44. CHLOE
44
CHLOE
“And that’s it?” I ask Mom. “I could have sworn there were at least fifteen more steps to making those.”
Mom laughs, and it warms my entire body. I’d take her laughs any day over a puffer jacket that morphs me into a version of the Michelin Man.
I don’t hear it much anymore. Not because I don’t see her or we go months between calls, but she rarely laughs.
We all lost something that day.
Mom, Elena Henry, lost her laugh.
Dad, Theodore (Teddy) Henry, lost his carefree mindset.
Miller lost his happiness and parts of his identity. We might be twins, but they were an unstoppable dynamic duo.
I lost myself.
“Mi pecas, no. The dish is far simpler than you kids ever let it be.” She laughs again and I smile, laughing with her. “You’ve never sought this recipe out before. Are you finally done with ordering food?” She knows me well.
“I swear it saves me money.”
“Delivery fees.”
“Time is money,” we bicker.
“Sure, pecas. What brought on this need for my empanadas?”
“No one,” I accidentally said instead of, “Nothing.”
“I hope he enjoys them,” she singsongs.
***
Ibarge into Cal’s office. The door was already open with Tucker lying on his back squeezing a moose toy in his front paws.
“We have a problem.”
“A problem?”
His focus doesn’t waver from the computer screen. Blue eyes narrowed on whatever is apparently more important than me at the moment. The glow of the screen reflects in his glasses.
“ Yes, a problem! ” I storm—walk—to his desk. Putting my hands next to his computer, I lean forward.
Cal’s gaze turns to me, dipping to the cleavage from my tank—extremely small straps, low coverage—and back to my eyes. I didn’t change when I returned from my yoga class and the store. He takes a sharp inhale, and his throat bobs.
Got’em. Attention is mine, and dang it, if I don’t enjoy the way he looks at me. Whenever I find his eyes lingering on me, it’s as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen me and that he believes it might be the last.
“A problem?” he asks again, his voice cracking at the end.
“I know you clean your ears out religiously. Don’t pretend that you can’t hear me.”
Cal cracks, the smallest uptick of the right corner of his mouth. “How may I help you, Chloe?”
Our faces are closing in on each other
“Didn’t say I needed your help.”
“But you have a problem.”
“So you can hear.”
“All the clattering in the kitchen? Yeah.” He licks his bottom lip. “Admit you are your problem and I am the only one who can help you.”
I narrow my eyes into a sliver.
Standing up, I let my facial expressions stay frozen. Spinning on my heels and leaving.
He follows me. The sound of his chair hitting the wall lets me know my plan worked .
Walking down the hallway, passing the dining area, I glance over my shoulder. Cal is trailing me like a lost dog. Like my actual dog is.
“You were making dinner.”
“Trying,” I huff.
“If you wanted to make me something to eat, you could’ve offered yourself.”
I cough, patting my chest.
“I’m talking about eating you o—”
“Yeah, I got that.” And boy, do I want that. Cal hasn’t shaved in a few days. There is a dusting of hair along his jaws and cheeks. From this distance, I can see that the minuscule hairs are a shade darker than the hair on his head. And I’m dying to know they would tickle my hands, stimulate the skin between the apex of my thighs. I groan, more at myself than him. “You are irksome. You know that?”
“And you are—” He fumbles over his words.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“You could say that,” Cal responds smugly.
I walked into that one. And usually, I’m the one with jokes.
“Show me the recipe.”
CALLUM
“Hand me the oregano?”
“Which one is that?” Chloe jokes, trying to get a rise out of me, knowing fully that the spice bottle is in front of her face.
“Use your newfound love for reading and read the label.”
She mimics me, grabbing the spice and sliding it across the butcher block counter to me. “There ya go.”
I’m standing over a food processor, pushing down the sauce stuck to the sides with a rubber spatula. We combined parsley, lemon juice, olive oil, and several spices before blending them, creating the best smell—next to her—I’ve ever smelled in my life.
“Thank you,” a gratitude comes from her.
After following Chloe into the kitchen, ingredients were everywhere, as if the fridge was broken or our kitchen was turned into a grocery store. She admitted to trying to make empanadas, getting her mom’s recipe early this afternoon, for dinner tonight.
No one has made me dinner outside of my dad and grandparents. I know they always say it’s the thought that counts, but I never understood the meaning till now.
I unscrew the top of the spice and add three shakes worth before returning to stirring and blending the chimichurri. “Come here,” I request, beckoning her with the curl of my fingers.
Chloe scoots closer, pressing one hip into the counter to face me.
Taking the wooden spoon from beside the sauce bowl, I dip it in, getting enough for her to try. Putting one hand under the spoon in case it drips, I bring it to her lips. “Try this.”
Chloe opens her mouth—pillowy lips that I want to kiss again and again—eyes staring up at me through hooded lids. I place the tip of the spoon between her lips. She closes around the spoon. Holding her gray eyes hostage, I await her thoughts.
Removing the spoon from her mouth when she releases her tight squeeze on it, my gaze fixates on the tip of her tongue sneaking out of her mouth, licking her lips.
“Could use less oregano,” she teases.
Playfully, I nudge her shoulder. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m kidding. It tastes just like Mom’s.” Her smile is genuine and raw, my favorite one. Her nose scrunches up. “It’s perfect. I’ve tried to make it once before and it was terrible. I added way too much red pepper that it was way too hot to eat. I bet there are scorch marks down my throat from the burning I withstood.”
“I bet it was still good. ”
“No. Seriously, it was bad.” She shakes her head, sliding onto the counter. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My dad.”
“I inherited my terrible cooking ability from my dad. Did yours always cook?”
“My grandparents, his parents, cooked together. It was a family affair, especially with the farm. Everything was farm to table—”
Chloe lets out a soft moan. “Was it the best food?”
I nod. “Yeah. He picked up cooking for them. My grandparents also believed that cooking wasn’t only the woman’s responsibility; men should know how to cook, know their way around the kitchen.” Along with other things.
A smile forms on my face, a tug that comes from old memories, fond memories. A lingering ache ebbs as it stretches from cheek to cheek. Cooking with my grandparents. My brothers intentionally ruining and throwing the food I would make for my family. Learning with my dad. Cooking for a girl at primary school I had a crush on, but she hated it.
“Did your dad teach your brothers too?”
“They had zero interest.” My shoulders tense. I pivot our conversation away from me. “Where did your mom learn to cook?”
“Her family in Colombia. They moved to Boston when she was in high school.” I keep working on two other sauces, a Colombian aji picante and chipotle aioli, while Chloe continues. I nod and ahh as needed, but I don’t interrupt, enjoying the soothing sound of her voice. “When I was younger, Miller and I loved making these with her. We were required to help make dinner. I loved cooking with her, even though I was terrible at it.
“What was your favorite dish to make with her?”
“That’s tough. Definitely these.” She smiles again and it makes my heart hurdles. I swear every time she smiles, and I don’t even know how this is possible, but she becomes even more beautiful. “We’d make all sorts. Usually stuffing whatever was in the fridge into them. Leftovers from taco night, a teriyaki chicken, or my favorite mac and cheese empanadas.”
“We’ll have to do that next time.”
“Next time.” It comes out as a whisper. As a promise that this isn’t a one time thing. A promise of more evenings, more time like this together.
“These smell too good for there not to be next time.” I have her try the other sauces with the same reaction as before.
She jumps off the counter as the oven timer buzzes. Chloe pats the side of my butt. “Move your fine ass. I need oven mitts.”
I slide to the right, opening the drawer for her. She slips on two floral mitts, pulling out a tray of empanadas. Chloe told me she prefers baked over fried when we stuffed them. I had a hard time watching her hands without getting hard thinking about what else she could do with her hands.
Chloe puts the pan on the top of the stove. Letting them cool, she spoons the sauces into tiny ramekins for us.
“They need to cool for five more minutes, then we can eat.” Chloe slides herself up onto the counter again. “Will you hand me my water?”
“Want it topped off?”
“Yes, please.”
I top each of our glasses off. Walking over to where Chloe is sitting, I hand her the glass.
“Thank you for making me dinner.”
“I should be the one thanking you. I barely did anything. You did all the real work.”
After spilling on her tank earlier, Chloe changed into her uniform. ‘COMMUNITY CHEST’ printed across the front tonight in a font you’d find on a Monopoly board.
I set my glass on the counter beside her, placing my hands above her knees. Pausing for a moment, I wait to see if she tells me to remove them. Her skin is warm and silky under my touch, and I know the further I work them up her legs, the silkier it’ll get .
“No one has made me dinner before.”
“Attempted–” she tries to get out, but I place a finger over her mouth, immediately bringing my hand back to her thighs.
“Take the appreciation, Dais.”
“Okay,” she says quietly. “You’re welcome, Pretty Boy. I hope you enjoy them.”
“I’m going to love them.”
“You haven’t tried it yet.” She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t need to. If you love them, I’ll love them. . . especially because we made them together.”
Chloe rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of water.
I take a step closer to the counter, putting myself between her legs. Her toes run up my calf.
“I like your shirt tonight.” I read the sentence aloud. “But the blue lingerie looks better in the kitchen.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” I lean forward, my mouth coming to her ear. My hat taps the cabinet behind her. “I know you put it on when you went upstairs. Take your shirt off.”
Chloe leans back on her elbows. “I did not.”
“I can see the strap.” I take that moment to run my hand under the collar of her shirt, snapping the strap with delicate flowers on it. Rubbing the skin after. “Take it off.”
I use the hand remaining on her thigh to bunch up the fabric to her waist.
Chloe’s breath hitches, face flushing, and I know she’s turned on.
“Make me.”
“Arms up.” I drop her shirt, pinning her wrists above her head against the cabinets with one hand. The other slips back to the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her arms.
In front of my face, nowhere else to look, are her full tits covered in baby blue mesh. Through the material, I can see her brown nipples .
Her head is tilted down at me, tracking my every move.
“You can touch,” she gives me permission.
Before I do, I tilt my head up to hers, wanting to see how her eye color fluctuates when I tell her what I need to tell her. I take my hat off, turning it backward before putting it back on.
I kiss her once.
“Patience is a virtue, but I’m done being patient, Chloe. I want you. All of you. If I touch you tonight, I won’t be able to stop. I already crave you and I don’t even know what you taste like.”
She tries to be a smart aleck. “You’ve kissed me.”
“Right. But I haven’t tasted this.” I take the strap of her underwear, pulling it tight against her. A small gasp comes out of her, lips parted again. I pull it tighter, knowing the fabric is putting tension on her clit. She tries to speak, but I cut her off. “Say something else and I’ll put that bratty mouth to better use.” I run my thumb along her bottom lip. “Do you understand me?”
Chloe’s throat bobs around a swallow, nodding her head.
“I need to hear you, Dais.”
“Yes, I understand,” she says, staring into my eyes.
“Good. Now, do I have permission to taste you?”
“Please,” she groans as I tighten my grasp on her underwear.
I drop my hold, tugging her to the edge of the counter. “Good girl,” I say before our mouths collide.
My hand goes to the back of her head, taking out her hair clip to let her dark hair fall to her shoulders. I run my hand through it, tugging on strands at different intensities to learn what she can withstand and likes. It tilts her head up more toward me, deepening this maddening kiss, exposing the slender column of her neck.
Her lips, her kiss, her taste are being branded into me. A permanent mark that I’ve had Chloe Henry, and she’s had me.
She bites my bottom lip, and a whimper comes out of me. Her tongue runs over where she bites me, only to do it again. “ Chloe .”
“Say my name again,” she says against my lips. “I like it when you say my name.”
“Chloe,” I moan out again.
My other hand runs up the side of her torso to the underside of her breasts. I pinch her nipple through the material and her back arches.
Kissing the corner of her mouth, down her jaw, and then her neck. I trail them to the tops of her breasts. Chloe's hands slip into my hair, knocking my hat off.
She whimpers, her hips rocking, searching for friction.
I plant a kiss between her cleavage, heading to show the same pleasure to her other breast.
I bite down on the fullness of the breast that’s being pushed up by the bralette. “Yes, that,” she whimpers again. I bite her again, then lick the spot.
My hands move to the waistband of her underwear. I snap both sides and she shoots up, her breasts brushing my face. I inhale, nose grazing the slim space between them.
Her hands fall from my hair and into her knickers taking them off.
“Needy little thing?”
“You have no clue,” she tells me.
I stare at her, reluctantly pulling my face from her chest. “Enlighten me, Chloe,” I rasp out her name. “You know I touch myself thinking about you. Do you think of me?”
“Since last year. Before it was the memory of your hands on me, putting me to bed. Now—” her words hitch and stutter as I run a finger up her slit. Underwear decorating the floor.
“You were saying?”
“Now my fantasies have a face. I think about you, wishing it were you. Can you make that come true?”
“Your wish is my command.” I push a finger into her. She’s tight. I kiss Chloe, capturing her moans and my name on her tongue. “You’re so wet. Is this for me, or are you like this for everyone?”
“Only for you,” she exhales. “Only ever for you.”
“That’s my girl. ”
Her hips are moving against my finger. “More, Cal. I need more.”
I slip another finger into her. Working the two in and out of her.
“That’s it. Take what you need, Dais.”
My thumb finds her most sensitive spot, pressing against it while my fingers keep moving in and out of her.
I can feel her getting closer. Committing to memory what she wants and needs, how when I move my fingers a specific way, or kiss the space between her jaw and ear she reacts. The little sounds she releases and how her body arches. “How do you want to come? On my fingers or tongue?” I ask her.
“Both,” she says firmly.
“Needy and greedy.” I smirk at her, eyes narrowing with pure ardor.
“I told you already, you have no clue.”
I pick up my pace, curling my fingers inside of her, teasing and pushing on her. Edging her closer to the release she believes I have no clue how badly she needs. Having her come undone around me, even thinking about getting to go down on her has me on the edge of coming in my pants.
Chloe’s head falls back. My free hands catching it, righting it. She’s going to watch this.
She clenches, legs shaking, as my name slips past her mouth drawn out. Not like the last note of a song, but the bridge you want to listen to over and over again. I could die listening to her say my name exactly this way.
I remove my fingers from her, bringing them to her lips. She opens her mouth, tongue sticking out ready to taste.
Shaking my head, I take my fingers and paint her lips. “What are you doing?”
“Getting an example of what I’m about to look like.” She’s glistening with herself. Running my fingers again around her lips, I replace them with my lips, kissing her, tasting her. “So good,” I groan .
Chloe’s blush runs down her neck, spreading across her chest. Across the patches of freckles.
Has any other guy ever cared to count and memorize them?
Why am I thinking about her with anyone else?
Sinking to my knees, I kiss up her left thigh, planting a kiss over the sensitive skin between her thighs before licking her from back to front, sucking her swollen bud into my mouth.
“I know you haven’t eaten dinner, Pretty Boy. You must be starved.”
My brows shoot up, gazing up at her through my lashes. I drop my hand from her breast, cupping her ass and tilting her hips up.
I devour her. Like she’s my last and favorite meal. Which she might be.
My zipper is digging into me. I focus on Chloe and this moment, not letting my want to drive into her takeover.
“Put your feet on my shoulders.” The bottom of her feet are cold, cooling my body through my shirt. “Knees further apart.”
Using my thumbs, I spread her open. She’s the prettiest shade of pink and so wet. Leaning closer, I blow a light breath over her center.
“Oh, god.” Chloe releases the most delicious moan. “It’s too good.”
Her praise lights me up from the inside out. I’m good at this. Good enough for her.
“You’re supposed to be forgetting your name, not mine. It’s Cal.” I blow on her again, this time, she curses my name before I return my mouth to her.
Chloe’s phone lights up.
Again.
And Again.
Who could be blowing her up right now? Regretfully, my eyes wander and see the texts. All I wanted was to confirm that it wasn’t her brother.
It’s not .
She’s clueless. Lost to pleasure.
Lost to the pleasure that I’m bringing her.
“Cal,” she cries out. “Callum. I’m close.”
My focus shifts back to her as I try to mute the nagging voice in my head.
One of her feet slips from my shoulder. I return it there. In seconds, her thighs are compressing my head. The only thing I can breathe right now is her—and that’s quite perfectly fine.
Frustration about the text shoots through me, and I drag her in my mouth. Her muscles quake as she releases on my tongue. She’s exactly how I imagined she’d taste.
I keep going till every wave crashes through her, and her body goes limp, legs loosening.
Standing up, I find Chloe leaning back, resting on her elbows, panting.
I pick up an empanada, collect her on my lips with it, and take a bite.