Chapter 9
Amelie dragged herself out of bed at three-thirty the next morning, foggy-eyed and sore in all the right places. She didn’t regret the loss of sleep, only that the night hadn’t been longer and she’d promised the Broussards she’d bring fresh bread and pastries to sell in their store. Big mistake.
Note to self. Monday is your day off. Make no promises for your day off.
They’d gone for round two after hamburgers and yogurt and a desperate search for another condom.
Maurice found one buried deep in his wallet behind an emergency one-hundred-dollar bill.
If he’d had more condoms, not hundreds, they’d have kept going all the way until time for her to get up and get to work.
After gathering her clothes, Amelie tiptoed into the bathroom and eased the door closed. Only then did she turn on the light and risk a glance at herself in the mirror.
Her dark hair stood out at all angles in glorious tangles. Her neck sported a red beard rash from Maurice’s five-o’clock shadow, and she looked like she’d had fillers injected in her lips because they were so swollen from kissing that gorgeous man lying naked in her bed.
She raised her fingers to her lips and stared at the woman in the reflection, wondering who she was with the radiant glow of a woman who’d experienced the best sex of her entire life.
She had to remind herself to enjoy it while it lasted. After all, it was just sex.
No strings besides those on her bikini panties and none of that C-word... Commitment.
It was hard enough to find a man who wanted a forever partner. Amelie wasn’t even sure how one would compete with a ghost to secure Maurice’s affection.
Her chest tightened.
Maurice must have been deeply in love with his fiancée to be still grieving her after so many years.
She must have been special.
Amelie realized she wanted to know more about her. She’d been such a big part of Maurice’s life. Their time together had helped shape him into the man he was today.
With a sigh, she went to work on her hair, easing out the tangles so that she could pull it back in the requisite ponytail that kept it out of her way and out of the food.
Too tired to worry about makeup, she splashed cool water on her face, brushed her teeth, pulled on the sundress she’d chosen to wear for the day and slipped her feet into strappy sandals.
She allowed herself a brief glance in the full-length mirror, knowing full well she’d dressed nicer than usual because of him.
They would be friends with benefits until one or the other decided the benefits were no longer necessary.
Still, it didn’t hurt to show him a little of what he’d be missing should he decide the benefits were no longer a thing.
As for Amelie, she didn’t want the friends-with-benefits perks to end anytime soon. After a number of dry years with no more sex than what she provided herself with her battery-powered boyfriend, she found that a living, breathing, full-bodied man was so much better.
And if he made her feel safe and protected and was fun to be with, even when they weren’t banging the headboard—bonus. Her battery-powered boyfriend couldn’t hold up his end of a conversation. All he did was hum.
Amelie touched the red beard burn on her neck and sighed. She’d have to be satisfied with whatever time they had together. Once the danger was past, Maurice would have no reason to hang out with her. They might see each other passing on the street. It was a small town.
He might eventually move past his grief and find a woman who made him happy.
Then Amelie could wave at the couple shopping for engagement rings or baby furniture. She’d be all right with that, wouldn’t she?
A stab of something that felt like jealousy jabbed her in the gut.
Oh, hell no.
In their short time in close quarters, he’d gotten under her skin. Though she’d assured him it was just sex, it wasn’t. Not to her, anyway.
That thought shook her to the core. She froze with her hand on the doorknob, afraid to open the bathroom door. Afraid he’d be awake and see what she was feeling reflected in her eyes or the way she moved around him.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Amelie? Are you all right in there?”
“Yes,” she squeaked, cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m fine.” She dragged in a steadying breath, let it out, pasted a smile on her face and flung open the door.
He stood there, bare-chested, wearing his jeans, though he hadn’t bothered to button them.
With every intention of ducking past him, she stepped forward.
Maurice took her hands and pulled her into his arms, tipped her chin up and brushed his lips across hers. “Got time for a quickie?” he murmured against her ear.
She laughed shakily, her body instantly humming with desire. “We used the last condom,” she reminded him.
“Don’t need a condom to get you there,” he whispered in her ear and nibbled on her lobe.
Lost in a haze of lust, she closed her eyes.
Her head fell back automatically, giving him full access to her neck.
He accepted the invitation, trailing his lips downward to the junction of her neck and shoulder.
“What’s this? A dress? Mmm.” He slid his fingers beneath the spaghetti strap and pushed it off her shoulder.
Then he worked the other one until it fell around her elbow.
“I should get down to the kitch—” Amelie’s breath snagged in her lungs as he tugged the front of her dress down below her breasts and captured one in his palm.
He bent to tease the nipple until it puckered into a tight little button.
Her hands rose automatically to weave into the hair at the back of his head, pressing him closer.
Maurice bent, caught the backs of her thighs and lifted.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her sex riding the mound beneath his denim fly as he carried her back into the bathroom and sat her on the edge of the counter.
“Have you ever worked all day wearing a dress?” he asked, his mouth moving over her breast while his hand slid under her skirt.
“Y-yes,” she faltered as his finger nudged her panties to the side and slid into her.
God, she was already so hot and wet. She wanted him inside her, making use of the lubricant her body produced in excess when he touched her like that.
Maurice hooked the elastic and dragged the panties down her legs and off, then tucked them into his jeans pocket. Then he dropped to his knees, lifted her skirt, draped her legs over his shoulders and went under.
Resistance was futile when he did the things he did to her down there—licking, sucking and thrusting into her with his tongue. But when he focused on her clit, he slayed her, sending shock waves throughout her body and making her tremble with the force of her release.
She clung to him, too shaken by the intensity of the sensations to form coherent thoughts, much less words.
When he finally surfaced, she slumped against him, murmuring, “I’m buying stock in condoms.”
He laughed and gathered her into his arms. “It’ll be an excellent investment. I can see us needing a warehouse full of supplies at this rate.”
Her arms were still shaking as she struggled to adjust her dress.
Maurice brushed her hands aside, tugged the bodice over her breasts, pausing briefly to tweak her pebbled nipples. He swept the straps up over her shoulders and cupped her face in his palm. “I never knew three-thirty in the morning could be this good.”
“It’s never been this good. You’ve completely moved the bar.” She laid her hands on his shoulders as he helped her off the counter to stand on her feet.
“If you’re done in here, I’ll only be a minute,” he said, holding the door for her to exit.
She held out her hand. “My panties?”
His eyebrows rose then fell. “Consider them payment. Better yet, a reminder of that bar we set.” He patted his pocket. “Plus, it’ll prolong the arousal as you work without them.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t do that. This dress is too short. What if it rides up? What if someone comes in?”
“You said yourself that the shop is closed on Monday. It’ll be our secret.” He gave her a gentle nudge, sending her over the threshold into the bedroom. “And no cheating.”
Amelie stood in her bedroom, her body still thrumming from her orgasm, cool air flowing over her private parts beneath her skirt.
How was she supposed to get any work done when all she wanted to do was mount Maurice and ride him all day long?
She marched over to her dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept her panties neatly folded. She stared down at the silky scraps that barely covered anything, her girly parts still throbbing from her release.
She pushed the drawer in and left the bedroom. In the kitchenette, she opened the refrigerator, pulled out a small can of apple juice, tucked it beneath her dress and pressed it to her sex, willing the fire to abate to a point at which her brain might engage.
When the door in the other room creaked open, she almost dropped the can. She quickly rinsed it off and put it back in the refrigerator. This was insane. If she were a man, she’d have a continuous hard-on. She couldn’t function like this.
Maurice appeared in the doorway, wearing his boots and carrying his T-shirt. His jeans still hung open, exposing a tempting amount of pubic hair, and was that the velvety tip of his erection?
“Are you going commando?” she asked.
He dragged the shirt over his head and down his torso. “Does that bother you?”
“N-no,” she stuttered.
“That’s a shame.” He tucked his T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans, adjusted his package and secured the buttons, effectively blocking her view. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, eager to leave the intimacy of her apartment. Surely, she’d get her head on straight in the bakery kitchen.
Maurice was first out onto the landing, looking both ways before he allowed her out of the door. He rested a hand against the small of her back as they descended the stairs.