Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
B eing awake and fully functional before the sun wasn’t new to Oakley. But it had been years since his surfing days, so the adjustment took some time. He’d woken up at strange hours when he shared a bed with Clementine, but most of the time he’d fall back asleep once she left for work. The plan was to go for a run before baking, but he ignored his alarm and woke up with enough time to set Gracie up for the day before he left. He’d texted Deana the day before about being out early, and she promised to stop by and check in on his dog through the day.
Despite planning everything perfectly, he got there twenty minutes early. Closing his eyes, Oakley reclined his seat and relaxed. From the minute he saw her, the only thing he had thought about was having all of Clementine’s attention on him. Every eye roll, scowl and frown had him hooked, as did her quirks and sass. He loved that she made him work for her smiles, because they really were worth it. Sitting up, he pulled out his notebook and flipped to the pages he’d scribbled on already.
Grabbing his pen, he added a few more to the list:
° when whatever she’s cooking turns out exactly how she hoped
° when her eyes light up, even though her lips don’t move
° that half smile because she’s got her bottom lip trapped between her teeth; fucking kills me
° that horny smile, like she might devour me if I don’t give her what she wants
° when she’s kissing me and her bottom lip curves against my top lip; shivers every time
A knock sounded on the window and he jumped. He looked over and found Clementine watching him with amusement.
“When you’re done journaling, let’s go.”
He tucked the notebook into his bag and followed her inside. Even though she was safe in there, he made sure to lock the front door. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen and knew it was a big deal, because she was inviting him into her inner sanctum. He wasn’t going to take that for granted.
“We don’t have all morning to dilly-dally,” she said, handing him an apron as she wrapped one around her waist.
He mirrored her movements and slid an arm around her waist, closing the gap between them. “Good morning, melor ,” he whispered, making sure to emphasize the accent for the Elvish word. “You look beautiful today.”
Clementine loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good morning to you too.” She stretched up to kiss him. “Was that a new nickname?”
“Elvish, for lover 1 . Do you like it?”
“It sounds pretty. But will you be able to say it the right way every time?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve been practicing.”
“I appreciate it. I appreciate you .”
And I fucking love you.
With another kiss, she stepped out of his arms and pottered around the kitchen. He stayed where he was, watching her gather things and smiled to himself. Taking a page out of Clementine’s book, he’d done tons of research to find a term of endearment that she would like. While baby rolled out of his mouth easily, he knew that she didn’t like it. Then he stumbled across a list of non-English words and melor appeared. He knew, in that instant, he’d found the right one.
When she looked at him over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips, his heart did a happy dance. Did she even know the power she had over him? With something as simple as that, this woman was going to destroy him.
“So, uh, what are we making?” he asked and stood beside her.
“What do you wanna do, experiments or donuts?”
“Experiments for wedding cake?” he whispered, sure that his eyes were as wide as saucers. “Think we’d have time for both?”
“Maybe. Depends on how quickly we experiment.”
“Put me to work, chef.”
She set a well-loved notebook on the counter, flipping through the pages. He peered over her shoulder and smiled at the sketches along the edges. They looked similar to the drawings he’d done not too long ago—donuts, cupcakes, slices of cake and other pastries.
“I usually scribble down what might work together, then narrow it down with one of my staff. We bake small cakes to see if everything works and the final ones become tasters.”
“That’s a lot of work for a few bites.”
“Helps me find new things to put into cake, though.” She set the notebook in front of him and said, “Mix and match from the list.”
“You want me to decide?” At her nod, he smoothed the pages down. He traced her drawings with a finger, then read through her neat handwriting. “Red velvet and coffee, chai and blueberry, honey and lavender and…maybe chocolate and carrot?”
She popped up beside him, holding baking utensils. “Good choices.”
“You’re a good choice,” he whispered, eyes meeting hers and seeing something unfamiliar reflected back at him.
“Thank you for everything yesterday.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
Nodding, she set everything down and reached for his hands. “I do. It was unexpected, but made me really happy. Especially the Reuben.”
“That’s all I want, to make you happy.”
Because they were standing so close, he heard the hitch in her breath, but chose not to read into it. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her throat where he’d left a few hickeys not too long ago. She giggled, a sound he loved more than her moans, and put her hands on his biceps. Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and she tilted her head to give him better access. Her fingers curled into his arms, short nails digging into his skin as he nibbled his way up to that spot behind her ear. He knew what that would do, so he kissed her there. She whimpered, quivering in his arms. The scent of vanilla and sugar was stronger there, so he nuzzled into her.
“If you keep doing that, we’ll never get anything done,” she whispered, pressing closer to him. Smiling against her skin, he peppered the length of her neck with kisses, then pulled away. “You’re dangerous.”
“That’s what I said about you.”
“I don’t seduce you with kisses in your weak spot.”
He smirked. “You seduce me with your everything, melor.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she moved away, not before he caught her small smile. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter as she opened the large industrial fridge and fiddled around in there. His eyes dragged over her sneakered feet, legs and delicious ass encased in leggings until she turned with jars in her arms.
He helped her bring everything to the counter, frowning at the colorful containers. “What’s all this?”
“Flavored buttercream.” She tilted each one back to look at the labels. “I store leftovers from the previous day for this very reason. We’ve got chai, lavender and carrot. I think red velvet and coffee would work out pretty well, so we don’t have to make that one.”
He must have looked confused, because Clementine patted his shoulder and flipped to a new page in her notebook. She scribbled his choices and slid it over.
“We’ll mix the other ingredients into what we have and make tiny cakes. Makes sense?”
“Yes, chef,” he mumbled, frowning at her notebook. The most he could do was the pasta he’d made for her the other day and she promised to teach him how to make grilled cheese one day. Oakley was a master at making a bowl of cereal. Everything else sounded too complicated.
Before he could get even more confused, she was giving him instructions and guiding him to where he needed to work. He asked questions and she answered patiently, working on one side while he did what he was told. Making the cakes took longer than he thought, but the process was soothing in a way he didn’t expect. When they were set in the pans, he was shocked that he’d helped create that.
“Can you slide the cakes in, please?”
He nodded and carefully loaded the pans into the oven and turned to find Clementine writing in her notebook while measuring ingredients.
“I thought there’d be time between all of this work for some fooling around,” he teased.
“If we finish the buttercream now, I’ll make time.”
“What are we doing standing around then?”
She laughed, head tipped back, sound echoing through the kitchen. Soon he’d need a section of his notebook dedicated to her laughs. Then she was giving him instructions to make buttercream and he was surprised by the effort. It was fascinating, watching colors blend together to create something new. Every so often, Clementine would swipe her finger through the mixture and slide it into her mouth. Which would leave him hard and aching, because his mind kept wandering to the first dirty dream he had about her.
Clearing his throat, Oakley glanced at the woman beside him as he said, “I had a dream about you a while ago. You were naked on a kitchen counter, buttercream frosting covering your nipples and pussy.” There was a clattering of utensils, but he continued. “You told me that if I wanted to fuck you, I needed to lick you clean first.”
“Did you?” she asked, voice breathy.
“Fuck yes. Licked every last bit off, sucked on those pretty nipples and drowned in that delicious pussy too.” He cursed himself for saying those things, because it was becoming difficult to focus on the task at hand.
When he snuck a glance her way, Clementine had stopped working to rest her hands on the countertop, chest heaving with every breath. It was way too early to be getting his girl this riled up, but once he got started, it was hard to stop.
“I’ll make sure to set some aside for later,” she said softly.
Clementine got back to work like her nipples weren’t straining against her shirt or that his words hadn’t turned her on. He steadied himself as well and they worked in silence to fill new containers with frosting, which they tucked into the fridge. They cleaned the counters and loaded the dishwasher, as the oven dinged. She took the cakes out and set them on the counter to let them cool. Once that was done, Clementine grabbed a small bowl and tugged him towards the room in the back. A dull lamp provided enough light to see that it was an office—photographs and accolades, framed magazine features and kids drawings filled the walls—but before he could ask what they were doing, his ass landed on a soft couch and she was in his lap.
“Tell me about your other dreams,” she demanded, fingers sliding through his hair and tugging his head back. Something cool hit his neck and he moaned as her mouth pressed against him. “Talk or I stop.”
His hands dragged over her thighs, under the apron and between her legs. But he didn’t get very far, because she pulled a little harder on his hair and sucked on his neck. Gripping her thighs, he forced his breathing to settle.
“There’s always lots of frosting. And I spend most of the dream licking it off you. There was one where you licked it off my dick.”
She hummed against his throat, tongue making contact with his skin. “Did you like that, Oak? My mouth around your cock?”
“I love your mouth anywhere on me,” he told her, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and forcibly pulling her face to his. “But around my cock? It would probably kill me.”
That night with the vibrator, when she’d wrapped her lips around the tip, he had almost passed out from pleasure.
Frosting clung to the sides of her mouth and he leaned in and kissed her, tonguing the buttercream at the same time. She moaned and dropped a hand to press against his crotch through the apron. The kiss broke on a loud groan from him.
“That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? This cock is necessary for a lot of things.”
“I’m pretty attached to it too,” he said, making them both laugh.
Squeezing her neck gently, he captured her mouth again. A sound akin to a growl fell from her lips and then she was kissing him hungrily. Her fingers smoothed through his hair and against his scalp as her lips parted and tongue flicked out at his. He opened up for her, groaning as their tongues tangled together. The taste of honey and lavender filled his mouth. I’ll be lucky to survive this day now . He found the strength to cup her breasts in both hands, feeling her nipples hard against his palms.
He’d had this woman naked and writhing under him, he’d put his mouth on her and used his fingers to make her come. She’d helped him rediscover the magic of orgasms while he showed her the power of self-pleasure.
Yet kissing her would always be what left him unhinged.
When the kiss broke, Clementine cupped his face in her hands and nipped at his bottom lip. “You’ve got me all twisted up, Oak.”
The words hit him square in the chest, reminding him of when he said it to her not too long ago. His hands settled at her waist and squeezed as he said, “I like being twisted up in you.”
Their lips brushed, stealing soft kisses as smiles formed. The scents of freshly baked cakes filtered through her office and he sighed.
“You spoil me, you know. Teaching me how to bake, kissing me stupid. I’ll expect this a lot.”
She traced his mouth with a finger. “If you’re up at five everyday, you can have this a lot.”
“Is that all it takes?”
“For now,” she whispered and kissed him again. This time when he pushed in for more, she was sliding off his lap with a smug grin. “We should do what we came here to do.”
“Remind me again what that was.”
“Something with frosting?” she said as she walked out. He got to his feet and adjusted himself as he calmed down. Then grabbed a napkin as he walked back into the kitchen.
“One last step,” Clementine told him as she split the containers between the two of them. He watched what she was doing and did his best to copy it exactly. Spreading frosting around the soft cake was oddly satisfying. It took him a little longer, but they stepped back to admire the colorful cakes and he smiled.
“You ready to taste?”
“Yes, chef!”
She cut slices off from each cake and set them on plates. He handed her a fork as he bent over the counter and dug into the first one. As the chocolate and carrot flavors exploded on his tongue, Oakley groaned and was surprised that he had something to do with that. Beside him, Clementine was making similar sounds.
“This is really fucking good,” he said, mouth full of the next one. Chai and blueberry was the most unexpected combination and somehow it worked. He tried the honey and lavender next and smacked his hand against the counter because holy shit . “I’d get married right now, if I could have any of these cakes at my wedding.”
“The things you’d do for food.”
“No, melor. The things I would do for your food. Your desserts, specifically.”
She dusted off her shoulders with one hand and licked her fork clean at the same time, making him narrow his eyes. He grabbed her waist and tugged her towards him, mouths colliding in a buttercream flavored kiss. Her tongue flicked out and swept around the outside of his lips.
When she pulled back, she fluttered her eyes at him. “Stray frosting.”
“I bet,” he mumbled and leaned in for another swipe, but the clock chimed loudly, startling them. He looked up and saw that it was already seven, which meant he had three hours before he had to be at work. Three more hours he could be with this woman. But something in her face told him that wasn’t the case.
“My staff are going to start trickling in any time now,” she admitted sadly. “I told them to come in late, so we’d have the kitchen to ourselves.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I had a really good time.”
He wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest. “Thank you for helping me out this morning.”
“It was my absolute pleasure.”
“Maybe you can cook for me again tonight?” she asked, tilting her head back.
“You got it.” He dipped his head and kissed her softly. “Thank you for the best morning ever.”
“Oh, sweetheart , you haven’t seen anything yet.”
He growled and stole another kiss as the back door swung open and Clementine’s staff spilled into the kitchen. They stopped at the sight of them and instead of hanging around to make polite conversation, he kissed her again and then stepped back with an awkward wave. His heart raced with every step he took towards his Jeep.
Obsession. Addiction. Love .
1 ?This translation of “melor” is from the Sindarin dialect of Elvish. Source: https://realelvish.net