears.
It was innocent. Or it should have been. She tried to tell herself that for about ten seconds. Because there was no female friend on earth, no matter how close, who would have offered what Zack was at the moment.
So it wasn’t innocent. She looked up, her eyes clashing with his.
They were dark, intense. Aroused. The air between them seemed to thicken, the only sound her breath. Too loud. Too obvious.
It wasn’t innocent at all.
She’d promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. That their last night together had been exactly that: their last night together.
It won’t happen again. I just need a taste.
She leaned in and slid her tongue along the line of his finger and her entire body tightened when a rough groan escaped his lips. The salt of his skin gave bite to the super-sweet frosting. If her cupcakes were a bust maybe she could just spread it all over Zack.
No.
She pulled back sharply, shaking her head. “Sorry. Just … sorry, I …”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her, deep and long, his tongue still coated in icing. When he released her, she felt dazed in the very best way.
She licked her lips. “You taste like
a pineapple,” she said, her breath erratic, her heart pounding.
“Is that a good thing?” His voice sounded strained, like each word was an effort.
“I might have to … test it out again.”
He smiled and her stomach curled in on itself. “I’m more than willing to aid you in the testing.”
He dipped his head and she closed the distance between them, sliding her tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the rough groan that rumbled in his chest.
He dipped his fingers back in the bowl and tugged at the hem of her shirt, drawing it over her head. “I feel at a disadvantage,” he said, sliding his fingers over her stomach. “Because you got a chance to taste me this way, and I haven’t gotten to do the same.”
He bent down and slid his tongue over her stomach. She shivered, gripping his shoulders, knowing they were going too far, not sure if she wanted to stop.
He stood and reached behind her, unhooking her bra with one hand. “You’re better at that than I am,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Good. That’s kind of the idea. I’d hate to think you’d be better off doing this for yourself.” He cupped her breast and slid his thumb off her nipple, leaving a faint dusting of icing covering her there. He bent his head and circled the tightened bud with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth.
She forked her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her as he continued to lavish attention on her breast.
“Oh, no … I could not do this by myself,” she breathed.
He lifted his head and captured her lips, sweetness clinging to his tongue, his grip tight on her hips as he tugged her body against his. “You’re beautiful,” he said, abandoning her mouth to skim kisses down her neck, across her collarbone.
“You make me believe it.”
He raised his head, his expression serious. “You should never doubt it, not for a moment. You make me lose control.”
The words hung between them, an admission that held power. Because she knew Zack, and she knew what he prized. His control. Above everything. She knew why now, too. She even understood it. And he was saying that her beauty, her body, took it from him.
“Me?” she asked.
“You,” he repeated, his voice hard. “Everything about you.” He moved his palm over her breast and she shuddered. “Now that I’m allowing myself to look … I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop at just looking, I have to touch you, then I have to taste you. And it’s still not enough.”
Zack’s heart raged out of control. It was more than just arousal. His chest burned, the need going so much deeper than sex. It was pleasure and pain, heaven and hell. But he couldn’t turn away from any of it. He didn’t want to.
This wasn’t what was supposed to happen tonight. He’d missed Clara, Clara his friend. The companionship she provided, the safety. She was the one person he ever let his guard down with. The one person he laughed with. Relaxed with.
It wasn’t supposed to turn into this. But his desire for her was like a storm, devastating everything in its path. Devastating his control.
And he’d admitted it to her. Because what else could he do? She’d brought him to his knees.
“It’s a nice apartment,” he said, trying to lighten the moment, to bring himself back to earth. “I bet the bedrooms are really nice.”
She snorted a laugh and buried her face in his neck. “You’ve been in my bedroom.”
He sifted her hair through his fingers. “I’ve never slept in your bed.”
“Do you want to?” She posed the question as though she was asking if he wanted something purely innocent.
“After we get some other business taken care of.”
“I’m in complete agreement with that.”
He swung her up into his arms and she squeaked, looping her arms around his neck and laughing as he dashed to her bedroom.
Zack set Clara down when they got inside her room. A room he’d been in more times than he could count. But never like this. She kissed him, her mouth hungry, pulled his shirt off him in one swift motion. Trading piece of clothing for piece of clothing until they were both naked, limbs entwined, her full breasts pressed against his chest.
It was almost enough for a while, to simply lay on the bed with her, moving his hands over her bare curves, kissing her. Doing nothing more than kissing.
It was almost enough, but not quite.
He swore sharply. “I don’t have anything. I didn’t plan this.”
“It’s okay,” she said, wrapping her hand around his length, squeezing him. He groaned, her soft flesh against his almost making up for the fact that he couldn’t be inside her. Almost.
He put his hand between her thighs and drew his fingers over her clitoris, then repeated the motion.
She gasped and arched against him, tightening her hold on his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. “Oh, Zack,” she breathed, his name on her lips like balm to his soul.
Everything after that was lost in a frenzy of movement, sighs and graphic words that he’d never heard come from Clara’s mouth before. But it was only more exciting, because it was her. Because he knew that he was able to do that to her, to make her say things, feel things no other man ever had.
They reached the peak together, his body shaking down to his bones as he found his release.
He held her soft body against his afterward, a sort of strange contentedness spreading through him that he’d never felt before.
“You’re beautiful, you know?” he asked, pushing her hair to one side and kissing her neck.
She turned to look at him, rolling to her side, making the curve of her hip rounder, her waist smaller. And her breasts …
“You keep saying that.”
“So that you can’t doubt it.”
“I’m starting to believe you, actually,” she said, a smile curving her lips. She reached out and put her finger on his biceps, tracing a long line up to his shoulder. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“I’m flattered.” He leaned forward and kissed her nose, the contentedness morphing into something else. Something that felt light and … happy.
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and rolled onto his back. She planted her palms on his chest, her body half on his.
“Hi,” she said, smiling.
“I just want you to know that you’re not second to anyone,” he said, cupping her cheek. “There’s no other woman on earth I would rather be with.”
Her brown eyes glistened. “You really are good for my ego.”
“I’m glad. Someone has to be.”
He wanted to say something. Something bigger than he should, than he could. He just wanted more. In that moment, with her body, so soft and bare and perfect, pressed against his, with her smiling at him like he could solve all of the world’s problems, he wanted to offer her the world. He wanted more than temporary, more than distant for the first time in his memory.
She rested her head on his chest, her fingertips moving lightly over his skin until her breathing deepened and her eyes fluttered closed.
It wasn’t until she was asleep that panic slammed into him. The full enormity of what had happened. He’d lost control. More than that, he’d been letting go of it, inch by inch, with Clara for the past seven years.
With everyone else he was guarded. He never dropped his defenses. He never talked about his past.
He’d cried in front of her. He had allowed real, raw weakness and emotion to escape in her presence when he never even let himself give in like that in private. She was under his skin. So much so she felt like she was a part of him.
A necessary part.
What if he lost her? No, it wasn’t even a matter of if, it was when.
The terror that thought evoked, the absolute, gut-wrenching horror was a sobering as a punch to the jaw. He was playing a game he had no business playing, flirting with things he shouldn’t be. Tempting feelings he couldn’t risk having.
He slid out of her hold and she stirre
d briefly, stretching, arching her back. His mouth dried. He shook his head and bent to collect his clothes, dressing and walking out of her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him, ignoring the continual stab of pain in his chest.
He paused in her living room for a moment, the weight of the familiarity of his surroundings crushing him, a feeling of claustrophobia overtaking him.
He had to leave. He had to think. He had to find his control.
He walked out her front door, closing it behind him and making sure everything was locked so that she would be safe. He walked out into the cold night, sucking in a deep breath and blaming the cold for the pain that came with it.
“Where were you this morning? When did you leave?” Clara whispered the words when she went into Zack’s office in the early afternoon. He’d been out of the office all morning, and he had been very noticeably not at her apartment before that.
“I had some things to do,” he said, his voice flat. “Could you bring me a coffee?” His phone rang and he picked it up. She stomped out of the room and picked up the freshly brewed pot that was sitting in the main area of the office. She poured a half a cup and dumped powdered creamer in, no sugar, and stirred it halfheartedly with one of the little wooden sticks that was on the coffee station.
There were still little lumps of powder floating on the top.
She went back into his office and plunked it onto his desk, letting some of it slosh over the side. He didn’t flick her or the coffee a glance as he continued his phone call. He picked it up and took a sip then grimaced and set it back down, shooting her an evil look. She responded with a wide, saccharine smile.
“I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone, hanging up. “Do you have something on your mind?”
“Yes. Where were you this morning, and do not give me another half-assed answer.”
“Clara, there’s a way I conduct physical relationships. I don’t always stay for the whole night.”
She felt like he’d slapped her. Like she was just the same as every other physical relationship he had. But she wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t.
Anger made her scalp feel prickly. “Don’t give me that. Don’t even try. I made you shake last night. Made you lose control.” Boldness came from anger, and she could’t regret it.