11 - Aiden
11
Aiden
I’d been thinking about this for a while.
I had tried not to obsess over Jazz. I enjoyed our time together. We cooked, ate dinner, played games, and at the end of the night I went home.
But deep down, I wanted so much more than that. Even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.
Now there was no denying it. As soon as our hands connected while rolling out the cookie dough, I knew I had to have her. My body came alive, a fire of desire that threatened to consume me from the inside-out.
Thank fucking God she wanted me, too.
I really could have gone down on her all night if she would’ve let me. There was nothing sexier than bringing a woman to a satisfying climax, making her come with only my tongue and fingers. It extended my own pleasure, the way preparing a meal made you hungrier for it when you eventually sat down to eat.
But actually being intimate with Jazz? Sinking my cock into her, feeling her walls tighten around me like a vice while she gazed up at me with wonder and ecstasy? And without the latex of a condom separating us?
It was the best feeling in the world.
After cleaning up in her bathroom, I returned to the kitchen. Our clothes were on the floor, but the blinds were all drawn, and I was perfectly happy remaining nude. I also, selfishly, hoped it would keep Jazz undressed for even longer.
“What are you doing?” she asked when she came out of the bedroom.
I bit my lip while admiring her nude form and the way she seemed to prowl across the room like a stalking panther. “We didn’t get to bake these cookies.”
“Oh no,” she playfully said, grabbing a ball of dough. “The night is ruined.”
“Nothing could ruin this night,” I replied, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her hair. “A meteor could destroy the Eastern Seaboard and tonight would still be a net positive.”
She giggled and bit into the dough. “Baking is overrated. It’s more fun to skip straight to the eating .”
“I enjoy the eating part very much,” I replied.
Jazz grinned up at me. “Apparently so. Want some?” She extended the cookie dough to me.
“Aren’t you worried about salmonella?”
She shrugged. “The eggs we used are brand new.”
“Fun fact,” I said, “it’s not the raw egg you need to worry about in cookie dough. Most people get sick from the raw flour.”
“That fact isn’t very fun at all,” she complained, then took another big bite of cookie dough. “But I don’t care. It’s worth the risk.”
“You’ve convinced me.” I leaned forward and took a bite out of the chunk right from her fingers. I chewed it around in my mouth and said, “Okay, yeah. Baking is overrated.”
“Told you!” she said with her mouth full. “Sorry you missed the Phillies game.”
“Trust me, I don’t care about the game at all,” I said.
“Aww.” She stood on her tip-toes to kiss me. Her lips tasted like sugar and flour.
“Besides, I checked the score when you were in the bathroom. We’re losing two-nothing.”
“Mmm.” She leaned an elbow on the counter, giving me a glimpse down her back. My cock stirred at the sight. “So, how long have you been planning that cookie move?”
“What cookie move?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t play dumb. You suggested making cookies, then you did the thing that always happens in cheesy rom coms. You put your hands over mine and showed me how to do it.”
I laughed. “That honestly wasn’t supposed to be a move.”
“I don’t believe you,” she declared flippantly.
“This isn’t going to sound very sexy,” I said, “but that’s how my sister taught me to bake. Putting her hands over mine and showing me how to knead and roll out the dough.”
Jazz made a face. “There goes my lady-boner.”
“Told you,” I said. “But if I’m being totally honest, I’ve kind of hoped something might happen with you for a while now.”
“Ah hah! I knew it!”
“Come on,” I said. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”
She chuckled to herself. “I had been trying not to think too much about it, but yeah. Deep down, I’ve been hoping something would happen.”
“That’s why you started making up your hair before game night.”
Alarm flashed in her eyes. “You noticed?”
“Of course I noticed. When we first started playing games, you always put your hair in a ponytail. But the last two weeks, you’ve been wearing it down.”
“Aww. I was trying to make it look cute, without seeming like I was trying.”
I caressed her lower back, right above the curve of her ass. I really wanted to give it a squeeze, but wasn’t sure how she would take it. “I think you nailed the intentionally-casual look. I also like the yoga pants you’ve started wearing. Although it’s been tough not to stare at your ass the whole time.”
Her face brightened with a smile. “Thanks! I have a confession to make, though.”
“Uh oh. Should I be worried?”
“It might ruin your mood.” She took a deep breath, sighed, and then said, “I don’t like sugar cookies.”
I blinked at her. “This is the greatest betrayal in the history of mankind.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off now, to give you plenty of time to forgive me. I’m a chocolate girl. If it doesn’t have chocolate in it, I don’t want it.”
I nodded at the half-eaten ball of cookie dough in her hand. “For someone who doesn’t like sugar cookies, you’re doing some damage to the dough.”
“Cookie dough is different,” she said dismissively. “Plus, I have the post-sex craving. For the next half hour, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”
“Noted. So what kind of chocolate are we talking about? Chocolate chip cookies? Brownies? Fudge?”
She cocked her head to the side. “One night of sex and you think I’ll tell you all my secrets?”
“Well,” I replied, “I was planning on making your favorite. But if you don’t want me to go to the effort…”
“Counter offer.” Jazz finished her ball of raw cookie dough and picked up another. “Bake me all the chocolate desserts you know, and I’ll tell you when you’ve guessed correctly.”
“That just seems like a ploy to get me to bake you assorted chocolate dishes for the next month.”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “It’s a win-win situation. By which I mean I win multiple times.”
I wrapped her in my arms and gave her a slow kiss. “I wish I had made a move sooner,” I said, pausing to take another bite of cookie dough. It was good. “Why didn’t we do this that night when we almost kissed?”
“Because,” she said with a groan, “we both agreed it was a bad idea for neighbors to hook up.”
I let my fingers slide down across one of her bare cheeks. “That sounds familiar, but for the life of me I can’t remember why.”
“Because if it goes poorly, things would be awkward between us!” she replied. “Think about your ex-girlfriend.”
“Which one?”
“Any one. No, actually, think of the one that ended the worst.”
“Kathleen Avoca. We broke up two years ago.”
“Imagine if you lived next door to Kathleen,” Jazz insisted. “And after you broke up, you still had to be neighbors. Wouldn’t that suck?”
“That would suck,” I agreed. “It would be much easier for her to burn all our plants.”
“Exactly—wait. Burn your plants?”
“Kathleen came over in the middle of the night, poured lighter fluid in a bunch of our pots, and lit a match,” I explained. “Nearly caught the porch on fire. We had to call the police. It was a whole big thing. The worst part was they weren’t my plants, they’re my roommate’s. Bash and I have never seen him so mad. We thought he might actually track Kathleen down and slash her tires. Or her throat.”
“I was thinking about things being awkward,” Jazz said. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring up arson!”
“But I get your point,” I said. “Being next door to an ex would really suck.”
“That’s why I was so resistant, in spite of my friend’s encouragement,” Jazz continued. “But it doesn’t matter now. We’ve already slept together.”
“I guess we’ll have to stop,” I said sadly. “At least we had our fun.”
She stared at me with a blank expression.
“I’m joking,” I finally said.
“You’d better be!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know how long I want to do this, but I’m positive once isn’t enough.”
“We’re in complete agreement about that. How about this,” I said, seizing on the opening. “We keep things casual. No expectations, no pressure, no commitments. Honestly, I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now. I travel way too much for work.”
That was the truth. I was out of town a lot of the time. This past month was a rare exception, but I had several Midwest trips coming up that would keep me away for a while. It was the reason all my past relationships had fizzled out.
Jazz crossed her arms under her breasts, a gesture that made it difficult to continue looking her in the eyes. “So we make dinner together, play some board games, and then if we feel like it, we have sex?”
I spread my hands. “Sure. Why not?”
She reached around and gave me a loud smack on my ass. “I agree to these terms.”
“You needed to smack my ass before agreeing?”
“Yes,” she emphasized. “I did. Any other rules or stipulations?”
I started to say no, everything sounded good as it was, but I stopped myself. There was something else. A request that wasn’t as lighthearted as the other rules. I didn’t even want to suggest it because I was scared of how she might feel, but it couldn’t be avoided.
“I don’t want to tell Bash,” I said.
“Oh.”
“Not because we’re doing anything wrong,” I quickly added. “But because I don’t want him to feel like the third wheel. I’ve loved our Sunday dinners and game nights with the three of us. If he knows we’ve hooked up, it will ruin the vibe.”
She was already nodding along. “Makes sense. I don’t want to ruin the good thing the three of us have.”
“That’s it,” I said. “And if-slash-when this affair runs its course, we will both make an effort to keep it from being awkward. We’ll still hang out, and wave at each other when we take the trash cans out…”
“And not light each other’s plants on fire?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
Jazz pursed her lips. “I was hoping to get to do a little arson, but fine. You have yourself a deal. Shake on it?”
I ignored her extended palm and wrapped her in my arms, kissing her as passionately as I could. “Kiss on it.”
She moaned as my lips churned against hers, and when I pulled away, she was looking up at me through lidded eyes. “How about we fuck on it?”
“I didn’t get a proper tour of your bedroom,” I said, walking out of the kitchen.
Jazz followed like I’d hoped, but then she started giggling. “What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You have a white hand print on your ass,” she said. “From when I smacked it.”
I twisted and saw the flour outline on my cheek. “I’m going to make you lick that off, salmonella be damned.”
She grinned wickedly. “I’ll do whatever you want me— ohh! ”
Jazz squealed as I threw her over my shoulder. I carried her the rest of the way into her bedroom, laughing as she bombarded my ass with more smacks.
As I lowered her to the bed and swallowed her laughs with my tongue, I thought about our arrangement. I could keep things casual.
At least, I thought I could.