Fuck.
I hadn’t jacked it in days, but that wasn’t why it felt so good. I hadn’t let myself think about Phoebe, about what it might be like to kiss or hold her. Now that I’d had a taste, I wanted more. So much more.
My tongue traced my lips, reveling in the sweet remnants of her, the memory of her tongue twirling mine. I pumped faster, the slick sound filling the room, matching the speed of my heartbeat, until I tipped over the edge. Warm wetness streaked across my chest as my hips curled up, my feet braced on the bed the only thing keeping me remotely grounded. Panting, I fumbled around until I found my T-shirt, swiping away the mess and jettisoning the shirt toward the hamper.
The orgasm brought relief but did nothing to get Phoebe out of my mind. She was the last thought I had as I let the darkness lull me to sleep.
And the first thought in my mind as my eyes fluttered open, sunlight glaring into the room. Puck snored alongside me, paws twitching. What was he dreaming about? I tried to remember my dreams, but nothing sprang to mind. I’d just slept more soundly than I had in ages. I stretched, inadvertently waking Puck, who instantly started kneading my stomach.
“Watch the nails, buddy.” I repositioned him so he could massage one of my pillows instead, then climbed out of bed.
A run was definitely in order, but my shelf of tarot decks caught my eye. Focus. That’s what I needed. And some clarity. I grabbed the same deck I’d used last. I’d left a selenite wand and a clear quartz point on it for cleansing, so I was confident I’d get a better read.
I shuffled the cards, centering myself with some cleansing breaths, intending to clear my mind, but Phoebe seemed to be dancing through my thoughts despite my efforts. Focusing, I cut the deck and dealt two cards. I straightened the deck, then turned over the first card I’d pulled. Two of Cups.
Get the fuck out. I stared at the second card. There was no way. Odds were totally against it. I held my breath and flipped it. The Lovers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Puck stared at me as he worked my pillow with his wide-spread toes. He had no response.
This had to be some kind of joke. I’d shuffled the cards well, but these two must have still been side by side from the last draw. That was the only explanation. I stuck them back into the deck, far apart, and shuffled again before tucking them into their bag and placing the stones on top again. More clearing was definitely in order.
Tomorrow I’d use a different deck. For now, I needed a quick run, a quicker shower, and then I had to get to Crystal Persuasion. I’d signed on a reiki practitioner, a medium, and a tea-leaf reader, and I had to get the three back rooms set up for their clients.
And all of that had to be done in time for me to hit the farmers’ market with Phoebe.
My mood brightened with the thought. I’d loved showing her around town, and I always enjoyed a trip to the market. But who was I kidding? What I really wanted was to kiss her again, as soon as possible.
15
Phoebe
The market looked exactly as I pictured. Some open tables, some booths, a few canvas tents. What I hadn’t expected was music. A small band had set up in the gazebo, and they were playing covers of everything from Elvis to The Strokes.
“Is there always a band?”
“Fairly often. Local musicians will play pretty much anywhere they can. If people hear them here and like them, they’re more likely to go catch a show if they’re playing at a local venue.”
“Like Speakeasy.”
“Exactly.”
Sam had brought two insulated tote bags with him. “You’re so prepared.”
He grinned. “Eagle Scout.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Like badges and everything?”
“A whole sash full.”
“Wow. I bet you looked cute in your uniform.”
“I think I looked pretty dorky like everyone else.”
I couldn’t imagine him ever looking dorky. At the moment he looked absolutely yummy in a green Henley and khaki shorts. So yummy it was tempting to just stare at him, so I scanned the various booths instead. “Is that the honey vendor you mentioned?”
“Yes. Wanna check it out?”
Lyon Honey had a large banner in front of their table, with a griffon-like logo of a lion’s head on a bee’s body. A row of glass bottles ranging from pale yellow to deep amber, each with a card in front of it naming the type of honey and the season, was neatly lined up next to stacks of honeycomb in plastic containers. An elderly couple stood behind the table, busy sorting through their metal cashbox, but as soon as they saw us, the gentleman strolled over. “Like to try a sample?”
“I’d love to try them all. I’m looking for local items for Speakeasy’s new gastropub.”
He smiled broadly, nodding. “I heard about that. We’re happy to help you out. What kind of things are you hoping to use honey in?”
I shrugged. “Dips. Glazes. Salad dressings. Desserts. That’s why I want to sample it all.”
He handed me a wooden stick he’d dipped in the first jar. Apple honey. I gave it a lick, focusing on the taste, but distracted by the fact that Sam had definitely watched my tongue flick out. My cheeks heated, but I ignored the sensation.
“You want a taste, too?” he asked Sam.
“Sure, why not.”
And then it was my turn to be the tongue perv as his licked at the sample. Damn. I was in so much trouble. A gentle breeze blew, providing some much-needed cooling and carrying with it the buttery-sweet scent of the kettle corn being stirred in a huge metal bowl at the next booth.
Ten minutes later I had four bottles of honey, each wrapped in newspaper and tucked into one of Sam’s bags. The super-chatty, gray-haired woman at the booth had piped in with information about other varieties they hadn’t brought with them. She handed me a price list and told me to call if I had any questions. “Thanks so much. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get a purchase order drawn up.”
Sam smiled as we headed to the next booth. “Mission accomplished?”
“One of them, at least. Everyone’s so helpful and friendly up here. I mean, New Yorkers are plenty friendly, it’s just...different.”
We stopped and bought a giant bag of kettle corn—the perfect blend of sweet and salty, not to mention so fresh it was still warm—which we munched as we strolled.
“You like mushrooms?” I eyed the assorted basket at the wild mushroom vendor’s table.
“Love them.”
Oyster mushrooms, lion’s mane, shiitake, and golden chanterelles joined the honey in Sam’s bag.
Sam pointed to a small tent across the green. “If you’re looking for cheese, theirs are fantastic.”
We sampled local goat cheese, fresh mozzarella, aged cheddar, and a smoked gouda. I bought some of each and a loaf of crusty artisan bread at the next booth, then stopped to read the chalkboard propped against the meat vendor’s table. Several cuts of beef, pork, whole chickens, duck eggs, smoked sausage, bacon, and lamb sirloins.
“How do you feel about lamb?”
“Hungry.” He held my gaze as he said the word, and unless he was stoned, his dilated pupils told me he was in the mood for more than my culinary creations.
Kegel.
If my nether regions didn’t stop responding this way to Sam’s every word, I’d be able to crack nuts with my vagina by the time summer was over.
I got the lamb and some bacon, hit up one of the produce vendors for strawberries, arugula, garlic scapes, and a bunch of fresh dill, then grabbed a bottle of local balsamic vinegar.
Sam waited patiently while I made each purchase, and I wondered if he used to hit the market with his aunt and grandmother and carry all their bags too. I held onto the more fragile produce so it wouldn’t get smushed alongside all the other goodies. “I think we’re done. And I hope you’re in the mood for a big dinner.”
“Oh, I’m definitely in the mood.”
Kegel.
&nb
sp; Was I hearing double entendres out of wishful thinking, or was I just horny from the nonstop lower-body workout? The shy smile on his face told me it wasn’t wishful at all. It was mutual.
16
Sam
If someone had told me a trip to the farmers’ market could be sensual, I’d have said they were crazy. Yet there I was, holding an insulated Trader Joe’s bag full of honey and assorted produce in a strategic position to keep the rest of the innocent shoppers from being subjected to the boner I could not get to subside.
Watching her lick seven varieties of honey had kicked things off, and my brain had been on some bizarre pornographic sensory adventure ever since. Everything from the way she closed her eyes as she sniffed the locally made soaps, to the way her fingers curled around a cucumber, had me thinking thoughts that were decidedly inappropriate for the town green.
As I drove back to the house, Phoebe was busy making notes on her phone about the various vendors, and I used the few minutes to settle myself the fuck down.
Puck greeted us at the door as if he’d been trapped alone without food or water for a month.
Phoebe set down her bag and then scooped him up, cuddling him, and I found myself irrationally jealous. He was a cat. I swore he smirked at me, but then I grabbed a can of cat food and he changed his priorities.
“I guess I can’t compete with tuna and whitefish.” Phoebe unpacked our market haul onto the counter.
“I beg to differ.” I’d wanted to kiss her since the first moment I’d seen her today, but this was the first real opportunity.
Her cheeks pinked, dark lashes fluttering against them as she looked up at me, holding one of the jars of honey. Memories of her pink tongue flashed through my mind, and I leaned closer. She met me halfway, and the touch of her lips was even more electric than it had been the night before. The softness of her tongue made me groan as she deepened the kiss, then all too quickly she pulled away, breathless.
“You taste like kettle corn. You’re distracting me. I have to cook all this food.”
I licked my lips, tasting salt, honey, and her. “I wouldn’t want to distract you. Especially not if it interferes with dinner.”
She rolled her eyes and then gave me another quick kiss. “Oh, it won’t. I’m putting you to work.”
Her sassy, bossy attitude really turned my crank. “At your service.”
“That’s more like it.” She tried to hide her grin. I tried to ignore the fact that I felt like making her smile was what I’d been born to do.
Phoebe tasked me with rinsing the herbs and salad greens while she chopped the wild mushrooms. “Do you have butter and oil? If not, I can grab them from my place.”
“Oil’s on the shelf, butter’s in the fridge.”
“Can I use one of these pans?” She pointed to the hanging rack.
“Use anything you like.” Including me.
“Don’t think you’re done, mister.”
“Oh, I’m nowhere near done.” That got another smile and more pink cheeks.
“Can you slice the bread and preheat your oven?”
My brain was so addled, everything sounded like a euphemism. “How hot?”
“Four hundred, please.”
She placed a large frying pan on the stove, and the flames whooshed around the bottom as she drizzled in olive oil then added a few pats of butter. As it melted, she rough chopped garlic scapes and then tossed them in, flicking her wrist so everything danced in the pan. She scooped them out with a slotted spoon, placed them in a bowl, then dumped in her diced mushrooms.
Watching her work had me mesmerized. She threw me a quick look, and I remembered I was supposed to be slicing bread. I grabbed the crusty loaf and took a knife from the block. “How thick?”
I could tell she was biting her tongue, and I desperately wanted to know what filthy thing she’d been tempted to say. “Thick.”
My dick twitched, and I struggled to focus on the bread. The scent of butter, garlic, and mushrooms filled the kitchen. She turned off the flame, stirred the scapes in with the mushrooms, then scooted everything to one side of the pan and dropped in some more butter. As soon as it melted, she began brushing it on the slices of bread I’d managed to cut. She set them on a tray and stuck them into the oven, scooting past me so that her ass grazed the front of my shorts.
“You’re killing me. You know that, right?”
She bit her lip. “You can’t die. I can’t eat all of this by myself.”
I tugged her into another kiss, and her tongue rolled around mine with such precision, it was hard to believe this was only our third kiss. It felt new and familiar and downright intoxicating.
She pulled away. “We’re gonna burn the toast. Can you find the goat cheese please?”
I wanted to say fuck the goat cheese. I wanted to say a lot of things. Instead, I found the cheese. Watching her bend over to peek at the toast in the oven nearly did me in. Her curvy ass had my overactive imagination flooded with a dizzying array of images.
“Perfect.” She withdrew the pan with the now golden toasts, spread goat cheese onto each one, then topped them with the sauteed mushrooms and scapes. Leaning past me so that her breasts pressed against my arm, she reached for the dill. “Kitchen shears?”
I pulled the pair from the butcher block and handed them to her, not trusting myself to say anything other than gibberish if I spoke.
She snipped at the dill, letting the tiny bits rain down onto the toasts, then, god help me, she held one up to my mouth. I took a bite and moaned. The earthy mushrooms, wrapped in buttery goodness and the mellow garlic of the scapes, were brightened by the dill and made decadent by the rich creaminess of the cheese. The crunch of garlicy toast completed it to perfection.
“Damn.”
She beamed and bit into her own piece. I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she chewed. “This may have to go on the menu.”
“Does that mean you won’t make it just for me anymore? I’ll pay.”
“I’ll do yours for free.” She held my gaze as she bit into her toast again. I’d never take the sexiness of toast for granted again. “This goat cheese is amazing.” She ran her finger over the cheese knife, coating it in the creamy goodness, then slipped her finger between her lips.
“What?” She batted her eyes with feigned innocence. “You don’t think it’s good cheese?”
She swiped her finger on the knife again and held it out to me. My dick strained against my fly, eager to be part of the licking and sucking that was going on. I held her wrist and leaned forward, not breaking her gaze as I sucked her finger into my mouth, twirling my tongue around her finger until it was clean.
“You’re very thorough with your tongue.”
“You have no idea.”
Her hips shifted in a way that made me think she was struggling to keep it together every bit as much as I was. She popped the last bite of her toast into her mouth. “I should make the salad dressing, then we can get to work on the meat. Can you pass me the honey?”
“Which one?”
“Let’s go with wildflower.”
I was so turned on I could barely see straight enough to read the labels, but I found it and opened the jar with enough gusto that some spilled over my knuckles. Before I could grab a towel, she reached for my hand and took both of my fingers into her mouth. That did it. I slid my fingers from her lips, wiping the last bit of honey on her before swiping it off with my tongue.
This time she was the one moaning. Her warm body curved in toward mine, arms winding around my neck as she went up on her toes. I pressed against her, and she responded with a swivel of her hips that made me want to pull her down onto the kitchen floor. I used the last bit of sense my brain was capable of to make a better suggestion. “Want to go upstairs?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
17
Phoebe
Sam’s bedroom glowed with the red and peach tones of twilight filtering through his windows. Shadows of tr
ee branches danced on the dark green walls. His hands hadn’t left my body since we’d left the kitchen, running up and down my arms, grazing my collarbone, stroking my cheek. He kissed a path from my lips to my ear and then went to work on the spot just below my ear, licking and sucking until my knees went weak.
I tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he obliged by pulling it over his head and tossing it to the ground, gracing me with the same gorgeous view I’d had the first time I laid eyes on him. Only this time I could touch. I slid my fingertips from his rippled abs up to his pecs, then down the center of his chest to the silky trail that disappeared into his shorts. The button popped open with ease, and his abs clenched as I worked the zipper down, feeling the bulge behind it. The khaki shorts fell to the floor, and he kicked them aside. Black boxer briefs. My kryptonite.
He groaned when I palmed him, gently running my hand up his impressive length. I circled the outline of his firm tip, feeling slick wetness through the cotton.
I’d been spontaneously Kegeling since our mutual lick-fest, and at this point I was clenching so hard, I was afraid I might pull a muscle. This was the most turned-on I’d felt in years, and I wasn’t about to let some vaginal Charlie horse ruin my good time.
Sam’s mouth continued to work the tender spot on my neck, his soft hair brushing my cheek and tickling my throat, his spicy scent filling me with even more desire. I couldn’t stop stroking his dick. It felt too good straining in my hand, and I wanted to keep teasing him. I wanted him as worked up as I was. But that left my other hand free to sink into the sexy mop of his hair. Silky strands slipped between my fingers, and I fisted a handful before letting my fingernails graze his scalp.
He let out a sound I’d never heard from him before.
Kegel.
And kissed his way back to my ear. “Can we take off your clothes now?”
I knew the importance of consent, and given some of my experiences in my teen years I was thrilled it had become such a mainstream topic, but normally I hated being asked about every little thing. It made me too conscious of what was happening and pulled me out of the moment. But when Sam whispered in my ear, it was the sexiest question I’d ever heard.
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