Chapter Two #2
“That’s so hot.” She slid her hand around my elbow. “I love macarons.”
Without meaning to, she’d forced me to recognize the true reason I’d been so irritated earlier.
Standing in a back kitchen day after day, without a real person to share my cooking with, I was dying a death by a million cuts.
No wonder the work had become a chore. I’d had no idea who I was feeding. Until tonight.
“Let me ask you something,” I said, and her smile melted. It reminded me her honesty was the result of some bucket list. Maybe she normally hid behind walls.
She swallowed and rallied. “Ask away.”
“What do you think pumpkin spice is?”
Her whole face transformed into pure delight. “Delicious.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Not you, too.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those snobs who’s too good for pumpkin.”
“There’s no pumpkin!” I cried, still laughing.
She knocked my shoulder with hers. “Well, no shit, Chef Ramsay.”
Oh, no she did not. I was about to launch into a diatribe when Chelsea announced, “There’s my car. You want a ride home?”
Again, no hesitation. “That would be great.”
Any way to keep talking to her.
As I settled into the passenger seat, she handed me her phone, map open, and I typed in my address, tempted to cross a boundary and text myself so I’d have her number.
Instead, I set the phone on the dash and hoped she’d share that in her own time.
I buckled my seat belt, determined to use the ride to get to know her better. “Where exactly do you live?”
The engine started, and she glanced back to reverse out of the parking space. “Belmont.”
That wasn’t very informative. Belmont sprawled for a square mile south of the Downtown Mall.
I tried a new tack. “So what do you do?”
“I’m a graphic designer for websites.”
“Cool. That sounds like an amazing career.”
“Hardly a career. I have to subsidize it with a job as a barista at a coffee shop.” She shifted into drive, and the GPS commanded her to turn onto Water Street. “It probably would be a solid career if I went ahead and took a position at a real company instead of freelancing.”
“So why don’t you?”
As she exited the parking lot, she said, “I harbor this increasingly far-fetched dream of leaving here. I want the freedom to take my job on the road.” Her eyes were fixed forward, the streetlights illuminating her face.
“A traveling graphic designer?”
“Exactly.” She threw the blinker on at the light and turned left onto Ridge.
“Why do you think it’s far-fetched?” I watched her expression tighten. “What’s stopping you?” Combining travel with work sounded exciting to me.
“Inertia? Cowardice? I don’t know. Where would I go?” She worried her lower lip, like she’d never voiced this confession to anyone else before. Did it scare her to share even this much of herself?
“Anywhere. Everywhere?”
She shot me a look like I’d unlocked a new level. “Right. How do you choose when there’s a whole world to explore?” Her gaze lingered briefly before returning to the road.
“Do you travel?”
“All the time. I have terrible wanderlust.” She reached over and rested a hand on my thigh, surprising me. Her touch gave me the first sign this might be more than a ride home and sent a jolt of electricity straight to my cock. “One day, I’ll go on vacation and never come home.”
Hoping I wasn’t reading her wrong, I set my hand on hers. She didn’t pull away. “Then home would be wherever you decided to stay.”
“Good point.” She gave me a squeeze and let go to turn right onto Cherry. The hourglass was nearly empty. “But I don’t think I could ever leave Elizabeth here.”
“Is that the kind of thing you put on that checklist of yours? Traveling to new places?” I asked, cursing the GPS for announcing our imminent arrival.
“The opposite, really. Traveling is my default escape strategy. My therapist has challenged me to bring the adventure home, push me out of my comfort zone, encourage wacky shit like tonight, and dare myself to open up. Otherwise, I’d just do the same old day in, day out.”
“I understand inertia all too well. A body in motion stays in motion.”
“Is that another cheesy pickup line?”
As she pulled into my driveway and threw the car in park, I had to shoot my shot. “Do you want it to be?”
She swiveled toward me, her dark mane cascading over her shoulder in slow waves of moonlight and shadow. I longed to run my fingers through that liquid night. When I tentatively lifted my hand, she tilted her head, and I took that as permission to twine one finger around a strand of her silky hair.
I studied her face, committing her features to memory. “I’m glad I met you tonight.”
“Me too.” She winced, like she’d confessed more than she meant to.
“Has the truth serum worn off yet?”
She fixed me in a hard stare. “Soon.”
I let my palm fall against her cheek. I had to ask, while she might tell me. “If you don’t want a boyfriend, what do you want? Nothing? Friends with benefits? A one-night stand?”
“Are you offering?”
I searched her eyes. Was she serious? After she’d worried about Elizabeth going home with a strange man, I figured she’d be more circumspect. I set my sights on what I could realistically achieve in the here and now. “Would you be offended if I said I’d love to kiss you?”
I braced myself, longing for a yes, preparing for a no. She seemed to consider the request but pulled slightly away. “And then what?”
Fuck it. I wasn’t going to leave without at least trying. “And then whatever you want.”
She scoffed. “What if I just want sex?”
I swallowed hard. It was so forward, but did she mean it?
I’d never managed a purely physical relationship, though in retrospect, my passion always ran its course fast enough that my “serious” relationships turned out to be as casual as a hookup.
Evan called me Easy Lover because I loved the idea of falling in love, and I often got ahead of myself, imagining how every woman I flirted with might fit into my future.
I’d already fallen half in love with this woman I’d just met, and here Chelsea had proclaimed herself a romantic cynic.
But I couldn’t resist the temptation. “Would you like to come inside?”
Her eyebrows rose. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
The dog barked as I unlocked the door to my embarrassingly small house.
I shared this rental with a roommate, but as a medical resident, Farrid worked long hours.
The foyer was empty and dark. I crossed the den and slid open the patio doors to let Pepper run outside.
When I turned back, Chelsea leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked.
She shook her head, so I stepped closer.
“Would you like to sit and talk?”
She sucked on her lower lip, let her teeth drag across it, and my cock stiffened. Her eyes closed as I neared. I brushed her hair from her temple, bent close, and whispered, “What do you want, Chelsea?”
Her eyes opened, and she leaned in, a breath away. “I want you to kiss me.”
I grasped her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her to me, so I could taste those burgundy lips. She smelled like summer, like coconut and honeysuckle. Our mouths crushed together, her berry lip gloss sticky and sweet. When her tongue brushed mine, I unearthed a groan.
My lips dragged down to her jaw, her neck. She raked her fingers across my cheek, then clasped my shoulders, my chest, frantically tugged at the hem of my shirt. I helped her peel it off and let it fall to the ground, my skin on fire.
She stepped back and ogled me.
I reached for her shirt in turn but hesitated, needing her consent every step of the way. “May I?”
She nodded, and I stripped her, straining in my pants at the fantasy of her in just a bra. I traced the top of the lace, then slid it down, over her nipple. I couldn’t believe what kind of heaven I must be in that I could run my tongue across her. She moaned when she was in my mouth.
I unlatched her bra and cupped my hands under the swells, wanting her so much I was past the point of no return. If she told me no now, I’d obey her, but it would be a Herculean feat.
“Chelsea, I need you. But you have to tell me what you want.”
“You.” She laughed, breathless. “Now.”
I unbuttoned her pants and glided my hands down her back, under her panties, peeling the fabric with my forearms. I pressed her tight to me, skin on skin. I needed to see her. With both hands, I dragged her pants down her thighs, exposing her entirely, and then I froze in place.
She had curves my hands wanted, needed to touch. I wanted to lick every inch of her silky skin. I ached to be inside her.
I lifted her onto my counter, yanked her pants over her ankles, and dropped them on the floor. When I stepped between her legs, she ground into me, and I moaned with desire. I reclaimed her mouth, unable to get enough of her lips, her tongue. My zipper strained to hold me.
I watched her watching me run my fingers up the inside of her thighs, brazen desire flaring in her eyes. When I neared the apex, her head fell back and hit the cabinet. Her legs spread open, giving me permission to touch her, and I bent to taste her.
She was already wet, and I sucked on her, nearly shooting in my pants from the guttural sounds she made. She dug her hands into my hair and said my name as I ran my tongue across her. She arched her back when I slid my finger inside her, my cock aching to take its place.
I would have kept pleasuring her for hours, but her knees squeezed slightly, and she said, “Come here.”
I stood, and she unclasped my pants, finally. With the zipper down, I practically fell out, I was so hard. Her eyes widened, and she ran her tongue across her lower lip. “Mmm.”
She wrapped her hand along the shaft and slid up. My eyes rolled back.
“Chelsea, God.”
“Just Chelsea.” She kissed my cheek, then my lips. Her thumb grazed the head of my cock, and my mouth slackened against hers. “Do you have a condom?”
Her question brought me back to myself, and I pulled away to search for my wallet, pausing to admire the erotic Renaissance image of her, naked, hair a mess, flush with desire, eyes glossy black, imploring me.
My cock throbbed as I rolled on the condom. And then in two strides, I was between her thighs. “Tell me what you want, Chelsea.”
“I want,” she panted, “your cock inside me.”
She wrapped her legs around me, and I notched myself at her wet epicenter.
Then slowly, excruciatingly, I slid in to the hilt, gasping with the overwhelming bliss of her.
Her head dropped onto my shoulder, her teeth biting into my skin, and I wrapped my hands around her waist to anchor her in place, then lost control as I ground into her.
Her heels bounced off my ass with every thrust, and she dug her nails into my biceps, urging me on with filthy words.
“Fuck me harder. You’re so fucking deep.”
Dirty talk spilled from my mouth, encouraged by hers. “I’m gonna make you come so hard.”
I found her clit with my thumb and added pressure, coaxing her, and she gasped. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Our mouths sought each other, lips brushing, tongues messy, but I was too far gone to truly kiss her. The cabinet doors rattled where my knees knocked them. My fingers dug into her hips, and she clawed at my back.
The pleasure mounted until I couldn’t hold it. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”
She hooked her ankles above my ass and squeezed me in, holding me in place as I shot inside her, growling her name, and she cried out with me, shuddered, and held me tight. Spent, we buckled against each other, breathing heavily and lost to ourselves, floating in empty space, just the two of us.
I wanted to stay like that, inside her, for as long as she’d let me.
She cradled my chin and pulled me in for a tender kiss, far less sloppy than a moment ago.
We flowed together, tangled limbs, sweaty, kissing with a different need, two people who’d just shared a uniquely intimate experience.
I couldn’t fathom how Chelsea wouldn’t feel the powerful connection between us.
She broke free and blew out a breathy laugh. “That was… Phew. I needed that.”
I took that as my cue, all the awkwardness of the reality slamming in hard as I pulled out of her and then dealt with the used condom, burying it under a cardboard box in the trash.
Farrid never needed to know how we’d misused the counter.
I’d never be able to cook in here again without remembering.
When I turned back, Chelsea was gathering clothes from all over my kitchen floor.
“So when can I see you again?” I asked, recalling with some dismay her pronouncements from earlier, hoping she wasn’t serious, or maybe I’d be the exception to her cynical rule.
“This was really fun,” she said as she fastened her bra and adjusted the straps. She pulled on her panties as I watched, and I probably should have started dressing myself, but I was mesmerized by her presence. We’d been strangers, and I’d explored that luscious body. I’d been inside seconds ago.
My cock pulsed at the memory of pounding her on my kitchen counter, and I wanted her again already, wanted her to stay the night, repeat the performance in my bed, in my shower, on every surface. “Can I at least call you?”
She didn’t answer. Just threw her shirt over her head and reached for her pants.
I took the little time remaining to grab a memo off the magnet pad Farrid kept on the fridge, scrambling for a Sharpie in the junk drawer.
As Chelsea hopped on one foot, pulling on an ankle boot, I scrawled my phone number.
When I held the paper out to her, she looked at it, then up at me, like she was debating whether it was worth the conversation to say no. In the end, she took it, folded it in half, then dropped it into her purse.
She stepped close, dragged her finger through my hair over my ear, and leaned in for one last kiss. “Good night, Bas. This was really nice.”
Then she turned and walked out of my house with a slam of the door. And I didn’t know when—or if—I’d ever see her again.
shook