29. Carolina
Chapter twenty-nine
Carolina
I narrow my eyes at the lumpy sheet of fondant drooping over the layers of cake. I’ll glare this damn dessert into submission if it’s the last thing I’ll do. Natalie will have the best entry for the cakewalk that she can. Blowing air out of my cheeks, I get to work smoothing the sugary dough.
“Just like in the video,” I whisper, squinting at my propped up phone screen.
But the fondant is softening under the heat of my hands, getting stickier by the minute and it’s not looking anything like the example in the tutorial. Why didn’t I practise? This has to work. It has to. I need to pick them up from school in an hour and the dance is tonight. I know this is only a charity auction, but sometimes you really need something to work out. And this cake is that something, and that time is tonight. Cutting off the extra dough and calling that step done, I move on to making some of the decorations. By the time I’m finished, I only have minutes to spare and when I take a step back, it’s…terrible. My shoulders droop as I sigh. It’s literally listing to one side like I made it aboard a freaking ship. I snap a photo. God knows why, and call it good. Throwing my hands up and noticing the time, I toss icing covered dishes into the sink and grab my keys and purse.
It’s for charity at a children’s event. It’s not a big deal, I remind myself as I arrive at the school. The gymnasium doors are open wide and I can see the volunteers setting up inside. I have a few minutes to kill, and figure Berg might need a laugh, so send him the photo of the cake. Only a moment goes by before my phone buzzes.
Berg:
That’s…nice.
Caro:
The ellipses gave you away, jerk. I know it’s not good.
Berg:
The girls will love it.
Caro:
Are you sure? That’s all I really care about.
Berg:
And what about my opinion? Hmm?
Berg’s opinion probably matters more than it should. I mean, why else did I send the picture ?
A tap on my window startles me. It’s Tamara, wiggling her fingers and smiling widely. I can see that she’s parked next to me, her shiny SUV gleaming. I crack the window.
“Um, hey.”
“Hello! Would you be a dear and help me?”
“Sure. With what?”
She steps back so I can climb out of my car, shoving my keys and phone in my jeans pockets.
Pressing a button on her keys, the hatchback of her vehicle glides open.
“Ta da!”
Three white boxes form a neat row in her impeccably clean trunk.
“What is it?”
“My cake!”
There’s a weird gasping sound I’m pretty sure came from my mouth.
“Why are there three?”
I know the entry sheet said one cake per family.
“It’s three tiers, silly!”
My eyes practically bulge out of my head.
“That’s your cake?”
“Yes! Go big or go home, right?”
A strained laugh escapes me, because right now I’d very much like to go home.
“Totally.”
“It’s in pieces and I’ll set it up inside. Where’s yours? ”
“Oh, it’s still…cooling.”
“Carolina, the emails said to bring it after school for set up.” She wags her finger at me in mock scolding, but it doesn’t actually feel pretend.
I visualise dropping one tier of her cake just to see the look on her stupid face.
Awkwardly, we take the largest bottom tier and walk it into the gym. Middle-aged mothers descend upon Tamara as soon as they see her and she makes a big show of acting modest but she’s absolutely preening under the attention. I slip away, noticing that most of the other cakes look normal. Pretty, but normal. Thank god. Because that little pep talk I gave myself about my cake being “fine”, is falling short. Is this what motherhood is like? Constantly comparing yourself to others? Worrying that your kids are going to be disappointed when you fall short? Does Berg think about this stuff, I wonder. Or is it twice as bad for him since he’s alone?
Smiling when I spot the girls exit the school, they make their way over to me, buzzing with excitement.
“Did you decorate it?” Natalie asks, eyes full of hope.
Last night we baked two round chocolate cakes well past the girls' bedtime. Berg tried to get involved but Louisa declared the kitchen to be a ‘girls only’ zone and banished him to the garage for a workout.
“Of course! It was…a labour of love,” I tell her, steering them toward the car. “You guys excited for tonight? ”
The screeching and jumping up and down that ensues answers my question loud and clear. There will be pizza at the dance, so when we get home, the girls head to their room for some downtime and I finish cleaning up my mess in the kitchen. I’m settling down at the kitchen table when I hear the front door open.
“Hello?” I stand and peek around the corner and see Berg coming in with his lunch kit over his shoulder and some grocery bags over his arms.
He grins as he spots me.
I lean against the wall, enjoying the sight of him slipping off his boots.
“You’re home early.” I smile against my mug of tea.
“I, uh, left a bit early so I could stop at the mall on the way.”
I tip my head to one side, walking toward him and realising those aren't grocery bags after all.
“I’m sorry. Did I hear that correctly? You, Berg MacMillan, went to the mall?”
“Yes,” he grumbles, heading for his room.
I follow, hovering at the threshold.
“Voluntarily?”
“Also, yes. I wanted to look nice for you…and the girls.”
Adorable.
He tosses the bags down and I’m not too proud to admit I’m bursting with excitement. Berg looks good as hell in his work clothes, and aside from that, I’ve seen him in jeans a couple of times. I’m dying to know what he bought. I bounce onto the bed, clapping my hands. He groans and rolls his eyes, but I know he loves it.
“You want me to try them on?”
“Do you, or do you not, remember when your daughters gave you a detailed fashion show of their new clothes?”
“I remember it distinctly.”
“Good. Then you know how much women enjoy that type of thing.” I point my finger at his chest. “Strip.”
His eyes heat as he reaches for his buckle, sliding his belt off and dropping it to the floor. I settle back against his pillows, stretching my arms out over them like a VIP in the front row of a strip joint.
I cup my mouth and whisper yell, “Take it off!”
“You’re too much,” he says, discarding his shirt so I can get a look at that furry chest I love so much. “Close your eyes.”
I gasp. “And miss the show?”
“Do it.”
“Fine!” I pout, covering my eyes with my hands.
I listen to the rustle of the shopping bags and the fabric slipping over his skin.
“Okay, don’t laugh.”
“Why would I…”
Well-fitting navy slacks skim over his long legs and a crisp white dress shirt stretches deliciously over his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
“Berg,” I breathe.
“Is it bad? I can just wear jeans. ”
I shake my head, words failing me as I slide off the bed and lock the bedroom door.
“Caro?”
“It’s good. Real good.”
“Oh,” he says, catching on as he skims his hands over my hips.
“The only problem is that I’m not going to be able to allow you to attend the dance tonight. You look too delicious. And I’m not really willing to share you with the thirsty moms.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw as I look up at him. “You look sort of thirsty yourself, sunshine.”
I lick my lips, wondering what we can get away with when the girls are only a couple of rooms away. But, I have an idea. Slowly, I pull down the zipper on Berg’s slacks, leaving the button done up. Reaching through the fly, I find his rapidly hardening cock.
“Caro,” he pants as I draw his dick out through the fly opening of his boxer briefs and through the open zipper.
The sight is obscene, and I love it. The dress pants clinging to his thighs and ass and the starched shirt are so proper. It’s a stark contrast to the thick length of bare flesh jutting in my direction. “You look like a distinguished gentleman.”
“Yeah?” His gaze is lustful. “You want me to fuck you like a gentleman, Caro?”
My stomach swirls, heat building between my legs as I shake my head.
Berg crosses his arms and I’m pretty jealous of the cotton brushing up against his biceps.
“Strip. ”
“W-what?”
He smirks. “It’s only fair.”
I waste no time, and even though I have no stripping skills to speak of, Berg’s eyes don’t leave me.
“Everything. Please,” he adds on.
I step out of my panties, my clothing a messy pile on the floor. Berg steps into my space, reaching behind my head and removing the claw clip confining all my hair. My curls tumble over my shoulders.
“Fucking perfect,” he says. “Now get on my bed.”
“You should go shopping more often,” I say, loving his bold confidence.
As soon as my bare ass touches the comforter, Berg drops to his knees between my thighs. His hot hands snake around my torso as he pulls me tights against him, face nuzzling between my breasts. The rough texture of his beard tickles my skin, every touch frantic. The frenzied pace he’s setting makes me hot. I gasp as he sucks my right nipple into his mouth, tugging on it while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. My head lolls when one hand drifts past my waist and cups my pussy.
“Berg,” I murmur, wiggling against the hot pressure of his palm.
“Yeah?” He presses an index finger between my lips, finding my clit and the slick moisture that’s already surrounding it.
Berg works perfectly soft circles over the sensitive spot, and without realising, I’ve fallen back onto the bed, starting up at the ceiling fan in bliss. He stays where he is, kneeling, but I’m aware of his weight shifting, spreading my thighs wider before hot breath fans over my pussy.
I slap a hand over my mouth just in time. “Oh, god.”
He hitches my left thigh over his right shoulder and leans in closer, moaning against my oversensitive flesh. The same way he sucked my nipples, he pays attention to every part of my pussy. Sucking, then licking, driving me mental as I try to swallow my sounds. He keeps his tongue soft, letting it conform to all my curves. When he slips one finger inside me, or at least I think it’s only one, I know I’m going to come. As long as he keeps tonguing my clit like that.
I take my hand off my mouth, trusting myself long enough to whisper, “I’m close.”
“I can taste it, Caro.”
The stretch inside me grows, and I know he’s added another finger. He crooks them expertly, maintains a steady suction on my clit, and every muscle in my body contracts.
I arch off the bed, my heel digging in his muscled back, mouth open in a silent scream of delight. Pulsing around his fingers, Berg slows, soft licks with the flat of his tongue, bringing me back from the brink. The bed depresses and I’m vaguely aware of him scooting me further toward the headboard.
“Can you be that quiet while I fuck you?”
“Only one way to find out,” I pant, grinning up at his flushed face .
When I crane my neck, though, and see his erection sticking out of his fly, I’m doubtful. He wastes no time ditching the pants and snagging a condom. Although I'm sad to see the slacks fall to the floor, it’s probably for the best since he actually needs to wear them out tonight. He rolls the condom on, fists himself, and lines up with my entrance. With each of his hungry glances, my breathing grows shallow, the urgency to have him closer building.
“Just in case,” he growls, covering my mouth with his right hand a second before he drives into me in one go.
I cry out against his skin, my eyelids fluttering at the feel of his hot cock so deep inside me.
“I love the idea of making you scream, Caro. But there’s a time and place for that. Right now, I need you to be quiet for me. Can you do that?”
It’s hardly fair. He tilts his hips and thrusts again; the pleasure written all over his face.
“Not going to last. Not after tasting you like that.”
My voice is garbled as I try to talk. “Do it.”
I know he understands. His expression darkens as he builds up his speed. I cling to his rock hard shoulders as he fucks me into his bed. The stress of the day, all the worries about the cake and whatever else has been swirling through my mind, melts away like frost on a sunny morning.
“Do. It,” I grit out again.
His mouth falls open and his thrusts falter, stilling deep within me as he comes with a blissed out expression. He moves his hand, brushing my hair off my damp forehead. As he presses a simple kiss to my lips, I let my eyes slip closed for a moment while I catch my breath. Berg disappears into the bathroom, returning with a hot washcloth and cleaning me gently between my thighs before passing me my underwear. He returns to the bathroom again; the water runs for a bit while he cleans up. He doesn’t look disheveled in the slightest, but I’m guessing my hair resembles a bird sanctuary. I get dressed quickly.
“Since you’re home early, boss. I’m heading down to my place for a shower.”
“Wait,” he says, dragging me against me.
I giggle, knowing we’re on the clock here. It was a miracle all that happened without interruption.
Berg kisses me again, tenderly, his tongue swiping across my bottom lips while he cups my cheeks in his palms.
“Will you be my date for the dance, please, Carolina?”
My heart swells with affection as I rise on my toes.
“I’d love to.”