Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elodie
When my phone’s alarm goes off, I bolt upright. My memory’s a haze, but the blaring tone keeps me sitting up. What happened? Where am I? When did I go to bed?
A male groan vibrates beside me, and I freeze. Who’s with me?
The chimes of my alarm continue to ring as the fog dissipates from my brain. Cruz and my family get-together. Cruz and I making out. Cruz stopping my blow job. Me about to get laid. And then what?
He was over me, and he was going to be in me, and then he went to check the locks. Horror swamps me. Did I fall asleep? I pat myself and look down. My shirt and bra are in place and my shorts are still on.
“Goddamn, sugar.” His sleep-roughened voice sounds so out of place in my small apartment. “How early do you get up?”
“What are you still doing here? Where’s my phone?” My eyes adjust with the nightlight and I find my phone on the nightstand on the other side of Cruz.
He’s sprawled on his back with a hand tucked behind his head. His chest is gloriously bare, but thanks to the covers, I can’t see the rest. Without opening his eyes, he grabs my phone and hands it to me.
“Early.” I silence the alarm. “I usually set a different time for Monday so I can sleep longer, but I have to make up for last night.” Speaking of . . . I’m still confused. If I fell asleep, why is he still here? “What happened?”
“You gave me fabulous head and then passed out like a sex goddess who’s been up for seven days straight.” He cracks open an eye. “I didn’t want to leave and have you think that just because I didn’t get some, I jetted.”
My confused panic fades and my heart rate returns to a normal rate. If he wasn’t here, I’d still be fretting about how much I disappointed him. “That’s sweet.”
“It was a good excuse to get more time with you.” He rolls up and his abs crinkle.
My mouth goes dry at the sight, but since I didn’t brush my teeth last night before falling asleep, I scoot to the edge of the bed and let my legs hang over. “I seriously fell asleep?”
“A regular Sleeping Beauty.”
My cheeks warm. I might’ve daydreamed about cuddling with him, but not passing out without getting to enjoy him. “But it couldn’t have taken you more than a minute to check the locks.”
“You were tired. You’ve been working hard.” He sets his feet on the floor. “What are we baking this morning?”
“Cruz!” I twist and prop a leg on the bed. “You aren’t staying to work. You have your own job.”
He stands and yawns, scratching the back of his neck. His navy-blue boxers don’t do much to hold back his morning wood. Ugh. I fell asleep on that?
He catches me looking and smirks. “I’m up, and I like the company. Gimme a hairnet, and I’ll do the dishes or something. I’ll ask Lane to check on my critters. Rufus usually joins whoever’s doing chores and gets some treats.”
“You haven’t gotten much sleep.”
“Neither have you. The sooner we get your baking done, the quicker I can finally get you naked.” He gives my thigh a pointed look. “I haven’t seen those flowers yet.”
“It’s my mom’s bouquet.” I lift the hem of my shorts. I never get to show them off, and this one is my favorite. “I took one of my parents’ wedding pictures to the artist.”
“Got any more?”
“Pictures? Yes.” I flash him a secretive smile. “You want to see?”
“All the pictures you want to show me—and any more tattoos.”
“Oh?” I say innocently, dragging my hem farther up. “You’re asking if I have more tattoos?”
His pupils swallow the rest of his eyes. “Yes.” My second alarm goes off and he snaps out of his trance.
I fumble with my phone. “Sorry. I usually set three or four different times just in case. It’s hard to get up some days.” Most days.
“Yes, it is. So let’s get to work.”
I’d rather get to showing him where the rest of my ink is. I’d like to see his horseshoe up closer. I’d like to lick it.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he says in a low voice, “and we aren’t going to get those wedding cakes made.”
We. I like the sound of that way too much. “What about your job?”
“I’m off today and tomorrow, and Lane owes me way more than one day of chores. I’ll use the bathroom after you.”
I can’t resist him anymore, and I don’t want to chase him off anyway.
To keep me on task, I grab an armload of clothes.
“All right. But I need to shower first. Help yourself to . . .” I scan my haphazard apartment.
I only sleep here. The rest of my time is spent downstairs, working.
He has a nice house. A deck. A backyard.
I’m like a ghost in my apartment. “Uh, help yourself to some juice in the fridge. I might have some waffles in the freezer you can throw in the toaster.”
“Homemade?”
“If I want a good one, yes.” I escape into the bathroom.
I take the fastest shower of my life and get dressed.
I grabbed the most atrocious clothing. My baggy shirt is an old one Clem got me for my birthday last year with a cartoon chef on it that reads I got big buns and I cannot lie.
The leggings in my pile are a welcome sight.
With the ovens running all day, I’m going to get hot.
Blow-drying my hair takes way too long, but I get it dry enough. Then I wrap it into a bun on top of my head, roll on a fabric headband, and look into the foggy mirror. Staring back at me is a girl who fell asleep on a guy who can give her the best orgasms of her life.
Way to go.
Yet he’s still here.
When I step out of the bathroom, I smell waffles and syrup.
He’s set my small table with two plates.
The brown bottle of Wisconsin maple syrup my parents brought home from their last fishing trip sits in the middle.
He’s reclining against the island, shirt still off.
His pants are on, but the fly hangs open, giving me a glimpse of his navy-blue underwear.
He flashes that crooked grin, and I’m ready to toss my shirt off and tell my customers I got sick and have to close for a day.
Except I have another payment to make to Dwayne.
The toaster pops, and I jump.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“It’s just weird. Having you here.” No guy has been in this space with me.
“Good or bad?”
I pretend to think. My glasses are on the nightstand, and though his face is fuzzy, I can make out a smirk. “Waking up yet again to a hot man and then he makes me breakfast?”
He grabs one of the plates for the waffles. “Technically, you made breakfast and I heated it up.”
“I haven’t had this before. It’s nice.”
His eyes darken, probably because he can read between the lines after our date at the bar. I was taken advantage of, but Cruz is caring for me. “I’m gonna be a lot more than nice to you. I just have to run home and change after I shower.”
“Worried I’m going to kick you out for wearing day-old clothing?” I’m teasing, but I catch the way he smothers a wince. “Are you really worried?”
“I don’t like wearing dirty clothes.”
“But they’re not dirty.” I don’t have to see his shirt to know that it looks no different than last night. His jeans don’t have a speck of dust on them and hardly any wrinkles.
“I just prefer fresh stuff.”
I trail my fingers through the hair he’s already finger-combed.
There are shadows in his eyes. The past is haunting him.
The kid who was left alone with only another boy to care for him.
Two kids doing the best they could with almost nothing.
“You do what makes you feel better. Just know that I don’t think less of you because you’re wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. ”
“Noted.” His eyes lighten, but not all the way. He’s going to run home, and I’ll support him as much as he has me.
He pulls my chair out for me like he can’t wait to use all the manners he was taught. “There is something you can do for me.”
“Yeah?”
He takes a plate, grabs the waffles, and returns. “When we go downstairs, turn that music up loud and shake your ass for me.”
I’ve never had such a fun day at work. Cruz kept the music up, and I tried not to dance like I wanted twenties thrown in my direction, but he remembered the song from last time. His whistles only egged me on.
We baked and cleaned and danced. All the orders are made and in the cooler.
I have cookies, cupcakes, cruffins, and trays of chocolate-dipped fruit to put out in the morning.
And I dabbled with a new whiskey glaze out of the Butter Barrel that Cruz brought me a few weeks ago for an apricot bread for the Taste of Springs street fair.
The kitchen is now clean. My body is weary, but with Cruz loading and unloading the dishwasher, grabbing supplies, and making runs to the coolers and back, I got more done than I thought. I’m caught up, and I made several loaves of sweet bread.
Imagine if I had help like this most days of the week.
Maybe someday, when I’ve dealt with the blackmail.
Cruz takes his apron off and stretches his arms. “You ever eat your own stuff?”
“All the time. It’s often part of my meals.
Like today, I made extra dipped fruit.” I cross to the fridge and pull out a plate of strawberries dipped in white and milk chocolate and sprinkled with various nuts.
“I have these for breakfast way more than I should admit. There are four more plates in the fridge. Just for me.”
“Good.” He plucks a strawberry off the plate and holds it up to my mouth. “You need to treat yourself.”
“I’ve treated myself too much.”
“If you do anything too much, it’s work. Now let me slip something sweet into that mouth of yours.”
My lips part on those words and he slides the dessert between my lips.
I sink my teeth into the chocolate. It’s such an easy thing to make, but I’ve perfected it, if I do say so myself.
My eyelids flutter shut as I chew. I don’t always make these.
Sometimes I use dried apricots or frozen raspberries.
Potato chips, if I can’t find decent fruit.
I’m picky about the strawberries because they’re my favorite.
“Tell me about how it tastes,” he says, his voice gruff. We’re standing so close together, and his usual citrus smell is tinged with fresh-baked cake. It’s like I’ve imprinted on him.
“I want you to experience it first.” I lift the plate from him, take a strawberry, and set the rest on the island behind me. I offer the sweet to him. He opens his mouth. I want to watch him eat not only something I made, but one of my favorites.
His eyes are blistering hot when he sinks his teeth into it, and I’m mesmerized by the bunching of muscles in his dark, stubble-covered jaw. Lust has me in a choke hold. Drawing a breath is difficult, and it’s like my skin shrinks while the rest of me expands. I’m restless.
“The sweet chocolate almost makes the strawberry tart, but they balance out.” He curls his fingers around my wrist and lifts my hand to feed himself more fruit.
“You have a sensitive palate.”
“I know what’s good.”
Flutters trail through my belly and sink lower. I’m never going to be able to eat these again without getting turned on. “I also drizzled it with white chocolate, so not only do you get the satisfying crunch of the shell and pistachios, the drizzle splinters into pieces that melt on your tongue.”
He serves me another bite from the first strawberry and together we toss the green tops on the plate. I think we’re done, but he makes his way through the rest, feeding me while I do the same for him. A sensual snack that only leaves my skin feeling too tight from the desire building inside.
Crowding in closer, he wraps an arm around me. “I want to fuck you now.”
Please. I’m close to begging. My breasts are heavy and they want to be covered with his hands again. “I want that too.”
He pulls me all the way to him with a hand around the back of my neck and smashes his lips to mine.
I hook my arms around his neck and devour him just like I did the dessert.
He tastes sweet, but there’s a richness to him that the chocolate strawberries don’t have.
He’s robust and smooth, like the whiskey he makes.
He breaks the kiss long enough to say, “Wrap your legs around me.”
When he lifts me, I do as he asks and he heads right for the stairs. As he’s going up, his head scrapes the top and a pained groan leaves him.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I run my fingers over his scalp like I can absorb the hurt. “This building is old.”
“Not a problem. I’ll risk a concussion to get inside you.”
He’s barely breathing hard, but he probably lugs bags of grain all over the distillery. I haul flour, but I’d have to rest if I was dragging it up the stairs. I’m attached to him like I’m frosting and he’s a sponge cake.
When he reaches my bed, he lays me in the middle and takes my shoes and socks off. Stepping out of his boots, he says, “I’m not wasting any time.”
“I am a bit tired,” I tease.
He pauses. “Then we’ll nap.”
I sit up, shocked. “It’s late enough to be bedtime. If I fall asleep, I won’t wake up until morning.”
“If you’re tired, we’re sleeping.”
“You can’t miss another day!”
“I haven’t missed a day of work since I was nineteen.” He adopts a wry grin. “Don’t ask me about before that.”
He’d put his pleasure aside—again—to meet my basic needs? I’m turned on while being all warm and fuzzy. I rip my shirt off. “I’m not falling asleep tonight.”
He sucks air between his teeth and drinks me in. “The door is locked, and I’m ready to explore.” He grabs his shirt collar behind his neck and tugs the garment all the way off. When he yanks his jeans down, his erection pushes at the fabric of his boxers.
He withdraws his wallet and takes out some packets of condoms. Tossing three of them on the bed, he grins when I gawk at him. “I’m not going to let being unprepared stop us.” He juts his chin toward me. “Take your pants off, sugar. I’m ready to get my mouth on something sweet.”