Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
BLAZE
My cheeks sting from the icy morning wind and I wish I had put my gloves on before I started traipsing all over the city. Since Sunday, Casimir and I have had breakfast three times. I lasted all of Monday without seeing him, but by Tuesday morning, I was texting him to see if he was interested in having me bring coffee and pastries to his place for an impromptu breakfast. Thankfully, he seemed as eager as me and we've had breakfast together for the last three days.
There's something about starting my day with quiet conversations, sipping steaming coffee, and nibbling on sweet treats in the comfort of his kitchen. Just the two of us. Basking in the warmth of his laughter, tales about his army of overly-involved cousins, discussions about books, trading tales of challenges and successes of business ownership, and the dozens of other topics we've found ourselves in conversations about make everything better.
The feel of his knee pressed to mine. How green his eyes look in the morning light that streaks in from the window. The gentle, flirty touches to my hand, my arm, my thigh. All of it mutes any annoyance or problem that arises because the residual good feeling from mornings with Casimir sees me through the day, grounding me in a way I never knew I needed. And after only three days, I'm addicted to it.
The bag with Casimir's Valentine's gift in it bumps against my hip and I shift the drink carrier from my right to my left hand. After circling the block for ten minutes, I gave up and finally found a parking spot three blocks away. So now, I'm speed walking to his shop, hoping the cold temperature doesn't cool the coffees. The insulated bag holds the personal souffles I picked up from Rocco, so I'm not as worried about them. It pays to be friends with a chef, especially when you need help with what kind of baking stuff to buy your man for Valentine's Day.
I pause in the middle of the sidewalk. A shoulder shove has me scooting out of the way as my mind turns over the words.
My man.
My chest fizzes with the rightness of it, and I continue along the sidewalk with a lightness to my steps. From the beginning, everything with him has been easy. Like we've known each other for years, not days. Our lives meshing seamlessly. I eagerly anticipate the amusing texts he sends about his day. Just as much as I want to share random thoughts throughout my day with him.
To say I'm in awe of him would be an understatement. How he could leave everything he knew, his family, his support system, and come to a city halfway across the country to start a business boggles my mind. It was hard for me to go out on my own, and I had experience running a business, and my brothers to help me when I was getting the brewery up and running. Casimir didn't have any of that, and yet he has a thriving business after only two years. The man is amazing.
So, it doesn't feel weird that I'm headed over to his store for breakfast this morning. Nor does it seem strange that I have a Valentine's Day gift for him, even when my own business is holding its first annual Anti-Valentine's Day celebration. With any other guy, it would feel like too much, too soon, but with Casimir, it's just… seamless.
I round the corner, and my grin is immediate. A poster with this week's cookie flavors and Valentine's Day specials hangs in the middle of the window, decorated with heart cutouts in a rainbow of colors. With my elbow, I press the delivery doorbell. Casimir has been baking his adorable ass off. Between the cookies for the shop and the cookies he's been making for the bouquet and dessert special at Seth's shop, he's been busy.
I press my nose to the glass of the door and can't help my smile when he rushes out, wiping his hands on a white apron decorated with red and pink hearts. His hair flops to the side and his rosy cheeks scrunch up when he sees me. The door swings open.
"Hey." He tips his head up and brushes a whisper of a kiss along my lips, like we've been doing this for years. Locking the door behind me, he waves for me to follow him back to the kitchen, then points to my full hands. "Let me take something." He lifts the drink holder from my hands, never pausing his rushed steps.
For a moment, I wonder if I should have skipped breakfast today, even though this was the original date we agreed on. Just because I've become addicted to our mornings together doesn't mean he feels the same way. "I can leave if you're busy."
"Turn away a sexy man bearing gifts? I don't think so." His grin widens and the golden flecks in his eyes spark and he's so damn adorable. I want to tuck him under my arm and never let him go. He deposits the drink carrier onto the stainless steel island in the middle of the industrial kitchen, picking up one of the to-go cups and bringing it to his mouth. "Mmm, I need this."
He inhales the steam escaping from the top of the lid before removing the plastic cover. His eyes widen and his pink tongue pokes out to catch a dollop of whipped cream before he sips the hot beverage. Eyes closing, a low moan rumbles from his throat. "I love mocha."
"My friend Rocco made it along with artichoke and cheese souffles." I let the bag with the box slide down my arm to set on the floor, then place the insulated bag on the island. I don't tell him I know he likes all things sweet. Or that I called Rocco and begged him—on one of the busiest days of the year for his restaurant—to make a special breakfast, even though Rocco doesn't do takeout from his restaurant.
Something about the integrity of the food, the vision of the chef… and a bunch of other shit I tuned out because Wyatt was in the background telling him it was his duty as my friend and something about a rugby code to help move love forward. Whatever, it doesn't matter. What matters is the look of pure bliss on Casimir's face with every sip he takes.
I unpack our breakfast. "Rocco's particular about how to prepare his food." The list of instructions sits on the top of a container and I pull it out, waving it. "Instructions."
"I get it." A timer goes off. After placing the drink down, he hurries over to the ovens and dons oven mitts. "If I had a way to make sure everyone ate my chocolate chip cookies warm, I'd do it." He slides several trays of cookies out, replacing them with new batches, then turns to face me, gaze landing on the big red box peeking out of the bag. "What's this?"
I pull the box from the bag and place it next to the food containers. Out of nowhere, my palms begin to sweat. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"For me?" A flash of pink kisses his pale skin and runs from his neck to the tips of his ears. "I was teasing about the bearing gifts thing."
Unable to help myself, I kiss the tip of his nose. "Hopefully not the sexy man thing."
He slips his arm around my waist and steps closer. "Definitely not the sexy man thing." Tipping on his toes, he presses his lips to mine, only this time there's nothing sweet about the kiss.
A low growl rumbles in my chest as I trail my palms down his back, soaking in the supple skin, landing on his incredibly squeezable ass. My fingers massage his cheeks and he moans into my mouth. My dick plumps. I want all his sounds. Every little moan, every catch of breath, every surprised squeak. I want them. Visions of stripping him of his clothes and laying him out on the island so I can taste every sugary inch of him blind me. Instead of devouring him like the sweetest of treats, I bring my hands up to cup his face and slow the kiss.
I pull away and he chases my mouth. "More."
"More, and you'll have a health code violation on your hands." I taste the skin below his ear and a rumble that sounds a lot like a purr buzzes through him. "You're so sexy." With more willpower than I ever thought I'd have to employ, I take a last taste and pull away.
The sulky protrusion of his full bottom lip could be a superpower, bringing men to their knees. I groan, tugging my hand through my hair. This man… Is adhering to health codes really that important?
He folds his arms in front of his chest with a huff, but his eyes spark with teasing. "Can I at least open it now?"
"It's not much. You might be able to use some of it now, but…" I shove my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. What if Rocco was wrong about the items? He's more of a chef than a baker. Does that make a difference? What if Casimir thinks I'm overstepping? What if it is too much, too soon?
Perspiration prickles on the back of my neck. Maybe I should have thought this through more.
Casimir's fingers smooth over the enormous pink bow and the corner of his mouth hitches up. "It's almost too pretty to open." He lifts his gaze to mine, the other side of his mouth hitching. "But I'm sure I'll get over it."
"If it helps, you just need to lift the top off."
"That absolutely helps." He whips off the lid and tosses it next to the box. There's a dull clank, but Casimir is busy pulling the reams of tissue paper out. "I found something." Excitement fills his voice, and his eyes widen with his smile. And he pulls out…
"Handcuffs?" The smile on his face freezes, morphing into confusion as he takes in the pink fur handcuffs hanging from his finger.
My brows shoot up. "Th-That's not?—"
Casimir digs in again and comes out holding… "Underwear?" He holds the package closer to his face. "Edible. Strawberry flavor."
"What the hell?" Panic pounds in my chest, seizing my heart, my lungs, my gut. Throwing myself on the box to quash any further destruction seems absolutely reasonable. I knock Casimir's hand from dipping into the box again and push him out of the way with my hip. Tossing the various colors of pink tissue paper to the ground, my pulse thumps in my throat until everything in the box is visible.
Can you die from mortification?
I sure hope so because it would be preferable to enduring this train wreck.
Casimir's shoulder presses into me as he peers into the box. "Wow."
"Fuck." I stare at the remaining items, which are definitely not baking themed.
Casimir picks up a dildo, which is large enough to make me feel inadequate on multiple levels. He bounces it in his hand like he's testing the weight. "Big."
He sets it on the stainless steel top, then removes the red satin mask, anal beads, and three tubes of different lube. We stand there staring at the array of sex toys which seem to stare back at us. The scent of cookies and the sound of the convection oven whirring fill the air.
I should say something, anything, but words—all the words—lodge in my throat, frozen in place, like the rest of my body.
How do I explain this? You don't give a guy you met eight days ago and have had only one date with a box of sex toys. Sex toys, currently holding me hostage. Letting out a low groan, I run my hands over my face. And I swear the dildo's eye follows me like it's the fucking Mona Lisa. "Fuck."
"I think that's the point." Casimir picks up the anal beads, sliding his fingers along them, then twirls them like a drag queen whirling her boa at the close of a performance.
"Please don't think I… I didn't… It was supposed to be…" Anything I say is going to sound like an excuse. I drop my head in defeat. The one guy I've really liked in forever, and this happens. I'm contemplating slinking out and taking a swim in the Delaware River. With any luck, a boat will run me down and I'll drown. But before I can get my feet moving, the sound of laughter bubbles up into the air.
A low fizz, popping.
Then, louder as it rises, bulldozing through the tension.
Holding his middle with one hand, anal beads in the other, Casimir bends over. His breaths come fast, heaving, and his eyes tear. I peer at him, concerned he might be having a breakdown but his effervescence overflows, spilling out of him and enveloping me like the sugary sweet smell that clings to his skin.
My shoulders drop a notch, and the knot in my stomach loosens. "It was supposed to have baking items in it."
He gasps, the laughter pausing as his gaze flits to the enormous dildo before he's cracking up again.
Chuckling, I continue. "Cookie cutters, a marble rolling pin."
"That's," he wipes his eyes, laughter still in his voice, "sweet."
My shoulders drop another notch and mortification gives way to relief. "Rocco recommended some ceramic baking sheets and some kind of fancy flour."
"Flour, lube. Both have their place." His voice trembles with restrained humor and his lips twitch with effort not to burst out laughing again.
I pull my phone out and dial the number of the Dream Box shop. "They specialize in theme gift boxes and are supposed to be able to get just about anything, even on short?—"
"Dream Boxes and more. You dream it, we box it." A perky voice answers on the third ring, sing-songing the greeting, which grates on my nerves. How dare she be so cheery after nearly giving me a stroke from embarrassment?
I clench my fist and glance at Casimir, who is back to twirling the anal beads as he reads the label on a tube of lube. He's so damn good-natured, so sweet and cuddly, so damn sexy. Watching his mouth tremble as he tries to tap down his amusement dissipates my irritation. "Hi. I was in about thirty minutes ago and picked up a baking box."
"Oh yes, Mr. Santora. How can I help you?"
Keeping my tone calm takes an enormous amount of effort, but it's Miss Cheery's fault I received a nookie box instead of a cookie box. "I think there's been a mixup. The box did not have the baking items I ordered."
"I'm so sorry." There's tapping on a keyboard. "What did the box have?"
Casimir slides the mask over his eyes and whispers, "How do I look?"
My cock plumps and twitches at the way his green eyes gleam and the red satin frames his face, and I clear my throat. "Ah-um, sex toys."
The clicking stops and I hear a quiet, "Oh no." A second later there's a flurry of taps and clicks. "I am sooo sorry. We at Dream Boxes strive to make every box exactly what our customers want. Oh, I see…" She pauses. "It looks like there was a mixup with the order number. You were given order 236 instead of 263. I apologize." More clacking. "We still have your order here and will be more than happy to deliver it."
"That would be great. And what do we do with the other box?"
"You can keep it and we will replace it for our other customer. Obviously, we will remove the charge from your credit card for the box. However, it will take seven to ten business days for you to see it on your statement," she says, voice not as perky as when she first answered.
While I appreciate her trying to make amends, I also know what it's like to be a small business owner. The boxes aren't cheap. I tug my fingers through my hair. "No need. As long as I get the box I ordered, I'm fine."
Once I give her Costas Cookies' address, I hang up and turn to Casimir. He's returned the items to the box and has set out the souffles and fruit on a little table in the corner. "They gave me the wrong order number. Your baking box will be here later today."
"Baking items seem a little tame after that." He tips his head to where the harmless-looking box sits and wiggles his eyebrows.
A smile tugs at my mouth, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me. "She did say we could keep the box."
"She did, did she?" He peers over his shoulder at the gift box. "I suppose those aren't the kind of items one can easily return."
A cross between a snort and a laugh escapes my throat. If I didn't scare him off with the box o' sex, then he's sure to run from that sound. But by some miracle, he stays in my arms. I brush an eyelash from the apple of his cheek. "Thank you for not freaking out."
"You were freaking out enough for the two of us." His playful grin settles my still frazzled nerves, and I fall a little more in like with him.
I bring my lips to his. Warm, soft, and tasting of sugar, I lose myself in the kiss, in him, in this feeling of fitting.
The heat of his palm resting on my chest seeps through my black sweater, warming me better than any furnace, and I tug him closer, until there is no space between us. His fingers grip at the wool covering my back and he deepens the kiss, coating my tongue with the taste of cream, chocolate, and coffee. When we come up for air, his cheeks are pink, his lips glisten a deep ruby, and my cock presses uncomfortably into the zipper of my jeans.
Casimir snuggles his forehead into my chest so I can only see the top of this head. "We could… I mean if you want…" His words are muffled, but when I attempt to pull away so I can better hear him, he tightens his hold on me, not letting me move. "The box… The things in the box… We could try some of them…" He tips his head up, daring to glance at me. "Tonight?"
A buzz starts in my balls, vibrating up to my spine, into my stomach, through my chest, ending in my head, until it's all I can hear. My mouth goes dry as I replace the visions of Casimir on the stainless steel island with visions of his pale skin atop my navy blue sheets, and I imagine all the ways I can make that pale skin flush with color.
"If you don't want?—"
I slam my mouth down on his, telling him without words how very much I want. He squeaks in surprise, but grabs onto my ass like he never wants to let go.
And I'm smitten enough to hope he never does.