14. Delaney
14
Delaney
I stand on the porch of the hockey house, my heart pounding like I'm about to step onto the ice for a major competition. Except this isn't the rink, and the only judges here are my own nerves and the stupidly attractive hockey player waiting for me inside. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and knock on the door.
Breck opens it with a smile that makes my stomach twist. "Hey, Del! Come on in."
I step inside, the familiar scent of sweaty gear and air freshener hitting my nose. "Thanks for having me over," I say, cringing at how formal I sound.
"Of course! I'm glad you could make it." Breck runs a hand through his tousled hair, his nose ring catching the light. "Um, it's just us today. The guys are all out, and Bauer's probably napping somewhere."
"Oh." I'm not sure if that makes me more or less nervous. "That's... nice."
We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between us like taffy. I resist the urge to bolt for the door. This was a mistake. I don't have time for... whatever this is. I should be at the rink, practicing my routine until my feet bleed.
Breck clears his throat. "So, ready to bake?"
I nod, grateful for the change of subject. "Lead the way, Chef Monroe."
He chuckles, the sound warming me from the inside out. "I wouldn't go that far. But I do make a mean cookie."
We head to the kitchen, a surprisingly clean space given it's inhabited by a bunch of college hockey players. Breck gestures to the counter, where a recipe card sits next to neatly arranged ingredients and baking equipment.
"I got everything ready," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "Figured it'd be easier this way."
I pick up the recipe card, my eyes widening at the unfamiliar instructions. "Breck, this looks... complicated."
He shrugs, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, go big or go home, right? Besides, I thought you liked a challenge."
I can't help but smile. "You're not wrong."
“It’s actually really simple. Don’t worry.”
As Breck starts explaining the recipe, I find myself relaxing. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.
But as I watch Breck measure out ingredients, his strong hands careful and precise, I realize I might be in over my head. And not just with the baking.
Breck's voice washes over me as he measures out the flour, his movements precise and practiced. "So, we're using almond flour instead of wheat flour," he explains, pouring the fine, pale powder into a measuring cup. "It's got a much lower glycemic index, which is better for maintaining steady energy levels."
I nod, trying to focus on his words, but my eyes keep drifting to his lips. They're full and expressive, curving into a slight smile as he talks. I can't help but remember how close those lips came to mine at the bar the other night. The almost-kiss plays on repeat in my mind, a tantalizing what-if that's becoming increasingly hard to ignore.
My skin flushes at the memory. And other parts of me? They heat up.
"And here's the coconut sugar," Breck continues, seemingly oblivious to my distraction. "It's got a lower glycemic index than regular sugar, plus some extra minerals."
"Mm-hmm," I manage, forcing my gaze back to the ingredients. "That's... interesting."
Breck pauses, raising an eyebrow. "You following along? Am I moving too fast?"
I swallow hard, heat rising to my cheeks. "No, I'm fine. Just... concentrating."
On your mouth, I add silently. On how it would feel against mine. On how badly I want to find out.
"Right," Breck says, his tone skeptical. "Well, let's get you involved. Can you measure out the vanilla extract?"
I nod, grateful for the task. As I reach for the small bottle, my hand brushes against Breck's, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I swear I see the same longing I feel reflected in his warm brown gaze.
"Sorry," I mutter, quickly withdrawing my hand.
Breck clears his throat. "No problem. So, uh, about that vanilla..."
As he launches into an explanation of the benefits of pure versus artificial vanilla, I try to focus. But all I can think about is how close we're standing, how easy it would be to lean in and finally, finally, feel those lips against mine.
Focus, Delaney, I scold myself. You're here to bake, not make out. But as Breck's voice washes over me, deep and soothing, I wonder if maybe I could have both.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I barely register Breck's words until he says, "Now we need to cream the butter and sugar."
My brain short-circuits. And, I just creamed my pants.
The kitchen falls silent. Breck pauses, his hand frozen midair, holding the electric mixer. He turns to me, his eyes wide with surprise and... something else. Something hungry.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" I whisper, mortification washing over me.
Breck's lips curve into a slow, predatory smile that makes my insides liquify. "Yeah, you did."
Oh God. I want to melt into the floor. Or maybe into him. Both options seem equally appealing right now.
He sets down the mixer and takes a step closer. "You know, Del, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to tell me something."
I gulp, torn between wanting to run and wanting to throw myself at him. "I... um... we should probably focus on the, uh, the baking."
Breck nods, but his eyes never leave mine. "Right. Baking. Very important."
“Mhm. So, where did you learn to bake like this?”
“My parents own a bakery back home.”
“Really? That’s so cool.”
“Yeah. My mom and grandma were always baking when I was little. I picked up a lot from them.”
We return to the task at hand, but the air between us has shifted. Every accidental touch, every shared glance feels charged with electricity. By the time we've finished making the dough and slide the loaf pans into the oven, I'm a bundle of nerves and desire.
We lean back against the counter, shoulders almost touching. I can smell the lemony scent of his skin, mixed with the warm, sweet aroma of baking banana bread. It's intoxicating.
"So," Breck says, his voice low and husky. "What should we do while we wait?"
I'm about to suggest a riveting game of Scrabble when Breck chuckles softly. His hand reaches towards my face, and I freeze, my heart thundering in my chest.
"You got a little something here," he murmurs, running a knuckle across my cheek before swiping at it with his thumb.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly I can't breathe. His warm brown gaze is intense, filled with an emotion I'm afraid to name. Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other, the air between us crackling with tension.
"Breck," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing mine with a softness that’s almost reverent. It's everything I've been imagining and more. The world seems to hold its breath as he lingers there, giving me a chance to pull away, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I tilt my head, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
The kiss is sweet, tentative, and achingly tender, the kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs. My heart constricts in my chest as I press closer, losing myself in the warmth of him. But then, just as I think I’ve mapped the rhythm of his lips, Breck shifts, his hands finding their way to my waist.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips in silent invitation. The moment I part them, he dives in, claiming my mouth with a hunger that sets every nerve on fire. The sweetness melts into something raw and urgent, a current of electricity sparking between us as his hands tighten on my hips, pulling me flush against him.
Breck groans low in his throat, a sound that makes my stomach flip and my knees weak, sending shivers down my spine.
His fingers dig into my waist, anchoring me to him as his mouth explores mine, relentless and intoxicating. Every nerve ending is on high alert, responding to his every move with a hunger I never knew existed.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. Breck rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me right now, do you?" he says, his voice rough. "The way you look at me... it's not fair, Del. Not when all I can think about is how badly I want to touch you."
I swallow hard, my heart racing. The oven timer fades into background noise as I focus on Breck's heated gaze. My voice comes out as a breathy whisper. "Then touch me."
Breck's eyes darken, a low growl escaping his throat. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice husky with desire.
Before I can process what's happening, Breck drops to his knees in front of me. He looks up, his warm brown eyes seeking permission. I nod, unable to form words.
In one swift motion, Breck yanks down my pants and panties. They pool around my ankles as he dives face-first between my thighs. The first touch of his tongue sends a jolt through my entire body.
"Oh my God," I gasp, gripping the counter behind me for support.
Breck pulls back, resting his forehead against my lower stomach. He lets out a pained groan that vibrates against my skin. "You're even sweeter than I imagined," he murmurs. "I think you just became my new favorite dessert."
My cheeks burn at his words, a mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through me. I thread my fingers through his light brown hair, urging him back to where I need him most.
He doesn't hesitate, diving back in with enthusiasm. I feel him lift one of my feet, freeing it from the tangle of fabric below. He hooks my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to him even more.
As Breck's tongue works magic, my mind races. How did we go from baking to this? But as another wave of pleasure washes over me, I decide I don't care. All I know is that I never want this moment to end.
Waves of pleasure crash over me as Breck's tongue works its magic. My fingers tighten in his hair, and I can't help the breathy moans escaping my lips. The tension builds and builds until finally, I shatter with a cry, my body trembling.
Before I can catch my breath, Breck surges to his feet and captures my lips in a searing kiss. I can taste myself on him, and it's strangely intoxicating. His hands grip the back of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as I feel his erection pressing against me through his jeans.
"Wait," I pant, pulling back slightly. "Why are you still dressed?"
Breck chuckles, his warm breath fanning across my face. "Good question. I was a bit preoccupied."
I run my hands down his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his shirt. "That's not fair. I'm practically naked, and you're fully clothed."
"Let's fix that, shall we?" Breck's eyes darken with desire.
Without hesitation, I reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. My fingers shake slightly as I shove his jeans down, my hand brushing against his obvious arousal. Breck lets out a pained sound, his hips jerking involuntarily.
Reality crashes back in, and I freeze. "Condom," I blurt out. "We need a condom."
Breck nods, his expression a mix of lust and determination. He reaches behind him, nearly knocking over a bowl in his haste. The lid of the cookie jar clatters loudly as he snatches it off, fishing inside. For a moment, I wonder if we've lost our minds, but then he triumphantly produces a foil packet.
"You keep condoms in the cookie jar?" I can't help but laugh.
He grins sheepishly. "Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared."
Breck rolls the condom on with practiced ease. My breath catches in my throat as he positions himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against my entrance. I'm so wet, so ready for him, but nothing could have prepared me for the exquisite stretch as he slowly pushes inside.
"Oh god," I whimper, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He's big, girthy, filling me in a way I've never experienced before. It's overwhelmingly good, bordering on too much, but in the best possible way.
Breck's forehead rests against mine, his breath coming in short pants. "Del," he groans, his voice thick with emotion. "You feel incredible. I've been dreaming about this for weeks."
I can't help the breathy laugh that escapes me. "You too? And here I thought I was being so subtle."
His lips quirk up in a smile, but his eyes remain intense, locked on mine. "I've been imagining how soft your lips would feel, how you'd taste, how you'd sigh my name. But nothing—nothing—could've prepared me for this."
He starts to move, slowly at first, giving me time to adjust. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body, and I find myself meeting him halfway, desperate for more.
"Breck," I moan, my head falling back against the cabinet. "Please, I need—"
He cuts me off with a searing kiss, his pace increasing. "I know, baby. I've got you."
Suddenly, he turns us, leaning back against the kitchen island. The new angle has me gasping, and he takes advantage, gripping my hips and pulling me up and down over him. The kitchen fills with the sounds of our labored breathing, skin against skin, and the occasional clatter of a utensil we've knocked loose in our frenzy.
I should probably be embarrassed about having sex in the middle of the kitchen where any one of his teammates could walk in, but all I can focus on is the way Breck is looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and how perfectly we fit together. It's better than any fantasy I could have conjured up, and judging by the way Breck's eyes keep fluttering closed in ecstasy, I think he feels the same.
My legs start to tremble, and Breck must sense it because he slowly lowers us to the cool tile floor. I shiver, but not from the temperature. His hands guide me as I straddle him, sinking back onto his length with a satisfied sigh.
"God, Del," he groans, his fingers digging into my hips. "You're incredible."
I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. It's nice to know I can affect him this way. I begin to move, finding a rhythm that has us both panting.
My thighs burn from the exertion, but I don't care. The pressure is building again, coiling tighter and tighter in my core. Breck's thumb finds my clit, and I cry out, my back arching.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me."
The world explodes in a burst of white-hot pleasure as I come undone above him. Breck follows with a sexy grunt, his hips jerking up into mine as he finds his release.
I collapse against his chest, both of us breathing heavily. After a moment, I start to move, but Breck's arms tighten around me.
"Don't move, Del. Not yet," he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. "Let me stay right here, with your skin on mine, before the rest of the world comes crashing back in."
I sigh, leaning into him. The reality of our situation starts to seep in, and I feel a pang of anxiety. "Breck, I... I don't have time for a boyfriend or even a situationship. My life is literally class, rink, bed."
He nods, his fingers tracing patterns on my back. "I know. I get that, believe me. Between classes, practice, and games, I don't have much to give either."
My heart sinks, but I try to mask my disappointment. Of course, he doesn't want anything serious. Why would he?
But then he continues, his voice soft but earnest. "But the free time I do have? I want to spend it with you. Even if all I do is walk you to class or watch you practice your jumps off ice or just fall asleep next to you. I want this. I want you."
I pull back, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. All I see is open vulnerability, a side of Breck I've never witnessed before. It terrifies me how much I want to say yes, to let him in despite all my carefully constructed walls.
"Okay," I whisper, surprising myself.
His answering smile is brighter than the sun, and I can't help but return it. Maybe this is worth the risk.