7. Dessert Rights #2
A resigned sigh comes next, then a nod. “Called it off. Canceled the venue. Said we were sorry to all the guests. Told the bakery we didn’t need the coconut cake after all,” he says, and there’s extra regret in his tone, like the cake was special to him in some way.
“Was it your favorite? Cake flavor?”
He turns his gaze to me, his eyes vulnerable.
“Yeah. I was…really looking forward to it. All of it. But also? I really like coconut cake, and she’d said, ‘For you, let’s do the coconut cake, since I love you so much.
’ And then I put the house we’d shared on the market.
Did the walk-through. Handled the inspections.
All of it on my own, even though we owned it together.
Today, we signed the papers at the closing. That’s the end of the splitting up.”
“Oh god,” I say, my heart hollowing out for him. “That’s a lot.”
He shoots me an intrigued look. “It was a lot,” he says evenly, then his eyes twinkle with…mischief? No, those are dirty thoughts written on his irises. “Does that mean I get to pick dessert?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically, since that’s a hell of a hard story. “A canceled wedding trumps an unfair firing.”
“Good,” he says, then stretches an arm across me and tugs at the sash of my bathrobe till it’s undone. The robe falls open. One breast is exposed. “Then, sit on my face. That’s what I want for dessert.”
Far be it for me to deny him dessert rights.
* * *
My hands are braced on the cushioned headboard, my breasts are bouncing, and I’m officially a member of the Beard Fan Club. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass as he grips me tight while devouring me.
I feel shameless, worshipped as I rock back and forth against his mouth, his scratchy stubble whisking across my inner thighs with every decadent move.
It’s a combo I didn’t know I needed. It’s like the sweet-and-salty snack that changes your life.
The rough bristle of his facial hair mixes with the soft touch of his mouth, and this woman is in dirty heaven.
I’m close, so damn close as I chase my pleasure on his face.
I’ve enjoyed sex before. I’ve come before.
And I don’t know why—maybe it’s the freedom of a one-night stand, the luxury of the hotel room, the antidote of sex and French fries to my shitty, topsy-turvy day—but I’ve never felt like this.
So unabashed, so reckless, so goddamn carefree as I do with Sawyer, the Bearded Wonder Fuck.
So I give in to the hedonism of tonight. I go off like a shot, coming within an inch of my life, hard and mercilessly and so damn loud I’m sure the hotel is going to kick me out for indecent noise exposure.
And when I come down with another pant, and another moan, breathless and still wildly aroused, I say, “That was…unbelievable.”
“That’s my new favorite word,” he says.
“Let me…with you.”
But Sawyer shakes his head, reaches for another condom, then says, “Get on my dick. I’m not done with dessert.”
I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, and I’m okay with that.
After, when we’ve showered and I’ve collapsed like a wet noodle in his arms, he strokes my hair, murmuring softly. He drops a kiss to my forehead, then my cheek, and when he tucks my hair behind my ear, I’m sure he’s going to whisper sweet nothings, and I tense.
I’m not sure I want sweet nothings.
But he just says, in a sleepy voice, “What’s this called?”
Then his hand drifts down to my ass, and he curves his palm over my cheek, stroking the spot where my ass meets the top of my leg. “Underbutt? Butt fold? Daisy Dukes?”
I chuckle. “Underbutt.”
He squeezes mine. “I like your underbutt.”
Yeah, it’s a real good thing I went into tonight with my eyes wide open. My eyes flutter closed now though, as I snuggle against him. “I guess our one-time thing was a two-time thing,” I say.
Another kiss. Another smile, then his words: “Another reason you’re perfect.”
I don’t want more. Truly, I don’t. So I should be happy he’s on the same page. And I am.
I really am.
Even though he’s right. I do like him. And with that fizzy feeling swirling around me, I drift off to sleep.
* * *
The sun beams through a sliver of the hotel curtains as my eyes flicker open. It’s so nice and warm here in bed, under the soft, fluffy covers with…Is that Sawyer’s arm wrapped around my belly?
I glance down.
His big hand rests against me. His other arm is under me and roped around my chest, and his face is burrowed in my neck.
Holy smokes, this man is not just a cuddler. He’s a cuddle monster. He’s smashed against me, holding me close, and breathing deeply.
A soft sigh follows, then a mumble that sounds like my name. A barely audible, early-morning, “Chloe.”
It’s said like an answered prayer.
I smile as he sleeps. If our situations were different…If we both weren’t so raw and tender…If I didn’t need to get my act together…
I indulge in the warm comfort of his arms for another minute, then with some reluctance, I slip out of bed, pad to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. After I take care of business, wash my face, and freshen up, I return to the room. He’s still snoozing.
It’s sweet, really.
He must need it.
But I need to go. I have a dog training session back in Darling Springs, so I pull on my now-dry underwear from yesterday, along with my bra and the sundress he bought me. I grab the bag with my sneakers—still damp—and my other clothes.
He rustles, flipping to his stomach, one strong arm sticking straight out, hand reaching, seeking.
Is he…looking for me?
My heart speeds up stupidly. I half want to head over to him, move in close, and whisper, I’m still here.
But I don’t know the man. He might be an asshole in the mornings.
Many are. I doubt he is though. He’s surly, but always a gentleman.
I can just tell. It’s the Pisces in me. At least he didn’t behead me though.
With that small victory, I pad quietly to the nightstand and grab my Coach clutch and my phone. The battery’s low, but there’s enough.
He still doesn’t move.
So be it.
“Thanks, Sawyer,” I whisper.
A sigh falls from those sexy lips, and his beard is just a touch thicker than it was when I met him yesterday.
But he slumbers more. He must need it after the day he had, and the night we enjoyed.
I turn around, my heart tugging with a surprising wistfulness, and head to the door, passing the bureau along the way. A notepad winks at me. I stop. Think.
Then, I go for it.
I grab the pen next to it and write a note.
You were the best kind of surprise. Thank you for the orgasms. May you find the coconut cake of your dreams. And someone who deserves to share it with you.
Xoxo
Chloe
I place it on the bureau next to a key, then leave the room and the most wonderful night I’ve experienced in a long time behind me.
Once I exit the hotel, I shield my eyes against the morning sun as I walk to the parking lot where I left my car.
It’s not too far and walking is cheaper than taking a Lyft.
Along the way, I click open my camera roll from last night and quickly delete Sawyer’s ID pic before I have second thoughts. Before I even look twice at it.
I empty the trash so I don’t break our one-time-only rule.
With that done, I hop over to the group thread with my friends and delete the license pic, not only for me, but for everyone.
It’s just better this way. I don’t want to be tempted to google him and daydream about what might be when I’m in a different place in my life.
I’m in this place, and I need to live in the here and now, not in a fantasy of coconut-cake dreams.
I reach my car and jiggle the handle just so, finding that one little spot that lets me open this bag of bones on wheels, then scoot across, bumping my thigh on the console and probably bruising it.
I turn on the car and hit the road.
Back to reality.