Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Caroline
I’d barely finished cleaning up the last traces of cinnamon and sugar before I texted Noah: “Closing time?”
His reply came instantly: “Come over. I’ll wait.”
The city was quiet as I walked to the café. The lights inside were dim, just the glow from the pastry case and a single lamp over the bar. Noah was wiping down the counter, but his whole face lit up when he saw me.
“You made these?” he asked, grabbing one of the still-warm rolls from the tray I carried.
I nodded, proud. “With the new mixer. It’s a beast.”
He took a bite, eyes rolling back. “Marry me,” he said, then laughed when I blushed.
We sat at a corner table, alone in the hush of the closed shop. The coffee tasted even better with the pastries. I told him about my day, how I couldn’t stop thinking about the bakery space, how I’d already started a list of recipes I wanted to try.
He listened, really listened, hands folded, watching me like nothing else mattered.
After a while, he said, “I’d love to see you open that place. The world deserves your cinnamon rolls.”
I stared at my hands, suddenly shy. “You really think I could do it?”
He reached across the table, laced his fingers with mine. “I know you can.”
His words sent a shiver through me. Not fear this time—just pure want.
He stood, tugged me to my feet. “Come here,” he whispered.
We moved behind the bar, into the dim alcove near the espresso machine. He pulled me against his chest, mouth finding mine. The kiss was slow and hungry, all warmth and cinnamon and longing.
He pressed me back against the wall, hands on my hips, holding me steady. My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
He slid his palms up my sides, over my waist, then higher, brushing the sides of my breasts through the soft fabric of my dress. I gasped, and he pulled away just enough to meet my eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded, tugging him closer.
He bent his head, kissed my neck, nipped my earlobe, sent a wave of heat through every nerve ending. He moved his hands to my back, then under my dress, exploring with slow patience. He made me feel like every inch of my body was worth worshipping.
He slipped one strap of my dress down, then the other, kissing the new bare skin as it appeared. He slid my bra off, and suddenly I was exposed—my breasts full and heavy, nipples tight from arousal and the chill in the air.
He looked at me like I was a feast.
He cupped my ample breasts, and brushed his thumbs over my nipple peaks, making me moan. He took one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, and I almost lost my balance.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him to me. I wanted more, all of him, and didn’t care who might walk in or what anyone thought.
He slid his hands lower, found my thighs, and nudged them apart. His fingers brushed over my panties, teasing at first, then more demanding. He found the wetness there and groaned.
“Fuck, Caroline,” he whispered, voice rough. “You’re perfect.”
I reached for him, fumbling with his belt, needing to feel him. When I freed him, he was already hard, thickness heavy in my palm.
He growled softly, biting my shoulder, as I stroked him, learning the length and girth that waited for me. The thought of him inside me was all I could think about.
He lifted me onto the counter, spread my legs, and pulled my panties aside. The cold of the marble made me shiver, but his mouth was hot as he kissed his way down my belly, then lower.
He tasted me, tongue finding every spot that made me whimper, until I was desperate and pleading.
I pulled him up, kissing him hard, needing to taste myself on his lips.
He lined himself up, eyes locked on mine, and pushed in slow—so slow, every inch a new discovery. He was big, but the stretch was exquisite. He paused, letting me adjust, then slid deeper, filling me completely.
We moved together, bodies tangled, the edge of the counter digging into my back in the best possible way.
He touched my breast, thumb circling my nipple, while his other hand held my thigh wide.
I came hard, clinging to his shoulders, gasping his name.
He followed, pulsing inside me, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut.
After, he held me, still joined, kissing my hair and stroking my spine until I stopped shaking.
We cleaned up together, then walked out into the night, hand in hand.
I’d never felt so wanted. So complete.
And when I lay in bed that night, every inch of my body still humming with pleasure, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have it all.
Happiness.
Love.
And, maybe someday soon, my own kitchen.
With Noah in it, stealing the first taste of everything I made.