Chapter 15 Phoebe
FIFTEEN
Phoebe
After my shower, I let Mouse in. He was sunning himself on the porch while we’d been...busy.
Didn’t quite cover what we’d done today, but I was afraid to categorize it. I’d been fully on board when I’d told him we could just have fun. I think I’d underestimated the actuality of it.
That was on me.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned me, but now I had a taste for it.
Usually, sex was a bit of fun—and when it was really good I got the added benefit of adrenaline and endorphins.
This was different. I wasn’t entirely sure it was good or bad yet.
I padded down the hall to check on Dutch.
His big body filled my bed. I used to think the king-sized bed was indulgent, but after seeing him in the middle of it, I was glad I’d gone with the upgrade. His face smoothed in sleep. The lines between his brows eased, and his curls were pretty adorable.
I’d scoured my medicine cabinet and my drawers in the bathroom and found two condoms well within their allowed dates. One was from a promotional package I got at one of the Dreamer Bookshop’s reading nights. Thank you romance authors and your cheeky gift bags.
I couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw the bright purple condom.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The other was a leftover from a less-than-worthy one-night stand the previous summer.
Even the summer punch buzz hadn’t been able to help out that date night.
He’d been a nice enough guy, just a bit handicapped by a pretty face.
They often didn’t think they needed to try hard when they were attractive.
At least in my experience.
The same could not be said for Dutch. That man knew what the heck he was doing and he did it well. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been cross-eyed from an orgasm, let alone two.
I let him sleep and went back to the living room and put on Journey’s Greatest Hits album.
I was in the mood for a little epic arena rock while I cooked the sausage and bacon.
I made a small white pizza with broccoli and nibbled on a slice as I prepped a larger one for the both of us.
Since he was still dead to the world, I decided to make a salad to go with it.
I crumbled one of the super crispy pieces of bacon over the salad and chopped up the rest for the pizza.
I snuck Mouse a bit of sausage and we shared a strip of bacon.
I’d changed into a loose tank dress since the house was warm from the pizza oven and the sun streaming through the living room. I was shredding cheese for the pizza when Dutch appeared at the mouth of the hallway. His curls a little wild, his jeans low on his hips, with his feet bare.
I resisted the urge to sigh. Damn that man for being so attractive.
“Found your jeans, I see?”
“Thanks for tossing them in the dryer.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “How long was I out?”
I glanced at my microwave. “An hour.”
He frowned. “Sorry about that.” Mouse hopped off the couch for some pets then Dutch came up behind me, caging me against the counter with a hand on either side of me. “I would have helped.” He grazed my neck with his teeth.
I dropped my chin to my chest. “I didn’t mind.”
He slipped one hand down my back and into the stretchy gap of my dress. He drew the tips of his fingers along my side and up my ribs to cup my breast. “What kind of pizza are we having?”
I leaned against him, the block of mozzarella forgotten on the cutting board. “Hmm?”
“What kind of pizza?” He punctuated each word with a light tug on my nipple.
“Two options.”
“I like options.” He licked up my neck to nip the lobe of my ear.
“White pizza with...” I trailed off as he cupped the underside of my breast, his thumb softly stroking under the tight tip. “Broccoli.”
His flicked the strap off my shoulder, baring my other breast to the air as he lifted the other to brush against the material. The combination of hot and cold left my pussy pulsing.
I gripped the counter.
He withdrew his hand from my dress and bunched the material up with a groan. “Nothing under here?”
I shook my head.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Phoebe.”
I huffed out a laugh, then a groan as he crouched behind me and lifted the rest of the dress up. “Be a good girl and hold on.”
“Dutch—” I gasped as he tipped me forward and licked me from the back. The shredder clattered to the side as I looked for something to hold on to.
“On your toes. Hips forward.”
I grabbed the front of the cabinet as his tongue snaked inside of me and stroked lightly then more forcefully.
Wet sounds filled the room as the record finished and there was nothing but the sounds of his tongue and how quickly he got me to the edge.
The rasp of his beard against my inner thigh added to the friction and the sunlit room went fuzzy as I went up and over in a flash.
“Fuck.” I slapped cabinet as I tried to stay on my toes.
He stood, turning my head to delve into my mouth, and my taste mixed with his. His fingers thrust inside me to ride the last tremors of my release. “I needed to work up an appetite,” he said against my mouth.
I groaned as I swayed against him. “Anytime.”
He laughed into the kiss, then slipped away to wash his hands. “Can I help?”
I blew out a breath. “Yeah. I’ll get the dough…um spread out.” My brain booting back up. Holy crap. I cleared my throat. “You can finish up the cheese.”
“On it.”
He nudged me aside, lifting the strap of my dress to cover my breast. “Can’t be distracted.” He palmed my ass. “Bad enough that I know what’s under there. Thought it was the perfect appetizer.”
“You’re terrible.”
His lips tipped up at the corner in a smirk, but said nothing.
We got the fixings together in companionable silence. When it was ready for the oven, I nodded to the record player. “How about you put on a record and open some wine?”
“I can do that.” He opened the wine first, then spent some time thumbing through my collection. “Your records are just as eclectic as your studio.”
“Yeah, I tend to find random stuff at swaps and flea markets. I like to paint on old windows so I’m always on the lookout.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I have a side hustle with rude signs. Kind of what I was first known for.”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Really?”
I laughed. “Yeah.” I picked up my phone off the charger and opened my social media and handed it to him when he came back over, the dulcet tones of Enya floating out of my speakers.
“Nice choice.”
“Haven’t heard her in years.” He scrolled through the images. “Wow, these are your clients?”
“Yeah. I just finished at Haven Café. I’m going to do that hanging paper thing over at the bookstore too.”
“It looks amazing.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t look for validation often, but it was really nice to hear. I stabbed the dough to make sure no air bubbles would make the pizza rise too fast then slid it into the oven.
He leaned on my kitchen island and chuckled a few times, then turned the phone around. “I like these floral ones you do.”
Punch today in the dick was highlighted with a pair of pretty fonts and a circle of daisies.
“I made one for a joke to get some engagement on my profile and it went viral. Was one of the first viral things that pushed my business forward. Then I was lucky enough to get people to notice my murals and between the two of them, I can live pretty comfortably.”
He clicked off the phone and set it face down on the counter. “Impressive.”
“It’s taken a long time to take off, but I know I’m lucky.” I put the salad in bowls for us, then whisked up the vinaigrette I’d started.
“Luck is a factor. Definitely was for me as an author too, but without the talent it wouldn’t sustain itself. Own that.”
I looked up with a smile. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes heated. “How long do we have for the pizza?”
“Not long enough for what’s going on in your head.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Because I’m thinking it too.” I added the dressing, then picked up a bowl for each of us. “Sustenance first.”
Mouse perked up, sniffing around hoping for more bacon.
Dutch gave him the side-eye, and he went back to the couch and laid down with a sigh.
“How did you do that?”
“You’re a soft touch.” He took one of the bowls from me and brushed a kiss over my lips.
“Maybe.”
We sat at the small table I had at the edge of my kitchen. My place was one big open concept house full of mismatched furniture and color. I let him have the sturdy chair under my shelf of plants.
When he sat down, my pothos plant draped over his shoulder.
I pressed my lips together against a smile. “Sorry. You’re a bit tall for my space.”
“It’s very colorful.”
“You’re just used to neutral colors.” I plucked a tomato out of my bowl and popped it in my mouth.
“Is there a color you don’t like?”
“Nope.”
“None?”
“Well, I could do without beige.”
He rolled his eyes.
“So, tell me Atticus Dutch…why are you in New York anyway? Relocating for a different change of pace?”
He didn’t answer right away and I was afraid that I’d skipped right over the line of what we should talk about. But after a few bites, he met my gaze. “My editor and publishing house sent me here to finish my book.”
“Having some writer’s block? Is that what they call it?”
“Something like that.”
“Can I help?”
“It’s not something anyone can help with.”
“Are you sure? Sometimes a different point of view makes all the difference.”
The timer for the pizza went off. Dutch stood. “I’ll get it.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to ruin the day poking at him. It was a rare thing for me to have any sort of creative block. For me, it was harder to turn things off.
I got tunnel vision on a project and lost time for huge stretches of time.
But I also knew all creatives had a different process.
Maybe what he needed from me was to actually empty his brain. I got up and rounded my kitchen island. He’d taken the pizza out, but it was too hot to cut yet.
I pulled the pizza cutter out of his hand and set it aside, then drew him away from the butcher block.
“Phoebe, I know you’re just trying to—”
I put my finger over his lips. “No helping.”
He frowned down at me.
I went up on my toes. “Just this.” I kissed his chin. The dense hair of his beard tickled my nose and lips.
He was still rigid. Whatever pain he was dealing with was so ingrained at this point, he couldn’t set it aside.
I toyed with the hair at his nape, drawing him down to me. I brushed my lips over his, easy as a sunny afternoon with no problems.
Even if he didn’t believe it, I offered it.
“No strings,” I whispered against his mouth. I slid my fingers over his shoulders and down his torso to wrap around his waist before I pressed my cheek against his chest. His heart was galloping. “Just let yourself forget for a while.”
The tension in his shoulders melted as he slipped an arm around me.
I listened to his heartbeat slow as he drew in a ragged breath.
When he rested his cheek against the top of my head, I felt the shift.
This time it was inside me.
I was going to fall in love with this man.
I could see it in my head like one of my paintings.
I just wasn’t sure if it was going to end in tears or laughter.
I had a feeling it would be both.