Chapter 10
Summer
Why is it impossible to say no to him?
When he fixes those gorgeous blue eyes on me my knees get weak, my heart starts pounding, and all I can do is lose myself in him all over again. Even with pies in the oven and two more in front of me, I’m completely preoccupied with the man in the room. His touch. His kiss. His hands on my breasts.
“We can’t…” I pant, more aroused than I should be when we’ve done almost nothing yet.
“Yeah, we can.” He reaches down and unbuttons my shorts, letting them fall to the ground.
“Tate…” I moan when he bites my neck, sucking on the skin just hard enough to make goose bumps break out. “Not where the food is.”
That’s about all the reality I can manage, but he hears me and I step out of my shorts so he can guide me to the other side of the kitchen.
“Back against the wall,” he murmurs, dropping to his haunches in front of me.
I comply before even realizing what I’m doing because I’m too busy watching him. He’s nuzzling my crotch, running his fingers along the edge of my panties.
It’s intoxicating to see his dark head pressed against my core, breath warm and hands firm at my hips.
“You wet for me?” he murmurs, dragging my panties down a fraction of an inch at a time. He lifts his gaze to mine, and I manage a shaky nod.
“So wet.”
“Good girl.” He directs me in stepping out of my panties and then lifts my right leg, bringing it over his shoulder and leaving me wide open. Ready for his—
“Oh Jesus…” All I can do is moan when he slips his tongue between my folds.
“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs. He uses his fingers to spread my lips and laps at the arousal pooling there.
I look down and there’s nothing sexier than seeing him buried between my legs, one hand on my hip and the other squeezing my ass cheek.
He pulls back a little and then blows right on my clit, and it’s like he lit a match there.
Every one of my nerve endings is on fire as he sucks hard and then pulls back, blowing on it.
“Tate!” I dig my fingers into his hair, even though they’re still covered in flour.
“Like that?” He chuckles against my overheated flesh.
When he snakes out his tongue and runs it back and forth along my slit, a familiar coiling starts low in my belly.
When he slides a finger inside me and curves it forward, my knees start to shake.
The second finger brings me right to the edge of detonation, but it’s only when he tugs my clit with his teeth that everything spirals into oblivion.
Between what he’s doing with his fingers and the pinprick of pain from what he’s doing with his mouth, I come hard.
“Fuck!” I howl as wave after wave washes over me, and then he presses on something deep inside that sends me over the edge again.
Finally, when I’m so blissed out my knees almost buckle, he gently puts my leg down and wraps his arms around me.
“That was fun,” he whispers against my hair.
“Yes. Yes, it was.”
Before he can answer, the oven timer goes off.
He chuckles. “That’s fortuitous timing.”
“We need to clean up before touching the food.”
“We do.”
We quickly wash our hands in the sink and then I get the pies out while he puts in two more.
“You have flour in your hair,” I say, grinning at him.
“Whose fault is that?” he counters, laughing.
I shrug innocently. “I dunno…”
“When do I get to try some different pies?”
“These are for sale,” I say as sternly as I can. “I can’t just cut a piece for you.”
“Well, I’m going to buy one, so tell me which one so I can have a slice.”
“I was going to let you have one of the chocolate peanut butter since I don’t bake those and if I need more, I can make them in the morning before work.”
“I already tried one of those,” he pretends to complain.
I arch my brows. “How many are you planning to take with you?”
“As many as I can fit in a shopping bag,” he replies.
“Really?” I hesitate.
“Yup. I was thinking four or five, so I can feed the crew.”
“Well, that means we’re going to be up late baking.”
“That’s okay.”
“Then you need to go into the dining room and bring in some boxes. They’re flat, you have to put them together, and I’ll need a dozen. And grab the roll of stickers that say Summer’s Sweets.”
“You got it.” He leaves the room and comes back a minute later with the items I asked for.
“I think the boxes are pretty self-explanatory,” I say, my hands buried in flour again. “You just fold all the sides, and there are little slots the pieces go into.”
“Yup. Got it.” He starts putting together the boxes. “How many pies will there be left if I take four?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got ten set up right now, and I’ll probably make four more, so I’ll only be short two for Dolly. And like I said, I can make the chocolate peanut butter before work. I can always make up the difference with half a dozen more of those.”
“How much are they?”
“I charge twenty-five for the chocolate peanut butter and twenty for the others.”
“How much do the supplies cost you?”
“The chocolate peanut butter is close to seven dollars, since I use crushed up Oreos for the crust, but the others are more like four or five.”
“Nice profit margin but you’re not making a ton of extra money based on your limited supply.”
“Nothing I can do without another oven.”
“Can’t you bake at the restaurant?”
“No, we’re too busy.”
“And renovating the kitchen would probably cost a lot.”
“Around fifteen thousand. Believe me, I’ve done the research. But I’m saving up. Anyway, where the heck is our dinner? I’m starving.” The last thing I want to talk about is my lack of finances. Especially to him.
“I think I got a notification that it’s here.” He opens the app on my phone.
“Oh, my God.” I stare at him in horror. “Did they knock while we were…busy?”
“Did they?” He grimaces before heading for the front door.
Sure enough, he comes back with two big bags of food.
“I am never ordering from them again!” I whisper, heat searing my cheeks.
“It’s not like they could see us,” he protests, putting the bags on the edge of the counter since most of it is taken up with the pie crusts I’m rolling. “Now, come on, let’s take a break and eat before this gets cold.”
“My friend’s brother is their delivery guy—I will never hear the end of it if he saw or heard something.”
“You’re an adult. What is there to say?”
“You have no idea how gossip runs through a small town.” I get plates and silverware, and we bring everything to the formal dining room.
“We used to have huge Thanksgiving dinners in here,” I say thoughtfully, sinking into a chair. “Before my dad left, and when my grandparents were still alive. The whole family would come.”
“Not anymore?” he asks softly.
“The family is kind of all over the place now. When my grandmother died, it’s like all the traditions died with her. Dad started a new family, Mom got sick, and everyone else kind of took sides in the divorce, you know? It happens.”
“That still seems shitty, but I get it.”
“It’s okay. You have the family you’re born into and the family you choose and believe me, my chosen family is awesome.
Dolly hosts Friends-giving every year at the diner.
Free of charge. Anyone who comes in between two and seven can just get a plate, hang out, watch whatever football game is on TV.
I bake the pies, Dolly provides the turkey, ham, and drinks, and everyone else brings side dishes.
And don’t get it twisted—there’s always enough food to feed an army. ”
“That sounds nice. Reminds me of my relationship with the band. We’re more like brothers than just bandmates, you know?”
“I prefer my chosen family anyway.” I cut a piece of veal parmesan and put it in my mouth. “Oh, this is good.”
“The penne is good too.” He spoons a little onto my plate.
“Tell me about your family,” I say.
He lifts one shoulder dismissively. “Nothing to tell. I’m the big disappointment. I play that devil music instead of using my God-given talents for good. That kind of thing.”
“Really? Even with a platinum album now?”
“Yup. When the Karnal Death tour was canceled, I heard all kinds of shit about that, like it’s God telling us that what we’re doing is wrong.”
“But that had nothing to do with you,” I protest in confusion. “You guys weren’t the ones who did anything wrong.”
“Tell that to my parents. Anyway, we don’t talk much. My mom reaches out once in a while but it’s more out of obligation, I think, than anything else. She wants me to meet a nice girl, settle down, move back to Minnesota, and teach music at the local high school or something.”
“So, they acknowledge that you’re talented, they just don’t want you to play guitar in a rock band.”
“Exactly.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Well, if you ever need a place to be on Thanksgiving, you know where to find us.”
“I’ll be in Europe this year. We’re leaving mid-September.”