“Those cupcakes in the oven have fifteen minutes left, and I have frosting all over myself.”
“Hmm. A problem…”
She finished her task of pulling the cupcakes out of the tin and turned around to face me where I had her pinned against the counter. My hands slipped out of her shirt, my fingers itching to touch more of her delicate skin. She looked up at me, raising her brows. “Raincheck?”
I think not. As if in answer, I pressed my erection to her leg, and her mouth opened. I said, in the firmest tone I could muster, “I’m not so flexible right now. My schedule is very…rigid.”
Then I put paid to my seduction plans, determined to change her mind in the most pleasant of ways.
Chapter 2
Gray
Ryan had his mouth all over me—my neck, my chest, my collarbone. Apparently, rainchecks weren’t in his vocabulary. And if I hadn’t been conscious of that batch of cupcakes currently in the oven, I would have happily followed him down that primrose path.
Because he knew just how to get my engine firing with a few short kisses and touches in all the right places. His own little personal and perfected launch sequence.
Suddenly his phone, chimed with a text message from where it perched on the charging station. He seemed unfazed as he swooped in to land another kiss on my mouth. I pulled back, knowing if this continued for even a half a minute longer, we’d be burning cupcakes and causing all manner of other disasters in the kitchen.
Besides, delayed gratification and all that. A girl had to play hard-to-get once in a while. I really needed to get these cupcakes done and hadn’t bothered to tell him I’d screwed up this batch of icing and would have to make another one.
I never claimed to be a baking expert. “Go check your text. I have to call Dad here in a second, anyway.”
A strange look crossed his face—one that I couldn’t pick up on before it vanished. “Your dad?” he asked in a low voice. “What does he want?”
I shook my head. “I’m calling him. To check up on him. He was out of sorts the other evening when we were out to dinner together, and I think he wasn’t feeling well. I asked him to check his blood sugar, so I’m following up to make sure he did it.”
Ryan took a tiny step backward but otherwise did not change his expression. His eyes roamed my face speculatively. Then he swallowed hard.
I frowned. He’d been acting weird since he walked in here and found me wrecking his kitchen. Was he actually angry rather than just feigning it? I reached out to put my hand on his chest and ask him. But at that exact moment he turned away from me and went to the phone sitting upright on its charging stand.
I’d been using mine to time my batches, so I went to it and opted to send Dad a text instead of calling him. When I looked up again, Ryan was gazing into his phone and beaming a huge smile. I mean huge.
I almost gasped when I saw it. He looked unconditionally happy in that tiny slice of a moment. “Did someone sext you or something?”
He glanced at me, eyes twinkling, and shook his head, wordlessly holding the phone up so that I could see. It was a close up shot of a child’s mouth. All you could see were nose, nostrils, lips, tongue and teeth—or lack thereof in the case of one of the upper incisors. Clearly a young child’s mouth.
“Someone lost a tooth?” I prompted, suspecting who that someone might be and hoping fiercely that I was right.
“AJ,” he said. “Remember when you gave me the idea a few weeks ago to send him a picture? I sent him one of Noah and Hammer doing a sim at work.”
I nodded, smiling wide. “Did he like it?”
“Yeah. We’ve traded a couple other pictures back and forth—no real message, just photos. I got to see a video of Boba.”
I raised my brows. “Fett?”
His smile faltered as he looked down at the phone screen again, shutting the app he’d been using. “The Freeds’ dog. A chocolate lab. Xander… He loved that dog.”
Oh, dear. No, this was not the direction this conversation should be going in. I wanted to see his eyes twinkle again. I reached for the phone. “Can I see that picture again?”
He opened the app and handed me the phone. I looked at the picture again and laughed. And happily, he laughed with me. “Wow…first tooth lost. Tonight he gets his first visit from the Tooth Fairy. How fun.”
Ryan’s brow trembled just slightly. He was thinking about Xander again—or, more likely, still—and probably reflecting that Xander was missing this first milestone. “I know. I think you should send him a picture of you frosting a cupcake.”
His brow went up. “What? I didn’t even bake these.”
I shrugged. “Technicality. Come on, I’ll show you how to do one and then take a short video of you icing a cupcake.”
He looked doubtful, so I walked over to the counter where my cupcakes had cooled after taking them out of the oven, grabbed a flat knife, and modeled for him. First, I dipped the knife into the pink frosting. It was thin, so it didn’t really cooperate.
“That looks like shit.” He laughed when most of what I’d glopped onto the knife had subsequently glopped onto the counter. I laughed along with him as he stared into the bowl I’d just mixed. “What the hell happened to this frosting?”
I shrugged, still determined to complete my task. “I think I screwed up the butter somehow.”
He picked up the slip of paper that contained my discombobulated notes on the recipe. “This says room temperature butter. Did you do that?”
“Yeah, melted butter, I put that in.”
He frowned at me. “Room temperature, Gray. Not melted. There’s a difference.”
I glanced up at him as the second glop hit the counter. “Oops, yeah I melted it in the microwave. It was liquid. Like the stuff you put on popcorn.”
He shook his head. “Gotta be able to read and process those instructions quickly.”
I shook my head. “Sorry I’m not a brilliant astronaut.”
He grinned, swooping in for a kiss on my cheek. “Nope, just a genius. A strawberry-flavored genius.”
I shoved an unfrosted cupcake at him. “You have some new directions now. Frost the cupcake.”
He laughed at me. “I’m not using that defective frosting. We’re whipping up a new batch and doing it right, or this is not happening.”
I heaved a sigh. “But it would have been funny with the gloppy stuff. AJ’s six. He would find that funny.”
He shook his head, his lips thinned and curled grimly. “I only do my best work. Always.”
In no time, we had set the old bowl aside and whipped a new—and much better looking, I had to admit—batch of reddish-pink strawberry buttercream frosting.
Then he cooperated while I filmed a ninety-second video of him frosting a cupcake. However, for the sake of drama and of amusing a little kid, he did purposely glop some onto the counter for extra comedic effect.
I clicked the off button and showed Ryan the segment for his approval. Then he promptly sent the video off to AJ, again with that wide smile. Perhaps he was thinking about the kid’s reaction to his comedic attempts. I bit my lip, watching him.
It was beyond obvious that Ryan adored that child, which made it all the more sad to me that he hadn’t seen him in such a long time. Maybe we’d have to work on that. Maybe they could Skype each other? Baby steps, Gray. He needs baby steps right now.
I pointed to his glop of frosting. “I’ll clean the rest of this mess up but I’m not cleaning up that. That’s all on you.”
He stared grimly at the mess and then set the phone down. “You’re right. I should definitely clean it up.” With one large finger, he scooped up the mess and then reached out and smeared it across my cheek.
“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”
That sparkle in his eyes had returned. “Cleaning up,” he said as he swooped in to lick the frosting off my cheek. I wiggled away, and his hands came up to hold my shoulders still, and he held me to him. His mouth slid to mine, and we
He tasted like frosting and mornings and anticipation. I could feel the tension in his body and the way he sought to touch every bit of my body that he could with his own.
Just then, the timer on the new batch of cupcakes dinged loudly. I separated from him and moved to the oven, putting on the gloves again to pull them out. He’d kept me so distracted that I hadn’t had a chance to put batter in the other tin again. I put the hot tin of cupcakes on the trivet and turned to grab the now-cool and empty tin.
Suddenly, I felt a cold sensation on my upper shoulder, just below my neck. I turned, and Ryan was right behind me. “What was that?”
“I think I accidentally spilled frosting on you. Here.” He traced a path along the top of my shoulder toward my neck, and I involuntarily shivered. In response, his other hand came up and cupped my other shoulder and his head dipped down to land right where he’d put the frosting.
Right there. In that spot. He was licking and sucking, getting every last bit as his hands traveled down my arms, clamping around my elbows to hold me still.
“Accidentally, huh?” I rasped, my voice sounding alien to my own ears. Likely it was my aroused voice. And likely he knew exactly what it meant when I talked this way.
He was an expert at turning me on and doing it quickly. Zero to Mach 5 in seconds flat. Probably easier than flying his training jet. My panties were already wet, and my nipples were painfully hard and probably very visible under my thin tank top.
I cleared my throat. “I, uh.” And cleared my throat again. “Have another batch to do.”
Without a word he reached out and turned off the oven. “Let’s hit pause on that little project for now,” he said in that low, gravelly voice of his. His aroused voice. I knew that voice, too, and it usually seemed in perfect sync with the tight squeezing sensation in my belly and lower that screamed for his hands and mouth—and other parts—to ease the tension and bring release.
“You are a wicked, wicked man.”
“This I already know,” he said between more kisses on the back of my neck that sent electric shocks down my spine and wound that tension deep inside me even tighter.
I spun in his arms, and though I could barely reach it, I managed to scoop up my own dollop of frosting from the edge of the metal mixing bowl. He watched me then raised his brow to ask the unspoken question—where are you going to put that?
My answer? I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and rucked it up, holding it just below his collar, then liberally spread the frosting across his upper abs. Double yum.
He sucked in a quick breath, and that was enough to get me diving right in. “Mmm. What kind of mess do we have here? Better start cleaning up.”
The frosting was sweet, creamy. Delectable, really. Buttercream was delicious. Buttercream slathered across Ryan’s rock-hard abs? Perfection. He barely breathed as I ran my lips and tongue across the ridges, crevices and the rest of the unique geography of his torso.
The best part was when he let loose that low growl in the back of his throat. It always ratcheted up my blood pressure to hear it. When I straightened, Ryan said nothing before scooping up more frosting and, instead of smearing it on me, he spread it over the lower part of his stomach, just beneath his navel.
I bent down and licked him clean, noting with triumph the way his sweats tented with his arousal. So, he could get me wet in seconds, and I could get him hard just as quickly—or quicker.
Straightening, I reached for the bowl, but he was too fast for me, beating me there. He dipped in another finger and scooped up yet another blob of frosting. And as I watched his stomach to see what part I would be licking next, he instead seized my tank top by the strap and yanked it down enough to expose one of my breasts. I stiffened, coming up against his arm as he slowly, gently spread the frosting across my tender flesh.
And even more slowly, he sunk to lick and suck the frosting clean from my skin. But again, he took his time, rolling his tongue over and over my nipple, sucking hungrily, each intake pulling my insides more taut, more strained, like his mouth had a direct connection straight down into my core.
By the time he lifted his head, the fierce ache between my legs and the fire smoldering in my belly matched the heat in his own eyes. As quick as I could, I darted my hand to the bowl before he could and dipped my three fingers in, scooping up the frosting and smearing it across his mouth. Then I jumped up, locking my arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to mine while I licked up every bit.
All our sticky parts were adhering to each other, and I giggled as I sucked the buttercream off his lips, feeling that same strung-out feeling I always got when eating way too much sugar too quickly. That, coupled with the cranked-up sexual tension, was threatening to make me dizzy.
Ryan straightened, pulling me off the floor, and my legs quickly looped around his hips as he walked us toward the nearest counter. I locked my ankles around the small of his back, and he crushed our chests together.
Then he halted, hesitated, appearing to look for a bit of uncluttered counterspace. When he couldn’t find any, his arm darted out, and he roughly scooted metal bowls and plastic measuring cups aside, sending some of them clanging to the floor, spilling their contents.
“This is going to take forever to clean up,” I said, my mouth against his mouth.
His eyes boring into mine, he growled, “It will be worth it.” Then he pushed my butt onto the cold, hard granite counter. “Whenever I see, smell, or taste a strawberry, I always think of you.”
I smiled. He really liked my strawberry shampoo, a lot. As if mirroring my thoughts, he ran his fingers—from the non-sticky hand—through my hair.
“Don’t ever cut your hair. I love running my fingers through it.”
“That is the best reason ever not to cut my hair.” I laughed, opting not to tell him about that cute pixie cut I’d been contemplating. Maybe I’d postpone that for a few months instead.
Pulling off my glasses, I stretched to find a safe spot to rest them far enough away from the clutter. If I was going to have some fun throwdown with Ryan, I needed to protect the eyewear. While I was stretched out, my shirt rode up from my waist and Ryan bent to kiss me there on my bare skin. “Don’t tell me you found more frosting.”
“That one was just in case.” He grinned. In the next minute, in one swift action, he pulled my top over my head. I barely got my arms up in time before it was discarded onto the floor beside the dirty bowls.
“Mmm,” he groaned, eyes fixated on my naked chest. “I love it when you don’t wear a bra.”
Before I could reply, he had his mouth on my nipple, licking and sucking while I ran my fingers through his thick, soft hair, my eyes closing.
I wasn’t even thinking about the cupcakes anymore. They were the furthest things from my mind. Or the mess we had made—and were about to make worse. Somewhere in the next few minutes of frenzied kissing and touching, Ryan mysteriously produced a condom from the pocket in his sweats. He must have been planning his morning seduction from the start.
I was excited to break the news to him later in the week that, pending a follow-up with my cardiologist, we wouldn’t need to use the condoms anymore. But I was saving that as a little surprise.
Mere minutes later, I was sitting on that icy counter, naked and he was spending a great deal of time covering every inch of my bare skin with his wet, hot mouth. Even with my breathing in stutters and my eyes rolled up practically into my head, I’d recognized the drive behind his insistence.
He’d been getting so much better about it lately, but I could tell that something was bothering him, and he was using one of his old fallbacks for comfort. Fortunately for me, he’d chosen to turn to sex instead of vodka.
I’d try to talk him through it later but for now, I was just along for the breathless, exhilarating ride.
And oh, what a ride it was. We ended up pushing more items off the counter. My hands clung to his perfectly muscular back as he drove himself into me over and over again.
When I hit my climax, I threw my head back and let out a long moan which only seemed to fire him up more. He hitched my hips closer to him and increased his rhythm in earnest. When he pushed himself in deep, he buried his face in my neck and froze, the contraction of his orgasm rippling through me, too. I locked my legs around his waist and held him there, close to me, as he came down from that high. And slowly his body relaxed and softened in my arms.
I pulled back and looked into his face. “You look tired.”
He smiled wryly. “I’m sated. You always make me so hungry.”
He kissed me then, and reluctantly I let him pull away, loosening my hold around him. I quickly pulled my clothes back on and used the bathroom. By the time I got out, he had the dishwasher half loaded with my cupcake debris.
And after a brief break to grab coffee and eat a bit of breakfast, we spent the next hour—he was a surprisingly efficient cleaner—putting the kitchen back together.
But he seemed quiet, contemplative, and that weird mood he’d come out with was clinging to him again.
I let it be for then, confident that I’d get it out of him soon.
Finishing the remaining batches of cupcakes, I frosted them and put on the final touches. He busied himself the rest of the day with studying some technical manuals for the upcoming launchpad tests in Florida, followed by a solitary workout and run in the canyon. Then he spent a few hours holed up in his office working on the book with his biographer and assistant, Lee.
I didn’t see him again until dinner, which we enjoyed in the now-spotlessly clean kitchen. But we actually didn’t get to have a real talk until we went to bed that night.
“What’s it like when you’re launching?” I asked. We lay beside each other in bed, both on our backs, our fingers laced together and hands resting above us on our elbows. His thumb rhythmically stroked mine. As was our habit when we talked in bed together, we stared up at the ceiling instead of at each other.
“What do you mean? It’s like riding a giant explosion all the way to orbit.”
I blew out a breath. “No, it’s exactly riding a giant explosion all the way to orbit, but give me something here. Make me feel the experience. Give me a simile or something.”
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