Chapter 40
40
Cameron
Two weeks away from Joey felt like a lifetime. And the video chats were nothing more than a tease. I was set to leave Austin this evening, but I managed to hop on an earlier flight.
Maybe I should have given her a heads-up about my early arrival, but it’s too late now. I’m already in the elevator and on my way up. Will she consider this a good surprise? Or will she be annoyed? To be honest, I didn’t want to give her an opportunity to run. Catching her this way means she hopefully hasn’t had time to pack up and return to her apartment.
According to Hector, she left this morning, but she returned shortly thereafter with a bag of groceries and hasn’t come downstairs since.
Inside my apartment, I kick my shoes off and hang my keys. Ezra’s hook is empty, signaling that he must be out. The faint scent of chocolate floats in the air and the sound of clanging echoes in the otherwise quiet space, followed by a “ Motherfuckershitdammit .”
“Joey?” I call, abandoning my bags in the hall. In the kitchen, I find the beautiful brunette with more flour on her face and countertops than in the bowl off to the side.
“Whatcha doing?” I peer at the ingredients strewn about. “Are you making cookies?”
“I was trying to!” she huffs, causing her hair to float around her face.
I bite back a smile. Now doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to tell her how adorable she looks. She’s dressed in tiny sleep shorts and one of my old white university T-shirts, which she’s cinched at her navel. Figuring I’ll help, I sidle up next to her at the sink, where she’s washing a bowl, and brush my hands with hers beneath the water.
I dry my hands on a towel sprinkled with flour, then tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and cup her cheek, anchoring her.
“Hi,” she whispers, her eyes softening and her shoulders relaxing.
“Hi.”
It’s been two weeks since I kissed this gorgeous woman, and there’s no way I can wait a second longer. With one hand cupping the back of her neck, I drop the other to her lower back. Regardless of how desperate I am, though, I pause an inch away and ask, “Can I kiss you?”
In answer, she loops her arms around my waist, rises on tiptoe, and parts my lips with her tongue. Her kiss sends a wild swirl straight to my core. For several moments, we make up for lost time. Our tongues tangle and breaths mingle while I explore the velvety flesh beneath her shirt.
Pulling away to catch my breath, I bury my face in her neck and press more kisses into the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. I want to devour her softness.
She loosens her hold on me and takes a step back, her focus returning to the countertop. “I thought you weren’t coming home for another few hours. ”
I swiftly kiss the top of her head and inhale a hint of my shampoo. “I changed my flight. I couldn’t wait to see you.”
Her eyes flutter shut, sending a shot of fear coursing through me.
“Is that okay?”
“Of course.” She shrugs. “It’s your home.”
The way she says your home doesn’t sit right with me. Coming home to find her in my bed a few weeks ago, and now, in my kitchen, wearing my shirt again, makes two words flash in my mind: Our home .
“Hey,” I begin, “what’s wrong?”
“For starters,” she waves a hand across the mess on the counter, “I was supposed to have this all cleaned up before you got here. And I think your oven is on child lock. I can’t figure out how to switch it off.” Her brow furrows and her voice goes up at the end.
She stabs at the button on the panel of the oven, over and over again, like she has a vendetta against the appliance. “How the fuck do you turn this thing off? And why is the child lock even on? It’s not like there are kids in this apartment!”
Pressing my front to her back, I steady her wrist. “You have to hold down the button.”
“I did! I was. I pushed the button, like, a million times!”
She’s riled up and I love it.
I slide my index finger over hers and press, making sure my tone is slow, relaxed, soothing. “You have to be patient and gentle with the button, baby.”
She drops her head back against my chest. “Oh, is that so?” she inquires, nothing but suggestion.
“Yes. See?” The red light next to Child Lock flickers off, and I swirl the pad of my finger on her knuckle, around and around. “You have to wait. ”
“What if I don’t want to wait?” Her voice breaks with a sort of huskiness.
Caging her between me and the stovetop, I sigh into the top of her head.
She turns and loops her arms around me, then she’s gripping my ass and pulling my hips into her.
“Seems like you don’t want to wait either.” She angles back and looks down, where the bulge in my pants is growing.
“The cookies can definitely wait,” I say, peppering her lips with kisses.
“You don’t like cookies?”
“Hate ’em. Worst food ever,” I tease into her mouth. Dipping my hand down the back of her shorts, I reach between her ass cheeks and tease her entrance, eliciting a yelp from her. “They’re not what I want to taste right now.”
She nips at my bottom lip in approval and squeezes my glutes again.
Without letting up, I tilt to one side and dip a finger in the cookie dough next to the stove. I bring it to her lips and just about come in my pants when she sucks it deep into her mouth and hollows out her cheeks.
“Mmm, tasty,” she purrs, eyes hooded.
Breaking our seductive seal, I remove my hand from her pants and take a step back.
“Where are you going?”
I exhale a long and strangled breath. “First, I’m going to shower. Next,” I narrow my eyes on her, assessing my prey, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers. Then you’re going to suck your cum off them and tell me which is sweeter—you or the cookie dough.”