Chapter 13 Dulcie
Chapter thirteen
Dulcie
Today was epic.
We stumble into Luca’s hotel room after midnight. My parents are likely just getting back to the house now as well, since we all left the bakery at the same time.
What. A. Fucking. Day.
We spent hours trying to perfect the perfect Earl Grey pie, and I think we finally have it, but from there, we went on quite an adventure.
We had pies cranking out left and right and every other direction.
North, south, up, down. Those poor ovens got a workout and then some today.
Long after the bakery closed for the night, we were there, working as a team of four.
I’ve never seen my dad look so happy, or my mom so committed. I can’t even comment on Luca. All day long, I tried to focus solely on the pies and the bakery, but now that we’re back in the hotel room—exhausted, elated, and riding one major pie high—it’s different.
I can look at him all I want.
All it takes is two seconds and a good view of his disheveled hair, tousled from all the times he ran his fingers through it, his shirt still clinging damply to his body with sweat, and the satisfaction etched into every tired, tiny line on his face, and I’m finished.
He’s standing by the bathroom door, already reaching for the top button of his shirt to peel it away.
I’m just as sweat-soaked as he is. I wear a tank top under my bakery uniform when I’m there.
I shed the white coat and apron before I left, but my tank top is still a stage five clinger.
It hasn’t dried out at all. I can’t remember a day when I ever soaked through my tank top and my uniform at once. Even my pants feel sticky.
Sure, it’s summer, but it wasn’t even that hot today. It was overcast, and the humidity was under control.
Then again, even at large catering events over the years, I haven’t felt run off my feet like this.
I was tired in every muscle and bone. I was so achingly weary that I could barely find the energy to drive us over here.
It seems Luca popping one single button on his shirt and standing there looking all rough and rugged, sweaty and worn in, and unthinkably dark and mysterious because he’s leaning slightly on the doorframe of the bathroom to hold himself up, but the pose pops all his muscles, is a good cure for all my ailments.
I dash across the room and launch myself at Luca, and not in a graceful way either. It’s more like a wrestling takedown move. I lock my legs around his waist, plowing into him so hard that I drive him straight back into the wall.
“Ooof,” he grunts, practically winded.
I let him catch his breath, nipping his ear, sinking my teeth into his neck and jaw, and tracing the seam of his lips before I kiss him. He can breathe through me. I’ll be his oxygen.
He links his hands under my ass and stumbles into the bathroom, where he already has the light on.
He deposits me into the dry shower and tears off his shirt, causing buttons to cascade all over the floor.
He shucks it, freaking growling at his belt like an enraged bear when it doesn’t snap open fast enough.
He wrenches it so hard that it tears through a few of the loops.
Then, he kicks his shoes off and peels down his pants, his boxers, and his socks all together.
Weren’t we just talking about magic?
Because that is a magic trick.
I’ve been standing here this whole time watching him instead of getting my own clothes off.
I’m clumsy, shucking the sweat-soaked tank top and a bra so disgustingly wet that it makes me so freaking happy to have it on the floor that I nearly do a dance.
Then I do a dance for real to get out of the sweaty yoga pants that I use as my uniform at the bakery.
I’m surprised they don’t permanently smell like bread, pie, and cake by now.
After I’m done, I gather all my clothes up and throw them out of the glass shower door.
This room might be all I’m historical like the rest of the building, but the bathroom is very modern, down to the large glass shower and the huge square fixture jutting from the wall.
Thank goodness it’s one of those side-angled rain showerhead beasts and not one from directly above.
In theory, those are okay, but practically, I’ve almost drowned, so I’m a lifetime hater.
But back to the main point.
I’m totally stark naked.
And so is Luca.
He was in a big hurry to get his clothes off five seconds ago, but now that I’ve gotten mine off too, he’s doing his best poor little prairie dog in the middle of a busy road impression.
I’m so worked up from edging myself into a near sexual black hole last night that I have no such compunctions.
I close the shower door, crank the spray to hot—cold showers and I don’t get along even at the sweatiest, hottest of times—and thrust myself under the spray.
As soon as it hits my skin, I run my hands down my arms and over my wet breasts, flicking my hard nipples.
I pump the soap container on the wall, lathering cherry scented body wash onto my palm.
I soap the same places, getting myself good and sudsy and letting it all run down the length of me.
I give Luca a delicious show when I wet my hair, lifting my arms overhead and scrubbing my fingers along my scalp.
“Luca! I’m kind of soaking wet in here,” I say loudly.
He groans. “I can see that, Dulcie.”
And I can see that he very much wants to be in here.
“I’m kind of soaking wet in other ways too. Can you see that?” I tease.
“Good god.” He fish lips me, but still doesn’t move.
“Are you having second thoughts about pounding me into oblivion?” I ask coyly.
“I’m just… trying to gather myself.”
“I don’t want you gathered. I want you hard and hot, wet and feral. You can be a golden retriever on the street, but please be a beast in the sheets. I want you to fuck me the way you fucked my mouth last night, but harder. Hard enough that I feel you for days.”
“In the shower?”
“I agree that it’s slick, so get in here for foreplay, and then we can test the vintage bed’s endurance.”
“And mine,” Luca adds.
“And also mine,” I say in agreement. “Notice I didn’t put a time limit on it. Six seconds of bliss is perfectly fine with me as long as I get to sleep with you draped over me, crushing me into the bed all night long.”
I cup my breast, pinching my nipple, throwing my head under the spray to rinse my hair, and turning up the volume on the moaning.
“If I come in there, there might be carnage,” Luca rasps.
I pump conditioner into my hand and slick it through my hair. “Carnage?”
“Sorry.” He’s already flushed, but the pink darkens to crimson. “That’s the wrong word.”
I rinse out the conditioner, in a hurry to be out of here. “I’m fine with carnage. Carnage is great.” I flick my thumbs out. “It gets two thumbs up from me.”
I’ve been keeping my eyes on Luca’s face, but now, I lower them down. He’s so hard that it’s probably painful.
“If you don’t get in the shower in two point four seconds, I’m coming out there to teach you the real meaning of carnage.”
Once he finally moves, he’s like a hurricane sweeping into the shower.
He flings open the door and bangs it closed behind him before he hoists me up by my waist, digging his hands into my ass to wedge me up against the tiled wall.
His hard cock slams into my stomach and throbs there, so hot against the water cooling on my skin now that I’m out of the spray.
He kisses me brutally, desperately, cupping the back of my head to shelter that part of me from the wall.
I groan against his lips, devouring him and only breaking away when I need oxygen.
But I kiss everywhere I can reach, starved for the taste of his skin.
I love the salty tang of his neck, his jaw, and his forehead.
I’m glad I got to him before the shower did.
I like him dirty, sweaty, raw, and masculine.
There, I said it.
I like what I like.
And I refuse to be ashamed of it.
He claims my lips, devouring his taste off my tongue.
“Hurry up and get into the water and do what you need to do,” I encourage, nipping at his mouth.
However, he doesn’t hurry. He does let me slip down so my feet are on the floor again, but he gathers my wrists in his hands, angles them over my head, and pins me to the wall.
His lips trail over my jaw and down my neck, his tongue laving the water from my skin.
He growls, and I make feral, higher-pitched sounds in response.
He’s not gentle when he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his teeth abrading my sensitive skin. He angles his jaw so his stubble scrapes over everything. Then, he releases my wrists as he sinks down onto his knees.
“You have no idea how badly I want to taste you.” His lips trace a hot path down from my breast and over the small ridges of my abs. He kisses one hipbone and then the other, but doesn’t move lower.
“Fuck, yes.” Now that my hands are free, I can put them to better use. Like stacking them on top of his hair, which is half wet from the slanting spray, and pushing him down.
He places open-mouthed kisses over my smooth skin before he parts me and does the same to my clit.
My whole body jerks at the electric surge, my shoulders ramming into the wall, and my feet parting to make space for him.
I twist my fingers through his hair, panting as he parts me and licks lower.
I rock my hips into his face, needlessly, because after the first taste, he’s ravenous.
He wraps his hands around my hips and ass, canting me straight into his face and feasting as if I’m that perfect, triumphant pie.
Jesus. What an image. Especially since all he and I did all day was try to get a cream pie perfect. Now is not the time to laugh. I bite down hard on my lower lip.
Two seconds later, as his tongue trails all the way from my clit to my entrance, I’m not sure whether to laugh or sob.
“Please, Luca. Fill me up while you eat me,” I plead.