27. Ready for Dessert
27
Hadley
The property is beautiful. Set in a clearing carved out of a thick thatch of woods, the house is still a skeleton of wooden beams and steel pipes, but I can picture it thanks to the schematics the contractor rolled out to show us. I can see Foster here, sitting on his front porch in a wooden rocking chair as the birds and squirrels chirp and bark around him.
My chest hollows out at the vision, and I quickly take a sip of the coffee we picked up at Beans & Books to hide my frown.
Of course, Foster will be happy here. He’s planned this place down to the smallest detail to suit his own tastes. This house is a symbol, an embodiment of his financial freedom and his confidence in his position with the Bandits.
He’s putting down roots for the first time in his adult life.
And when this place is ready, he’ll move out of the B&B.
I was so excited when he invited me along to see it, but now that the ramifications have hit me in the forehead like a bag of bricks, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see the thing that will pull him away from me. I don’t even want to think about it.
I won’t think about that right now. I’ll think about that tomorrow.
Thank you, Scarlett O’Hara, for that little nugget of brilliance.
When Foster wraps up his business with the contractor, we head to the market for some groceries. He’s offered to cook for me again, and my mood lightens substantially. After the market, we stop by Moxy, the shop Roxy opened to sell non-X-rated versions of her delicious cookies. Foster buys a dozen in various flavors from the cashier while I chat with Roxy in the kitchen. She’s cutting out dozens of dick-shapes from sugar cookie dough for an online order she has to fulfill today, so I promise to call her tomorrow and leave her to it.
When we get home, I help Foster put the groceries away before we eat a small lunch of quickly slapped-together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Afterward, he pulls me into the living room where we snuggle on the couch and binge-watch several episodes of an old sitcom that has us laughing together for hours.
It’s the perfect afternoon. Foster’s arms are secure around me, his fingers affectionate as they leave a trail of goosebumps down my arm with every unconscious stroke. I feel happy and safe. Wanted. Almost…adored.
But as soon as he leaves me to go start dinner, my thoughts spiral again. I can’t imagine going back to being alone in this house, my only company the sporadic presence of strangers. What was my dream for a decade now feels like a death sentence, yet I can’t even consider leaving this house. It means too much to me. It’s not just a house handed down to me from my grandmother.
It’s also my career. My livelihood.
If things were to progress with Foster, and if he were to ask me to move into his dream home with him, could I?
Sure. I could hire a manager for this place, someone who’d run the day-to-day for me and make sure the guests are well taken care of.
But would I want to? I just don’t fucking know.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Foster’s voice scatters the dark thoughts, and excitement replaces the despondent confusion as I hop up and rush to the dining room. Foster’s cooking makes everything better, and I can’t wait to try the chicken enchilada soup and chili rellenos he promised would be the best I’ve ever had.
I slide into my chair, and Foster places a bowl in front of me. Stepping back, he watches expectantly while I dip my spoon into the soup. I blow on it for a second before sliding it through my lips, and my eyes fall closed as the flavors burst on my tongue.
“Oh, God,” I groan, blinking my eyes open to look at him. “This is divine, Foster.”
His smile lights up his entire face as he gives me a shallow bow and retreats back to the kitchen. I force myself not to scarf down the entire bowl in ten seconds flat by placing my spoon beside the bowl and waiting impatiently for Foster to finish plating the food. When he finally joins me at the table, I snatch the spoon back up and take another bite.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he says with a chuckle, blowing on his own spoonful before sliding it between his lips.
I shake my head and set my spoon aside, trading it for the fork and knife. The relleno looks and smells delicious, and I can’t wait another second to try it. I cut through the crispy fried batter and into the chili. White cheese gushes out, and I wrap it around and around the bite I’ve cut off until the string breaks.
Foster smiles at me as I try it, then laughs when my eyes roll back and a moan of pleasure and gratitude vibrates deep in my chest.
“If you keep making those noises, I’m not going to let you finish before I drag you out of here and up to my bed,” he says, his voice light and conversational like he’s simply discussing the weather.
I arch a brow at him while I chew, and after swallowing, ask, “You promise?”
“Brat,” he says on another laugh, and I shrug and dig back into my meal.
My cheeks start to heat as my humor fades. Would he really drag me up to his bed? What would he do to me once he got me there? Should I test him to find out?
“I can see the wheels spinning in your head, Hadley,” he says, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I stare at him, silently debating over whether I should be honest or brush it off and pretend like I was thinking about the food. Or the weather. Or football.
“So do you think you guys will beat the Hammers this weekend?” I blurt before I fully make the decision.
Foster tilts his head, his dark blue eyes probing as I try to keep my expression calm and interested. Frowning, he blows out a breath.
“I think we can,” he says. “We beat them in the championship last season, and we’ve only gotten better since then.”
“I agree.”
“Now,” he says, setting his fork aside, “tell me what you were really thinking about.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, flinching slightly as heat pools in my cheeks once more.
“Hadley.”
I heave out a long, resigned breath and drop my head. Peeking up at him through my lashes, I lick my suddenly dry lips again before responding.
“I was wondering what you’d do with me once you had me in your bed.”
He watches me for several beats, then nods once. “That’s what I thought.”
He drops his gaze to his plate and slices off a bite of his relleno. My heart accelerates as he slides it into his mouth and chews slowly. And when his pink tongue darts out to lick a crumb from his lower lip, my breath stutters in my chest.
He’s teasing me, I know. But knowing doesn’t stop my body from reacting. There’s a clenching in my core I can’t ignore, and I shift slightly in my chair. Foster’s gaze shoots my way, and his indigo eyes darken.
“Eat,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re going to need the energy.”
By the time we finish dinner, I’m a hot, writhing mess. Who knew anticipation could be such an aphrodisiac?
I drop my fork, and lean back. “I can’t eat another bite. Thank you. It was delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says, standing and picking up both our plates before heading to the kitchen.
I push myself up and grab our bowls before following him. We load the dishwasher together, but it only takes a couple of minutes because he cleaned while he cooked. After adding the soap tab and starting the machine, Foster turns toward me and braces a hip against the counter.
“Do you want dessert? We have those cookies from Moxy.”
I shake my head. “Maybe later.”
“Good,” he says, straightening and taking my hand. “Because I’m ready for dessert, and I’m not talking about the cookies.”
My heart thrums as he leads me upstairs and into his bedroom. He takes his time undressing me, and when I stand before him completely naked, he groans and drops to his knees. I stumble back a step, and his big hands grip my hips to steady me. One hand trails down my thigh to the back of my knee, the tickling touch sending a flurry of shivers through me.
Foster applies pressure, lifting my leg and draping it over his shoulder. I fall back against the bed behind me as his tongue brushes over my sex and circles my clit. Digging my elbows into the mattress, I throw my head back and breathe through the hot electricity zipping through my veins. Heat builds in my core quickly, and I rock my hips, grinding against his mouth.
Foster’s tongue moves faster, flicking and stabbing as I push up on my toes to find the perfect angle. His fingers wrap around the one leg I still have beneath me and pull it up over his other shoulder, leaving me stretched between the edge of the bed and his body. I dig my elbows in deeper so I won’t slide off, but quickly lose the fear as Foster wraps an arm beneath me to balance my weight.
Then he sucks my clit between his lips and scrapes gentle teeth over it. I shout as my orgasm rockets through me, my thighs clamping hard around Foster’s head as my body goes rigid. He continues to lick at me, and the hand that’s not holding me aloft slides over my ass to my center. His fingers push into my slick heat, filling me deliciously as my inner walls continue to flutter through the release.
“Oh, God. Foster,” I huff between breaths when energy starts to coil inside me once more.
Foster pushes a second finger in with the first, pumping in a steady rhythm as his tongue circles my clit. I start rocking my hips again, driving his fingers deeper inside me. Foster’s arm tightens around me, holding me still. Before I can complain, he drives his fingers deep and curls them upward, hitting a spot inside me that sends me soaring over the edge with a blood-curdling scream.
I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise––too late––as the rest of my body ceases to function. Endorphins flood my system, leaving me floating and swirling like a feather in a hurricane.
I hear Foster’s chuckle as he pulls his fingers free and turns his head to kiss my inner thigh. Letting my thighs drop from his shoulders, he supports my weight and slides me fully onto the bed before dropping onto his side beside me.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him down for a kiss. I can taste myself on his lips, and rather than being a turn-off like I always imagined it would be, I find it tantalizing. Sliding my palms to his shoulders, I tug until he rolls on top of me and settles between my bare, damp thighs. His erection nudges against my center, and my body forgets that it just came twice.
It wants more.
I want more.
“Hadley,” Foster groans when I wrap my legs around him and dig my heels into his ass, pushing him closer.
He pulls back to meet my eyes. His gaze darts back and forth, studying me like he’s trying to determine my intention. I swallow thickly and nod.
“Make love to me, Foster.”
He sucks in a shuddering breath, but other than that, remains motionless. “Are you sure?”
I nod vigorously. “I’m sure. Please.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and my heart feels like it might beat out of my chest. Finally, he nods, and pushes himself up before sliding off the bed. I watch with bated breath as he quickly strips, and fresh heat spirals through me when his gorgeous cock is finally freed. He grips it lightly, watching my face for my reaction, and he must like what he sees, because he smiles softly and turns toward the nightstand.
My breaths come in short, choppy bursts as I watch him pull out a condom, tear it open, and roll it slowly and carefully over his length. He climbs back onto the bed, trailing kisses up my thighs, to my stomach, to my breasts as he settles once more between my legs.
Nerves dance in my belly, but quickly fade as he sucks a nipple into his mouth while his fingers toy with the opposite one. Then he pushes his hands into the mattress on either side of me and pushes up, bracing his weight on stiff arms as he stares down at me.
“If at any time you don’t feel comfortable or want to stop, just say the word, Hadley.” I nod, and his lips tighten into a straight line. “I mean it. Any reason at all. You understand?”
“I understand,” I whisper, then lift my hips a bit, pushing the tip of his cock toward my entrance.
“Jesus,” he grunts as his eyes fall closed, his entire body tensing as he nudges his hips forward an inch, slipping the head inside me.
I expected a streak of pain, but I feel nothing but need and an incredible sense of fullness as he slides a bit more. My inner walls contract, pulling him deeper, and chills race over my bare skin. Foster’s panting with the exertion, and I know he’s holding back, trying to move slowly so as not to hurt me.
But I’m not in pain. Far from it. And I need more.
Reaching up, I grip his hair. His eyes pop open to meet mine. Steeling my spine, I shed my shyness and any embarrassment that might try to stop me from speaking up. This is a pivotal moment in my life, and I’m not going to let anything fuck it up. Not my awkwardness. Not Foster’s protective nature.
“I’m not going to break,” I say, sifting my fingers through his hair.
“I’m trying not to hurt you,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Nothing hurts, I promise. Now, fuck me, Foster. Fuck me like you mean it.”
His hips slam forward at my words, and I gasp as his cock bottoms out, stretching me deliciously. Foster goes completely still, gasping for breath as sweat drips down his temple. I pant through parted lips as I adjust to the feel of him deep inside me. My inner walls flutter around him, and he groans deep in his chest.
And just when I think this couldn’t possibly feel any better, he starts to move.