Sugar and Spice

by Shandi Boyes

  “I’m close,” I warn a short time later, my throaty voice an indication of my heightened state.

  “Good. So am I.”

  My cheeks inflame as I fight to hold back my excitement. My endeavor is pointless. The thrill of Cormack toying with my clit can't be undone via mental power, and the visual of his thick cock pumping in and out of his hand is doing wickedly naughty things to my insides.

  With an almost animal-like roar, I succumb to the sensation gripping every inch of me. Cormack's name shreds from my lips in a throaty moan as my pussy sucks at my fingers. I clam up, my climax rising over me like a bone-crushing wave. It smashes into me hard, stealing my ability to move, breathe, and speak.

  My husky screams entice quest for Cormack’s release. His strokes quicken as he watches me lose control beneath him. As my lungs hunt for air, I frantically search for the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m not scared of the involuntary tremors of my body. I’m loving every shudder, shake, and moan.

  The tremors wreaking havoc with my body gain intensity when the hot spurts of Cormack’s cum shoot across my spasming sex. The rough moans he releases as he grunts my name tighten my core. A buzzing sensation darts through my clenching sex like liquid ecstasy. The sensation is amazing, unlike any I’ve ever had.

  I come through the sensation gasping for air, powerfully shaken by the strength of my orgasm. Cormack looks as surprised as me. Beads of sweat sit in little balls at the top of his blond brows, and a triumphant grin is stretched across his handsome face.

  “Seeing you do that. . .” A groan fills in his lack of words. “. . . a thousand times better than I could have ever predicted.”

  He steals my attempt to bow in gratitude of his praise by seizing my wrists and dragging me to an upright position. I slump against his body like a wet bag of flour, my legs as uncooperative as my lungs. He holds me close to his body as he moves to the compact, yet highly appealing bathroom on our right. The crazy thud of his heart matches mine. It’s a frantic beat spurred on by carnal desires and mutual respect. I’ve never been low on confidence, but I’ve had it even more the past few months.

  After ensuring the water is at a good temp, Cormack removes his shoes, socks, and my bra, then steps into the spray. I giggle. In his eagerness, he forgot to remove his pants.

  "Here, let me." I bend my knees to drag his drenched trousers down his thighs. My endeavor to help is awarded in the most glorious way. Cormack's half-flaccid cock stiffens before my very eyes, marveling me with its dedication.

  I glance up at Cormack through a thick set of lashes, pondering if he is aware of the magnificence brewing between us.

  His hearty smirk answers my silent question. "What? Did you think we were done?"

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he pins me against the glistening clean tiles of the shower to attack my mouth with the viciousness of a starved man.

  “I said I was going to woo you, Harlow, so let the wooing begin.”

  After kissing me until I forget what day of the week it is, Cormack leans his sweaty forehead against mine. Steam billows around us, making the stifling conditions even more roasting. The emotions pumping out of his arctic blue eyes should have me withering away in fright, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, they straighten the rod in my spine instead of curving it.

  “Yes?” he murmurs, his voice husky from our kiss.

  The water from the shower rolls down my arms when I cup his bristle-covered jaw. "Yes. Always."

  I’m not just giving him permission to worship me with the heaviness I feel bracing against my heated core. I’m giving him permission for everything and anything. I’m giving him me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Harlow

  I broke the ultimate rule. The one I swore I’d never break. I told Cormack I loved him. It wasn’t a lie, but the way I handled the accidental slip up made it seem as if it was. Our time in the bathroom was magical, so much so, while screaming his name at the top of my lungs, another three little words tumbled out. I tried to cover it up with a quickly mumbled, “I love you. . . your bathroom. It’s very high end. The tile trim is gorgeous!”

  I thought he bought my act, but as the hours move on from our exchange, my doubts are weakening. He isn’t any quieter than usual, but there is definitely more tension in the air than there was before I blurted out my declaration of love.

  Although everyone is a little high-strung after Izzy’s collapse at the end of our trip, I don’t think that is solely to blame for Cormack’s distance. He was riding a high when we left the bathroom, which is understandable due to some rocky turbulence adding to our exchange, but Izzy’s inadvertent mix of Xanax and champagne didn’t just bring him crashing back to reality. It swiped his happy-go-lucky mood as well. Isaac is panicked that Izzy won’t wake up, but Cormack is even more unnerved than him.

  He hasn't spoken a word since we entered his stretch limousine forty-five minutes ago. He just peered out the window, drinking whiskey like it’s water. After our heart-tethering conversation in his jet, I was expecting more than a cold shoulder. That's why I'm relatively sure it is my slip up that is to blame for his sudden shift in mood. I wonder if he is worried I took his wish to cherish me the wrong way? I kind of did, but his silent treatment soon cleared up that mishap. I'm well aware he didn't mean it in the literal sense—now.

  “Harlow. . .”

  I swing my eyes in the direction the voice came from. Cormack is peering at me with a pair of concerned eyes. "She'll be okay," he assures me, assuming the deep ridge between my brows is there because of Izzy. I am worried about her; she's just not the sole cause of my concern.

  “I know.” I bite the inside of my cheek, hating that my short reply came out sounding like a sob.

  Spotting the moisture in my eyes, Cormack says, “Come here.” He jerks his chin up, requesting I scoot toward him.

  When I do as requested, he curls his arm around my shoulders and tugs me into his side. More stupid tears loom in my eyes. He is hugging me, not returning my declaration of love, so why am I acting so idiotic?

  “When we arrive at Mummo Koti, there are a couple of things I need to take care of, but once they’re done, you’ll have my undivided attention. Okay?” His voice reveals his sorrow for our first non-fight. He sounds as confused by his unusual behavior as I am.

  Not trusting my voice not to squeak, I reply with a nod.

  “It will be alright. Not all mistakes end badly, right?” He sounds like he is trying to convince himself more than me.

  I once again nod.

  Before he can issue any more all-encompassing promises, our mode of transport pulls down a long, weaving driveway. My jaw gapes as my eyes bug. This property is nothing like Cormack’s home in Hopeton. It even surpasses the grandeur of his family mansion. It is a large-scale manor fit for a queen. The palace-like residence has over thirty windows stretched across the front of the property, their position poised to take in the beautiful vista of Hamptons Beach. The lawns are manicured with sturdy grass selected to survive the sandy conditions, and dozens of staff dressed in traditional maid outfits flurry around the line of guests arriving before us.

  “I thought we were going to your grandmother’s house?”

  Cormack's chest rattles when he laughs. It is a beautiful thing to hear after his near hour of silence. "We are. This is Mummo Koti. Mummo is Grandma in Finnish, and Koti means home. Making this my grandmother’s house.”

  “So who are all these people?” I wave my hand across the six or more pristine vehicles in front of us.

  “They are guests,” Cormack answers, like he’s stating the obvious. He isn’t.

  “Guests of your grandmother?”

  He shrugs. “Somewhat. They are here by invitation, but if my grandmother had it her way, over half of them would never step foot in her house again.”

  "Oh. It sounds like I'm going to like your grandma."

  It isn't the pride in Cormack's voice fueling my assumption; it is
the snooty glances directed my way by half the affluently dressed guests when Cormack assists me out of the limousine. Their self-righteous stares have me checking my clothing for a spill; otherwise, why would they issue me the same disdainful look Clara always gives? They didn't walk in on me kneeling in front of their brother with a pleased face and an exposed crotch, so who are they to judge?

  The further Cormack and I progress toward the entranceway of his grandmother's home, the higher my annoyance becomes. For every four introductions Cormack issues, only one accepts my greeting.

  By the time we enter the foyer, I've had more snubs than smiles, and even then, most of the smirks were more concealed grimaces than true smiles. I don't know these people, but they should be ashamed of themselves. Pricey frocks and Botox faces shouldn’t excuse poor manners.

  After curling his hand around mine, Cormack gallops down the six stairs of the foyer. The knot in my stomach firms when I take in the elegance of the ballroom-like space. The space is the size of a hotel with hallways, antique furniture, and Persian rugs stretched as far as the eye can see.

  I stop counting the number of gold-leafed mirrors in one room when a deep voice says, “We’ve got an issue with numbers. Clara’s been here the past week, sweetening the sauce.”

  A man with ravishing chocolate skin and pale brown eyes dips his chin in greeting when he notices my intrusive gawk. He seems to know who I am, even though we’ve never met.

  “I anticipated her move; she’d never slum it with the bottom feeders, but I’ve got a few matters I need to address before the vote tomorrow. Did you gather the contacts I requested during our trip?”

  I watch Cormack in awe, loving the opportunity to see him in his element. He commands my kitchen well, but it’s never had this pussy-clenching element before.

  “Yes. Everything is set up in your office. I’ll wait for you in there.” The unnamed gentleman spins on his heels and heads in the direction his eyes just focused on.

  Cormack waits for him to disappear before shifting on his feet to face me. "I've got something important I need to handle. Do you think you can take care of yourself for a few hours?"

  "Sure. No worries." My over-the-top performance removes some of the guilt in Cormack's eyes. "I'm a little tired; perhaps I'll have a nap."

  “That’s a good idea.” He leans in to press his lips to mine. “Then I can keep you up all night.” His promise isn’t as robust as the ones he gave in the jet, but I pretend it is.

  I hate the tension radiating out of him, so I’ll do anything to weaken it. “Go on; I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  His smile loosens the knot in my gut. “I never had any doubts.”

  After a final smirk, he hightails it down the hall. Just before he disappears, I remember I have no clue which room is his. When I shout out the question, Cormack replies, “It’s the third door down the hall on the left.”

  I spin in a circle, taking in the numerous halls that break off from the foyer. “Which hallway?”

  My question comes too late; Cormack is long gone.

  I've been aimlessly wandering the past forty-five minutes—I kid you not! The sheer size of Mummo Koti from the outside is already overwhelming, but when you are faced with numerous halls, living areas, and at last count, fourteen bathrooms, you'll either choke or prosper. I'm suffocating.

  From the expensive, thick-paneled curtains, to the antique runners rolled down the middle, each hallway is identical. At one stage, I was convinced I was walking in a circle, but my love of the classics soon proved me wrong. Hansel was very smart when he left a trail of breadcrumbs. I don't have any food at my disposal, but the many washrooms I stumbled upon came in handy.

  I stop meandering down the hall when a faint buzz trickles in my ears. It isn't the hum of a mosquito buzzing around my ears or any type of electronic equipment; it is the joyful tune of a male voice humming.

  I dash toward the voice, hoping their happy tune isn't because they are on the brink of insanity like me. I find a man halfway down a hall on my right. Little beads of sweat roll down his wrinkled cheeks when he uses a dustpan and broom to sweep away the balls of toilet paper I dumped on the ground to guide my way. Now instead of feeling relief, I am feeling guilt. He already has a hundred rooms to clean; he doesn’t need more work.

  “Ma’am,” he greets with a pleasant smile when I hesitantly approach him.

  “Hi. Ah. . . can you help me? I’m a little lost.”

  His smile grows. "I most certainly can. Whose room are you looking for?"

  “Cor. . . mack’s.” The long pause in the middle of Cormack’s name is due to the confusion crossing the house attendant’s face.

  After recalling Cormack’s guests refer to him as Mr. McGregor, I correct myself. “Mr. McGregor’s. He said it was three doors down on the left. He just failed to mention which hall.”

  The house attendant's laugh is as appealing as his welcoming personality. "No wonder why you are lost. There are over forty halls in Mummo Koti.”

  “That number isn’t surprising. I’m certain I’ve visited most of them today.”

  As we weave through numerous halls, sitting rooms, and elegant libraries, I discover the house attendant’s name is Ruel. He has worked at Mummo Koti since he was caught stealing by Cormack’s grandfather just shy of his eighteenth birthday. When I joked that he should have accepted a jail term, he was quick to defend Mr. Attwood. He said if it hadn’t been for him, his life wouldn’t have been as splendid as it has been. He speaks of Mr. and Mrs. Attwood very fondly, his praise as wonderous as the tone he uses when referencing his wife.

  Although Ruel reached retirement age four years ago, he continues working at Mummo Koti. He believes the role will keep him young. After my efforts, I’m not so sure.

  “And here we are, Mr. McGregor’s room.” He waves a plain white keycard over a security lock on the door before gesturing for me to enter.

  "Wow." There isn’t another word in the dictionary suitable to describe Cormack's room. Although the design is finished in the same high quality as his home in Hopeton, the space is ten times bigger.

  As my wide eyes take in a large four-poster bed sitting mid-room, I hesitantly cross the threshold. I’m afraid to touch anything. Everything is too perfect to have my grubby mitts on it.

  “I will leave you to get settled,” Ruel says as his hand circles the elaborate gold knob of the door. “If you need anything, my number is on every phone in the manor.”

  I laugh, assuming he is joking. He isn’t. Wedged between the buttons for the kitchen and housekeeping is Ruel’s name.

  I wait for Ruel to leave before absorbing the room more diligently. Because it is such a large space, it takes me several long minutes.

  By the time I reach a shelf covered with family portraits similar to the one Cormack has above the fireplace in his private abode, the sound of a door creaking open trickles into my ears.

  “That was quick. I was expecting you to be gone a few hours.”

  When I pivot to face Cormack, my eagerness at his fast return is all over my face. My smile sags when I fail to find him standing at the entranceway of his room.

  I crank my neck to the side at the speed of lightning when a deep voice suggests, “Maybe we should take advantage of the alone time?”

  Colby walks across the room wearing nothing but a skimpy towel. His skin is glistening with signs of a shower, and his hair is wet. Assuming my gaped mouth is from the visual of him practically naked, he whips his towel off his hips to test the theory.

  My eyes drop to the floor, mortified my first thought was to authenticate Cormack’s claims that they are identical. From what I saw, they are, but that isn’t the point. I shouldn’t be ogling Cormack’s brother. I have no interest in Colby whatsoever, but I’m not a saint either.

  “What are you doing here, Colby?”

  I don’t need to see Colby’s face to know he is smiling. It is so blistering, it burns my temples. “I think I’m the on
e who should be asking that question, considering this is my room.”

  “What?” I snap my eyes to his in just enough time to see him pull a pair of jeans over a visual I have no right to be pursuing. But for future reference, Colby only needs to trim his boyish locks, and he'd be the spitting image of his brother—fantastic ass and all.

  Colby wiggles his index finger around the room I spent the last half hour inspecting. “Mine. Cormack’s room is one hall over.”

  “Huh?” My confusion can’t be helped. My mind is already mush from the multiple orgasms Cormack gifted me earlier; now I’m confronted with his evil twin, who just happens to be barefoot and shirtless. I’m five seconds from sustaining permanent brain damage. “Ruel brought me here.”

  The hard bumps in Colby’s midsection bunch when he takes a seat to tug on a pair of white Adidas Deerupts. “Did you specially ask for Cormack’s room?”

  “Yes. . . well, not exactly. I said Mr. McGregor’s.”

  After tucking his laces into his shoes, Colby raises his eyes to mine. The cheeky glint in his wintry gaze doubles when he spots the hue on my cheeks. If he thinks the heat has anything to do with his half-naked form, he can step off the soapbox. They have nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me wondering what Cormack’s reaction will be when he learns of my run-in with Colby today. Cormack’s bedroom skills are already impressive, but when jealousy is thrown into the mix, they are out-of-this-world good.

  "How many women has Cormack brought to Mummo Koti before you, Harlow?" Colby asks, his tone not as smug as his grin.

  Now my cheeks are more flaming with anger than anything. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  After a short stretch of silence that doubles my annoyance, Colby says, “Zero. Zilch. Not fucking one.” My heart skips a beat for every denial he issues. “That’s why Ruel brought you here. Usually, I’m the only McGregor who arrives with guests.” A flirty wink fills in gaps I didn’t need filled.

  “Oh. . . well. . .good.” What the hell? Whose whiny voice was that? Where did the confident, whips out comebacks like daggers Harlow I’m used to presenting go? “Once you put on a shirt, perhaps you can show me Cormack’s room?”