Chapter Thirteen
For the next week, the two of them couldn’t wait until the day was over and they could get back to their room. Ava was trying hard to be super conscious of appearances. Would she rather go to happy hour with the other attendees and assistants or go back to their room and rip Regan’s clothes off with her teeth?
I mean, it’s no contest. Teeth-ripping of clothes will win every time.
But they couldn’t just not go to stuff with the others. They were there for a baking retreat, not to fuck every chance they got. Much as she wanted to.
That thought sent a rush of heat through her body as she patiently added a tablespoon of sugar at a time to the egg whites being beaten in her mixer. They were making meringues today, and Liza Bennett-Schmidt was walking around observing. Across the aisle, she was at Regan’s station.
“You look tired,” Chef said to Regan. “Not enough sleep?”
“Probably not,” Regan said with a smile that, when Ava glanced over, seemed slightly guilty and a lot sexy.
“Maybe you need to tell Chef Prescott over there to let you up for air every now and then.” Without missing a beat or seeming to notice Regan’s wide eyes or the horror on Ava’s face, she pointed to Regan’s mixer. “Don’t overbeat that. You’ll ruin the cookies.”
She walked on back to Madison’s station.
Ava met Regan’s eyes across the aisle and watched as she rolled her lips in and bit down on them, then refocused on her mixer.
What? How did she know? How could Liza possibly know what was going on? And judging by the soft chuckles and smiles around the kitchen, others knew as well.
She reined in the panic she felt suddenly building and clenched her teeth hard until it eased up. It wasn’t like they weren’t grown-ass women and consenting adults. They weren’t doing anything wrong. That being said, Ava really didn’t love the idea of everybody there knowing her business, especially when it came to sex. With a shake of her head, she turned her concentration to her mixer and tried her best to put the rest out of her mind.
It was a drawback she hadn’t considered when she’d decided to add “sex with her roommate” to her list of things she worked on at the Bennett-Schmidt Baking Retreat: a slight lapse in focus. She was there to learn everything she could from a world-renowned pastry chef. But when she looked down at the fluffy meringue in her mixing bowl, with its glossy finish and stiff peaks, all she could think about were Regan’s breasts, how they felt in her hands, in her mouth. She felt a surge of dampness in her underwear, a lump in her throat, and a steady throbbing between her legs. The same thing had happened yesterday when she was kneading dough and the day before that when she was filling cream puffs. Everything reminded her of Regan’s body. Everything took her back to their room, to her bed or to Regan’s bed—’cause they’d mixed it up and used both beds, as well as the floor and the shower, both desks, and also the vanity in the bathroom. There really wasn’t anyplace left in their enormous room that they hadn’t christened. Ava was sore in muscles she didn’t know she had. She was drinking so much water because she was dehydrated. She wondered if she’d lost any weight due to all the calories they were burning. It made her smile. She couldn’t help it.
Sex with Regan was… She didn’t even have the proper words to describe it. It was beyond. Beyond surprising. Beyond exhilarating. Beyond fantastic. It was simply beyond .
She’d had no idea.
When she hazarded another glance across the aisle, Regan met her gaze and grinned, and just like that, all Ava’s stress dissipated, floated away like vapor in the air.
How did she do that?
“What seems to be the problem, Chef?” Liza was saying now, and when Ava glanced up in front of her, Maia looked slightly frantic.
“My lucky bandanna,” she said, patting her chef’s coat, opening drawers and cupboards. “It’s gone.”
“And is that a big deal?” Liza asked, clearly not sharing Maia’s obvious worry.
“It is to me. I can’t bake without it.” Maia turned in a circle. “I have to go to my room and look.” And without waiting for permission of any kind, she skedaddled right out of the workstation, frantic.
Liza inhaled and let it out slowly as she shook her head, then moved on to Vienna’s station.
Ava and Regan exchanged glances.
Later that evening, while Regan was in the shower, Ava was lying on her bed and asked Courtney the same question about Regan being able to calm her as they FaceTimed.
“What do you mean?” Courtney asked. It was her day off from the restaurant, and she was sitting on her couch with her knitting in her lap, her phone propped up so she could talk to Ava without needing to hold the phone.
“I mean…I don’t know.” She sighed, long and low. “She just—makes me feel better. Even today when Chef said something.”
“Which was not cool, just so we’re clear.” Courtney had her readers on, as she always did when she knit, and she looked over the rim of them at the screen.
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s nobody’s business. You’re adults. Fucking Liza Bennett-Schmidt doesn’t get to tell you who you can or cannot sleep with, you know.”
Ava grinned into the phone, her affection for her friend surging. Courtney had never liked Liza Bennett-Schmidt. She’d always thought of her as an egomaniac, somebody enamored with herself. Maybe she was right. “Whatcha makin’?” she asked.
“Booties for my cousin’s kid.” She held up a tiny shoe-shaped creation in light blue. “And I’m not ignoring your other question. I just needed to put in my two cents about that bitch.”
“I mean, it was more like two dollars, but I accept it.” Ava smiled and glanced at the bathroom door. She could still hear the shower running.
“The answer is simple,” Courtney said, not looking up from the bootie. “She makes you feel better because you let her.”
Ava scrunched up her nose. “What do you mean?”
This time, Courtney put down the knitting and looked at her. “Listen, I love you. You’re my best friend. But you’re not exactly warm and fuzzy. You’re not easy. Getting to know you isn’t simple. You have walls and barriers and fucking guards on duty. Guards in chain mail. With clubs. Spiked clubs. On horses. You’re kind of a hard person.”
Ava flinched. “Um, ouch.”
“Please. Suck it up. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
Ava pouted but had to agree, because Courtney knew her well. And she was right. “Fine.”
“But it sounds like, with her, maybe you let the walls down a bit? Give the guards the day off?”
The imagery was enough to make her grin. “I mean, maybe? Everybody needs a vacation day or two.”
“Exactly.” Courtney laughed softly. “See? You’re a good boss.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Just be careful, okay?” Courtney’s expression turned slightly more serious. “Don’t make me worry.”
“Nothing to worry about. Promise.”
“It’s just…” Courtney seemed to stop and search for the right words. “Where you are right now isn’t reality, you know? It’s like you’re on The Bachelorette or something and you’ve been thrown together in this isolated, ideal situation where you work together during the day and share a room—and a bed—at night. But you’re gonna come home at some point. And things will be different.”
“Wow. Somebody took her Debbie Downer pills this morning.” And then Courtney gave her a look, and even over the screen of the phone, Ava knew she was being called out for pretending not to understand something that she actually got, fully. As if, in her mind, Courtney had grabbed her by the hand and hauled her out of the mansion and back to Pomp. Back to her tiny apartment. Back to her very solitary life.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Before she could analyze any further, she realized the shower had stopped. “She’s done,” she whispered. “I gotta bounce. Talk to you later.” She blew a kiss into the phone.
“Wait!” Courtney hissed, then moved her face comically close to the screen. “How’s the sex?”
“It’s spectacular . Bye!” She was hitting the red button just as the bathroom door opened and steam wafted into the room. Regan exited wearing pin-striped boxer shorts and a red tank top. Her hair was combed and still wet.
She looked good enough to fucking eat.
When Regan glanced up and met her gaze, she quirked an eyebrow. “I know that look by now.”
“Yeah? What look is that exactly?”
“That’s the why do you have so many clothes on look.” She picked up her little jar of moisturizer. “And I could give it right back to you.”
Ava glanced down at her own clothes, marked with flour and various particles of food. She’d been waiting, as she had let Regan shower the day off first. “Well, allow me to shower and I’ll be right out so we can address the question of who’s wearing too many clothes, okay?”
Regan held an arm out toward the bathroom. “All yours.” God, her smile, the way it lit up the room. Corny as that sounded, it was also true. Ava smiled back at her, then pushed off the bed, and toward her. Taking her face in both hands, she kissed Regan soundly on the mouth—thoroughly, with just the tiniest touch of her tongue—then pulled away. Regan almost fell forward as she tried to follow with her mouth, a tiny whimper escaping her.
“Be right out,” Ava said, and it took everything she had to force herself to walk into the bathroom and close the door, because holy crap, had that backfired. Her intention had been to wind Regan up a little, get her worked up so she’d look forward to the end of Ava’s shower. Instead, she’d worked herself up. She shook her head as she pulled off her underwear and noted how wet it already was. Jesus. How was this possible? How was the simple act of kissing a woman—a woman she’d kissed dozens of times at this point—enough to make her want to throw her clothes off and have sex, like, immediately? She’d never been so physically in tune with somebody, and it was mind-boggling to her.
She turned the water on and let it warm up, which didn’t take long. An impressive feature of Chef Liza’s mansion was that it never seemed to run out of hot water, no matter how many of them showered. She stepped into the enormous terrazzo-lined stall and stepped face-first into the spray, letting the water rain down on her head. Then she leaned her head forward and let it beat on the back of her neck—a spot that always ached after she worked all day, looking down at her counter.
And then there was a small rush of cool air, and Ava grinned, knowing Regan had stepped into the shower behind her. Hands ran down her wet back and around her waist, pulling her back against Regan’s naked body, her nipples hard already, making themselves known against Ava’s back.
She turned in Regan’s arms. “Excuse me, ma’am, didn’t you already have a turn?”
Regan’s hand ran up her side and cupped a breast, kneaded it, zeroed in on Ava’s nipple, and tugged lightly. “Yes, but my shower didn’t have a beautiful woman in it.”
“Mine does. You should call customer service and complain.”
And that was it for words. Regan’s mouth crushed hers and they were kissing as if starved for it, as if they hadn’t kissed in months. Years. Water poured over them, and Regan spun her in her arms so they were back-to-front again, and Regan’s hands were everywhere. Her stomach, her ass, her breasts—she felt them all over. One grasped her chin and pulled her head back, leaving her neck vulnerable to a full-on oral assault as Regan practically devoured her. The other hand was suddenly sliding between her legs. Ava was throbbing and soaked, and it had nothing to do with the shower. Regan’s fingers moved and stroked and pressed, while Ava’s hands braced against the terrazzo. And then Regan’s mouth was at her ear.
“God, you’re so wet,” she said, then a flick of her tongue sent a jolt of arousal straight down to Ava’s center. “Are you close?”
Ava swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Yeah? Should I stop?” And Regan’s fingers ceased all movement.
Ava gasped. She couldn’t help it. “ No. Please. Keep going. Don’t stop.” God, who was she? Who was this person whose entire existence seemed dependent on the fingers working between her legs? “Please.”
Regan’s fingers started up again. Thank God. And Ava pushed her ass back into Regan’s body, her arousal climbing once again. “Come on.” Regan’s voice was a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the shower spray, but Ava heard it loud and clear, as if it had been an order given over a bullhorn. “Come on, baby.”
The sounds Ava made. Again, who was she? Who was this person who whimpered and gasped and nearly cried with the pleasure Regan created?
“Come for me, Ava. Come for me.”
And she did. Hard. Long. A husky moan she hadn’t known she was capable of making issued from deep in her throat as she arched in Regan’s arms, her head against Regan’s shoulder, her muscles spasming so strongly, she wasn’t sure she could stay on her feet.
Regan held her tightly, kept her upright. “Jesus Christ, you are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said softly, her mouth still next to Ava’s ear, her voice and her words only serving to prolong the orgasm. “Do you know that?”
Ava reached behind her and gripped the back of Regan’s neck, still catching her breath, still feeling tiny aftershocks pulsing through her body. “God” was all she could manage to say.
Later, they lay in Regan’s bed together, wrapped up in each other, legs entwined under the sheets, Ava’s head pillowed on Regan’s chest while Regan searched Netflix on her laptop for a movie for them to watch.
“What would you do with the money if Liza picked you?” Ava asked. She hadn’t even really thought about the question. It just sort of left her mouth before she realized it.
Regan didn’t miss a beat. In fact, she kept searching Netflix as she said, “Buy the bakery I work at.”
“Yeah?”
A nod. “My boss is retiring. He’s an awesome guy, and I know he’d love me to have the place, but I’m not exactly rolling in money. I don’t think I could offer him a fair price. But with that kind of a down payment…” She let the sentence dangle because Ava knew exactly what she meant. “What about you? What would you do?”
Ava knew exactly what she’d do, but for some reason, she pretended to think about it for a moment. Finally, she answered. “I’ve always dreamed of opening my own little wine bar. Small and intimate, serving only wine and desserts that I’d make myself.”
“Well, I would totally go hang out there,” Regan said, then pointed to the screen at a rom-com from a couple years back. “What about this?”
“Perfect.” And it was. That was the thing Ava had such a hard time accepting—how very little effort it took to enjoy herself with Regan. A full day of hard work, a hot shower, an orgasm that rocked her world, and now a comfortable position in bed to watch a romantic movie. Seriously, how much better could it get?
She drifted off to sleep as her brain was playing her various scenarios of better, and all the while, a little voice somewhere in the background kept whispering something about things being too good to be true.