Chapter 19 Try Not to Orgasm over the Smell
TRY NOT TO ORGASM OVER THE SMELL
MADISON
WINE NOT
Me: I think I did something really stupid
Tessa: WHO DID YOU DO?
Me: OMG why is that the first thing you ask?
Tessa: Girl, I’ve known you practically your whole life.
Me: …fair
Halle: Wait… Are you the reason why my brother is currently whistling in the kitchen with a stupid smile on his face?
Sarah: You noticed that too?? I thought I was hallucinating from sleep deprivation
Halle: Asher said he looked weird
Tessa: Are you two literally texting in the same room right now?
Sarah: No. I’m at the park with Remi. Little monster decided to wake up with the sun today.
Tessa: But he’s a cute monster! Come by the coffee shop and I’ll make him a milkshake and have a coffee waiting for you.
Sarah: Tessa congrats you are my new favorite person.
Halle: HEY!
Tessa: Sucker Hals.
Tessa: Madi spill now!
Me: You know what. I take it all back. I didn’t do anything stupid.
Halle: HA HA very funny
Halle: Also family dinner tonight!
Tessa: YESSS I love a Dawson barbecue night.
Me: Fine but please don’t make a thing of it.
I drop my phone onto the bed and face-plant beside it, groaning into my pillow.
They’re not going to let this go. Best-case scenario: I turn up, and they subtly pull me aside so we can talk about it discreetly.
That could work. I could get behind that.
Worst case? They circle me like vultures until I spill everything, then scream about it so loud, the guys will hear every damn detail, and I’ll have no choice but to crawl into a hole and live there forever.
My heart does that stupid fluttery thing again when I think about his mouth on me. God, my legs actually tremble remembering it. I should not be this weak. I should not be dying for more, and I definitely shouldn’t be smiling like an idiot alone in my room.
Yet here I am. One orgasm. One good, toe-curling orgasm from the only man who’s ever made me feel safe and wanted, and suddenly my chest feels too full, like I’m ready to hand over my whole heart to him.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I was meant to ignore him.
To put space between us. To go on some dates with other people, be alone for a while, and only stay friends with him.
But then, we both admitted we hate the word friend, and we both want to be scared together.
I leaped, and he crawled back under my skin.
Pivoting.
That’s what people call it, right? Changing plans. Switching courses. Since my heart—and, fine, my vagina—missed the memo about staying away from him. I think it’s only fair to make him beg, to make him wait until it hurts.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, as a slow smirk curls at the corner of my mouth.
Did he go home last night and touch himself?
Did he finally give in to all that pressure straining behind his zipper?
God, the way he looked at me. The heat of his stare, crawling over my skin, the tension in his body.
I bite down on my lip, remembering how hard he was.
There’s no way he didn’t crack. No way he resisted.
My fingers drift across my sheets until they brush my phone.
Before I can think, before I even realize it, I pull up our messages and act on pure impulse.
Me: Hi friend.
His reply lights up my screen so fast, my breath hitches with excitement.
Hunter: Baby girl.
Not friend.
Baby girl.
Yep, I’m completely, hopelessly done for. My thumbs move before I can think twice.
Me: Did you touch yourself?
The room tilts as heat rushes to my face. Holy shit, I did not just send that.
Hunter: No.
No? That’s it. I stare, waiting for another text. Seconds go by, and I start to chew on my lip.
Me: Really?
Hunter: You told me not to.
Hunter: And I wanted to be good. I want to follow the rules.
My stomach does a little somersault, and I have to press my lips together to contain my smile.
Me: Oh…
There’s a pause, long enough to make my pulse stutter.
Hunter: I’ll see you tonight.
I stare at his last text, the words I’ll see you tonight repeating in my head like a song I can’t shut off. My stomach swoops, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
A calendar notification flashes across my screen.
Cake tasting with Connor.
“Shit.” My heart lurches.
I scramble off my bed so fast, I stumble into the wall, trip over the dress I stripped off last night, and snatch my keys.
Shoving my feet into the closest pair of shoes, I sprint for the door.
I was supposed to meet him in town ten minutes ago.
He’s appointed himself to cake duty for Halle’s birthday next weekend, and he’s taking the job very seriously.
So seriously, he’s booked an actual cake tasting at the bakery in town.
When we told him that was a wedding thing, not a birthday thing, he blinked at us and said, “Halle deserves the best cake she’s ever had.
” He’s probably pacing outside the shop, arms crossed, muttering about being on time and buttercream.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I stop in front of Connor, wearing the world’s guiltiest smile. His eyes narrow, crinkling at the corners as he bends down until we’re eye to eye. My smile only grows.
“Would it help if I said I was late because Hunter turned my brain into melted chocolate?”
Connor’s mouth splits into a grin, straight white teeth showing. A spark lights in his hazel eyes.
“Yes. Yes, it does, Queen.” He straightens, sliding an arm over my shoulder.
“Oh my god,” I giggle, nudging him. “Stop with the Queen.”
“No can do.”
The bell above the bakery door jingles as we step inside.
Warm air wraps around us instantly. It’s sweet, buttery, and smells like vanilla bean, rising dough, citrus, and icing.
My stomach growls on the spot, my mouth watering.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
The place is small, cozy. Glass cases line the front counter, fogged slightly from the heat of pastries cooling behind them.
Behind the counter sit trays of cupcakes and slices, a mixer sounds in the back, and somewhere, a timer dings.
Connor squeezes my shoulder. “Try not to orgasm over the smell.”
I push him off me, laughing as the bakery owner—a short, round older man with flour dusting his apron—steps out from the back.
“Ah, Connor,” he greets warmly. “My wife said you’re coming in to taste cakes for young Halle today.”
“Arthur, good to see you.” Connor leans in, shaking his hand.
Arthur gestures for us to follow, leading us toward the back of the bakery.
We pass the glass displays and step into the kitchen.
Long stainless steel tables stretch down the center of the room, flanked by ovens and deep sinks stacked with cooling racks.
At the far end of a clean prep table sits a plate lined with small squares of cake.
Connor’s eyes go cartoon wide. He rubs his hands together dramatically and shoots me a grin.
I shake my head at him. He’s far too excited for this.
“My wife has prepared vanilla bean with butterscotch frosting, red velvet, classic chocolate, and a lemon blueberry to taste,” Arthur says, placing his hands on his hips. “Take your time. When you’re ready to pick, come find me up front.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, sliding onto the metal stool beside the table.
I reach for the lemon blueberry as Connor goes straight for the chocolate.
We pop the squares into our mouths at the same time.
The tangy lemon hits first, bright and sharp, followed by the burst of blueberry.
It melts on my tongue, and my eyes roll back.
When I look over, Connor’s got his head tipped back, eyes closed, licking chocolate icing from his fingers.
Our eyes meet, and we burst out laughing, mouths full.
“Okay,” I say, taking a breath to calm down. “As much as that tasted like heaven in my mouth, there’s no way Halle would like that.”
“You’re right. I don’t think anyone loves lemon blueberry like you and Momma Claire do.” Conner chuckles.
“What about the chocolate?”
“Everyone loves chocolate, but let’s taste these two first.”
He grabs one of the tiny forks sitting next to the plate and takes a slice of red velvet. The second it hits his tongue, his eyes half close.
“Oh God, yes. Madi, Queen, you gotta try that,” he mumbles around the mouthful, pointing at the cake.
Since he’s already taken half of the square, I pick up what’s left. The sweetness hits instantly, velvety and rich, the cream cheese frosting lingering on my tongue.
“Oh, yum!” I say around the bite, my eyes going wide. “That’s the one.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure if Remi would like the cream cheese,” he says.
My eyes dart to him. There’s a tiny pinch between his brows. His mouth pulls to the side like he’s weighing his options, thinking about Remi and what he would like. I rest my elbow on the table, chin propped in my hand as a smile tugs at my lips.
“Since when did you care so much about the little man and what he might like?”
Connor flicks a crumb off his jeans. “The kid’s cool, and he likes hanging out with me.”
“Uh-huh.” I drag out the sound. “Could it have anything to do with his momma being an absolute knockout?”
His mouth twitches, but he won’t meet my eyes.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, nudging his shoulder. “You like Sarah.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, shoving a slice of the vanilla cake into his mouth.
I wiggle my eyebrows at him, grinning like a total idiot. I’ve seen Connor have flings before, but they fizzle out too quickly. The girls he falls for, they want to chase that big, flashy life, and all he wants is something quiet, something real.
“We’re not here to gossip, we’re here for cake,” he says, pointing to the last slice. “Try that one.”
Leaning in, I scoop up the butterscotch frosted slice. The rich sweetness melts over my tongue. Dear God. Every single one of these tastes so good.
“That one,” I say, tapping the plate.
“Or the chocolate?”
“Well, I didn’t get to taste the chocolate.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Ya snooze, ya lose,” he says around a smug grin. “It was good. A classic.”
“Let’s go the chocolate then. It’s a safe bet. Everyone loves chocolate.”
“Halle’s gonna be so surprised. She’s going to glare at us all and probably punch Hunter for this,” he says with a laugh.
“She is, but she deserves it. They both do. A day to forget everything and be kids together again.”
Connor’s smile softens. “How are things going with you two?”
A slow warmth spreads through me. My mind goes straight to our texts, to him finally opening up to me about the letters… and last night.
God, last night.
My thighs press together at the thought of him and his tongue.
“That good, huh?” Connor smirks.
“It’s… He’s…” I stumble to find the right words.
“Hey.” His voice pulls my attention back to him. “You don’t have to explain anything if you’re not ready. I just wanna know… are you okay? Are you happy?” There’s worry laced through his question, the kind that only shows up in the people who actually see you.
My chest squeezes. Connor has always been so perceptive. He jokes a lot, is always the life of the party, but deep down, behind the big-energy charm, he sees more than he ever lets on.
“I’m okay,” I say, reaching over and squeezing his arm. “I’m making him work for it, if that counts for anything.”
“Thatta girl.”
He stands, sweeping the crumbs into his hand. I collect the plate and forks and carry them over to the sink.
“You know,” he says casually as we walk toward the front of the bakery. “I’m pretty sure the guy’s been in love with you since the day he met you.”
“What?” I choke on nothing.
He winks at me and walks off, leaving me standing there, blinking after him as he tells Arthur which cake he wants.