Chapter 36
Cienna
Reed and I fell into a pattern. Covert hand-holding, glances, touches while he was on campus.
Silly, joyful pizza and pastry-baking-filled evenings at his house.
Abi and I had nailed my grandma’s recipes, and we even created our own masterpiece bombolini.
She called them “Abberlonis.” It was pretty much a “kitchen sink” version of the tiny donut ball, with anything that caught Abi’s eye in the baking aisle.
They were rolled in sugar and rainbow sprinkles, then filled with chocolate chips and Funfetti frosting.
I thought the magical ingredient, however, was her tinkly little giggles as she poured everything into my large mixing bowl. My grandmother used to say her secret recipe was special wishes. Abberlonis had their own special touch: glee.
The afternoons Abigail had short visits with her grandparents, Reed and I would spend time together. Alone. A rare thing. These moments held their own special kind of intimacy, but it was always clouded by worry and the absence of one sunshiny girl.
The time was usually spent watching a movie that was—gasp—rated PG-13.
Typically a ridiculous ’90s comedy that took our minds off the niggling sensation that something was off.
We took the opportunity to cuddle so tight that our bodies connected in almost every single place possible.
All of our pent-up need to touch was tended to, and sometimes, the movie would play as we found our lips connecting.
Snuggles turned to rubbing, writhing, and make-out sessions that melted my mind to mush.
Each visitation, the desire between us burned hotter, but there was a line we hadn’t crossed.
“God, I want you so bad,” Reed said repeatedly.
“But when I finally have you, I’m not going to be able to let you go.
I need more than a couple of rushed hours to show you even a fraction of what I want to do with you—to you.
” Each time he said this, I swore that pool of heat low in my belly roared in frustration, like bright red bubbling lava.
It was evident after each of Abi’s visits that she was growing closer and closer to her grandparents.
She was chatty and excited each time she talked about her grandmother, and each time, I saw the strain it caused Reed.
Each visit also brought the looming overnight visit closer, and when it was finally presented to Abigail, she squealed and danced and listed twenty things she would do during her sleepover. The girl had big plans.
The night prior, I peeked in on Reed tucking in Abigail. He stayed a little longer after she fell asleep, fussing with her blanket and tucking Cheeto into her side, lingering.
When he finally left her room, I met him in the hallway and clutched his hand as we returned to the living room. “You okay?”
He nodded, but his eyes were cast downward. “Yeah. It’s just the first overnight, you know?”
I smoothed my hands on his chest, and he met my stare with a sigh. “I’m here for you,” I said, reminding him he had a partner who could help him carry the burden he’d shouldered for so long.
He drew me in and rested his chin on the top of my head.
“Besides, it could be our first sleepover too?” I squeezed my eyes closed, not sure if this was the wrong time to presume he’d want me to stay. “I mean, if you want.”
“Please.”
It was all the confirmation I needed, but then he added, “If you think it’s okay. Like a good idea?”
I thought about my conversations with Karen.
Her insistence of being mindful of fraternization, but also every knowing look I received when Reed’s name came up.
I’d never been a “cross that bridge when we got to it” person, but the idea of a bridge that didn’t include Reed at all made my heart feel like it would shatter.
The mixer buzzed under my hand as I turned it off and pulled back on the head.
Its vibrations, combined with the scent and warmth in the kitchen, brought back fond memories of learning family recipes from Grandma when the weather called for days tucked indoors.
Reed’s heady blend of freshly showered and something woodsy swirled into the moment, and I closed my eyes, cherishing the joining of past and present.
Reed stood behind me, nuzzling his chin on my shoulder, activating every erogenous zone with the simple gesture.
His soft kiss and hum caressed the crook of my neck, stirring my insides further.
I scooped the dough from the mixer and plopped it on the counter.
After sprinkling some flour, I began to gently knead and flip it, shaping it into a smooth ball.
Reed’s voice rumbled between us as he grabbed my hip.
“Wow, how do I get the pizza dough treatment?” With a flop of my head, I giggled and turned around, schooling giddy features to give him a scolding.
“You, sir”—I pointed at the stove, where the sauce bubbled slowly, the robust smell of tomatoes and spices wafting with my movement—“are supposed to be stirring.” Taking the few steps to the stove, I rolled my eyes at him as I mimicked an exaggerated stirring motion.
I dipped my finger into the sauce, checking the temperature, ready to taste test. “When I was little…” I started, but my hand was yanked away. The warmth of Reed’s lips and teasing tongue engulfed my finger before it even registered that he’d swooped in and stolen my sampling.
“You thief!”
His lashes fluttered shut as a moan traveled from him and vibrated through my body, head to toe, and then settled right in my core.
When his green eyes popped open, he was met with my glare and a tug of my finger, prying it from his delicious mouth, not missing the graze of his teeth.
Before my next blink, his lips crashed into mine.
My body was pudding, melting into him. Reed pulled away, wrenching a whimper from me as he reached over my shoulder to the pan, then held a sauce-coated finger between us.
My senses battled with what was tugging at my appetite—his mouth, or the saucy taste?
I darted my tongue out, meeting his gaze, which held a mix of heat and mischief.
My favorite look on him. Fuck the sauce, fuck the pizza, I wanted his lips. And so much more.
A dollop was booped onto my nose, and he wiped the remainder of the sauce from his finger across my lower lip, his tongue mirroring the movement. This man was trying to kill me. Death by lust and Grandma’s marinara recipe.
A giggle escaped me, and he gobbled it up with a smashing kiss. My head spun, sinking, slipping… The smearing of the sauce between us was spicy, tempting me to devour him, rake my fingers through his hair, glue myself so close to him that I could feel if he was as turned on as me.
His body pushed into mine, steering us back until he caged me in against the counter. Urgency swelled inside me as he pinned me, our bodies pressed together, hands clambering to touch skin and tug away clothes.
The counter dug into my back, but all my senses homed in on the hardness at my front. I’d felt him before—I’d breached his “nest,” for crying out loud—but this was different. There was a promise behind the place where we connected.
Our breaths were ragged, and our chests heaved, barely coming up for air.
Reed’s knee nudged between my legs, and I opened up for him, relishing in the contact he made at the juncture of my thighs.
At the sweet nibbles placed down my neck, which then turned into breathy caresses across my collar.
His strangled voice tickled through me. “I want to haul you to my bed right now and taste how wet you are for me, but there is a pizza to be made.”
Oh shit. Yes.
Attempting to rein myself in, I closed my eyes.
My heart raced, my core throbbed, and my thoughts filled with a craving that wasn’t for a slice of pizza.
Through this muddle of want—no, need—I couldn’t even recall the next step in the recipe, one I’d known by heart since I was seven years old.
With a shaky exhale and a few blinks, I stared at Reed’s kiss-reddened lips as he said, “What’s next, Chef? ”
Fumbling out of my fog, I stammered, “Toppings, I guess?”
The glint in his eyes winked brighter, and then he moved around me and dug inside a grocery bag on the counter, while I moved to the fridge and hauled out containers of fixings I preemptively prepared.
“Okay, I have olives, onion, bell pepper…” I listed the contents as I set them down.
“Are these the kinds of peppers you like?” Holding the tupperware of sweet pepperoncinis, I spun around to show Reed and was met with the sexiest, most devious smirk.
There he stood, biting down on his lip to hold back a grin as he held up a pineapple.
Warmth tickled my cheeks, and my smile grew. I was about to get ridiculed for my choice in pizza topping, endlessly teased, for sure, but the thought of him picking out a pineapple just for my sake made my heart want to explode from my chest.
“You got pineapple.” My voice was mostly a squeak.
“I did.”
“That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” I admitted.
He scoffed, “That’s absurd and something I will need to remedy right away.
You deserve far more than produce from the fruit aisle when it comes to romance.
” With a kiss on my forehead, he handed me the fruit.
“Hold this.” As he reached into the cabinet above me, the scent of his deodorant and body wash took over my senses, and mixed with the sweet fragrance from the pineapple, I was taken back to months ago when the smell of tropical fruits and the sound of crashing waves started us on our romantic journey.
Humming my appreciation, I closed my eyes and took it in, until a throat cleared.
“Are you going to keep hugging that, or did you want me to chop it?”