Peace, Love, & Macarons Page 8

  "Love this town, but the lack of food options is sinful. What I wouldn't do for some decent Indian, Chinese, or... Mexican," he said, turning and showing me a tortilla.

  "Tacos?" I asked, brows drawn together.

  "Don't insult me," he said with a smile as he turned away.

  "Not an insult. I like tacos." In fact, I hadn't had any in longer than I could remember since Rich had never been a fan and, like he said, there was no Mexican in town.

  "Okay, next time. This time, we're having wet burritos."

  "What is a wet burrito?" I asked, propping myself up on the counter and watching as he scooped rice and then a supply of cooked veggies and beans onto the tortilla.

  "Depends on your taste. But in general, a tortilla filled with rice, veggies, meat, beans, and cheese. Then you roll it up, melt some more cheese on top then add some Pica de Gallo, salsa verde, rojo, or habanero- depending on what heat-level you can take."

  "That sounds too good to be true," I said, meaning it.

  "It is. And it goes great with the beer I have cooling in the fridge," he told me, rolling up one burrito and putting a mix of shredded cheeses on top before nuking it for a couple seconds and handing me the plate, gesturing toward the supply of salsas.

  Wanting to keep it sexy and indigestion free, I picked the mild as Brant picked something mid-level, grabbed the beers, then utensils and walked toward the living room, expecting me to follow.

  So I did.

  And he turned on the TV.

  And I loved every second of the comfort-level between us, the familiarity, the informality. He wasn't trying to sweep me off my feet with some three-course meal, but he cooked me something that made that frappe foodgasm moan sound tame when I had my first bite.

  "Oh my God."

  "I know," he agreed, smiling big at my enjoyment.

  Then we ate and watched crime TV and drank beer.

  And I realized with a sort of blinding clarity that I literally couldn't remember the last time I felt quite so content. It wasn't that kind of 'high' you get when something goes right or you achieve something after a long time trying; it was deeper. It was soul deep. I felt it into my marrow.

  "What's that look for?" he asked as he took my plate and put it beside his on the coffee table.

  Not sure how to explain it and thinking it was perhaps too soon to even if I could, I took a long swig of my beer and shrugged. "What look?"

  To that, his lips tipped up devilishly. "You really want to do this again?"

  "Do what?" I asked as he stood suddenly and walked toward the kitchen.

  He didn't answer me though as I heard some shuffling before he came walking back with the whipped cream.

  "Do the 'I am going to get what I want out of you by using sex to do it' thing," he explained as he slammed the can down on the coffee table and moved to stand between it and the couch, reaching down and pulling me onto my feet.

  "Brant..." I said as his fingers teased up under the material of my tee, running across my lower back and inching it off my skin.

  "Know what?" he asked as his fingers paused to unclasp my bra.

  "No, what?" I asked, feeling my chest get heavier as desire started to course through my system.

  "I'm still hungry," he told me, pulling my shirt until I had no choice but to raise up my hands as he pulled off both my shirt and my bra.

  "Brant, please," I demanded as his hands landed up my hips and moved upward, barely brushing over the undersides of my breasts and my nipples hardened almost painfully.

  "Begging won't help you this time," he informed me as his hands whispered down my belly and unfastened my button and zip before yanking the thick material over my butt then down my thighs.

  I stepped out of the material as his hands pressed into my hips and pushed me back toward the couch.

  I had barely sat down before he was grabbing for the whipped cream and shaking the can, eyes devilish, smirk downright sinful.

  "Lay back," he commanded and I automatically moved to do just that. "Unless you want to end it without all the torture and tell me."

  Tell him what?

  I had no idea what I was even supposed to tell him anymore as I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache there.

  And, honestly, even if I did know what... I was pretty sure I wanted every second of a torment that involved him licking things off my body.

  I jumped slightly as he circled my nipple with the cold whipped cream, an unexpectedly erotic sensation. He covered both nipples and created a line down the center of my belly and completely covered the triangle above my sex.

  I waited for him to move over me, to kiss me, then move down to my chest.

  But then his tongue moved over me and started to lick the whipped cream over my sex, making my legs fall open, swiping the creamy coolness down and over my cleft, making a long, ragged moan escape me, dragging a rumbling growling sound from his chest that made another rush of wet pool as his mouth closed over my clit and sucked hard.

  Then he devoured me, drove me up fast and unrelenting until the orgasm started to crest, seeming to start at the base of my spine and exploding outward until it took over my whole body, making me cry out his name as he took possession of my clit and sucked it in pulses as the waves washed over me, dragging it out, intensifying it.

  As soon as the waves lessened, he released my clit and licked a line back upward, taking the whipped cream off my breasts then pressing up to balance over me, wicked look in his eyes.

  "Tell me."

  "Tell you what?" I asked, brain nothing but sparking misfirings right then.

  He smiled at that, either delighted with his prowess or glad to torture me more. Or, more likely, both. He sat back and yanked off his shirt before standing and discarding his pants and underwear as well, giving me a full, glorious view of his hard cock.

  I curled upward, feeling my own lips curve up a bit wickedly as I reached up and pulled him to sit down on the couch.

  I grabbed the can of whipped cream as I moved to straddle him, watching as his eyes went knowing just a second before I started making a line down his stomach with the cream, then down the little happy trail, over his balls, and then up the underside of his cock until there was a large amount on the swollen head.

  Then I tossed the can to the side and gave him a smile before ducking my head and starting my path down, deciding that while foreplay was always good, it was infinitely better with food involved as my tongue licked the cream off his balls then his shaft before closing my lips around the head and licking it off from there as well, making Brant let out a deep, primal groan that spurred me on, made me work him faster, deeper.

  "Maddy..." he warned, but I didn't need a warning. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to give him the selfless orgasm he gave me.

  "Fuck," he growled, his hand crushing into the base of my skull as he came down my throat.

  I worked him for a long moment before letting him slide away, looking up at him to find an intense weight in his gaze.

  "From now on, we only ever eat dessert off of each other," he said a second later, his hand going under my chin and pulling me until I moved to straddle him, bringing my face close to his.

  "I can get behind that plan," I agreed with a smile before he yanked me forward and our lips crashed together.

  It wasn't a slow, sweet, post-orgasm kiss.

  It was still wild, hungry, primal.

  It said we weren't done.

  "Come on," he said when he pulled away, a little out of breath. "Let's go take a shower. That was hot as fuck but we're both sticky now."

  Thank God.

  I didn't want to complain, but every time I moved, my skin got stuck to his skin and it was weird and decidedly unsexy.

  I went to move off him, but his arms went to slip around my lower back, holding me to him as he stood and started walking around the house. Then up the stairs.

  I was generally not the kind of girl who got carried around. I was fit, sure, but
I was tall and leggy and most guys wanted to carry around the short, lithe little women.

  But since Brant was a huge wall of muscle, he didn't seem bothered by my height and less than dainty limbs.

  Brant led me down the hall upstairs, past the spare room which he had set up with a ton of workout equipment, finally answering my question of how he stayed so in shape in our gym-less town.

  He took the next right, going into the master bedroom which was about the same size as my mother's, but looked much bigger without all the extra furniture and knickknacks. Brant had a large king sized bed with deep blue sheets and comforter, matching the slightly lighter shade on the walls. To the left of the bed was the open door to the master bath which he had apparently completely redone. Where my mom preferred the more classic style with a clawfoot tub and shower inclosure that she could put her frilly lace shower curtains on, Brant liked everything clean and modern. He had a tiled walk-in shower stall and a whirlpool tub.

  He set me on my feet outside the shower and reached in to put the water on, water I knew would take a couple of minutes to warm up. But he stepped in regardless, cursing at the cold spray.

  "Yeah, I think not," I said when he looked at me expectantly.

  I should have known to step away. I really should have.

  But I didn't and the next thing I knew, he was grabbing my hand and yanking me in with him, making me let out a string of incredibly unladylike curses before I felt the water get warmer against my back.

  "Tell me," he demanded as he pushed me further under the water so he could share it with me too. "Tell me what the look was about," he added so I couldn't use confusion as a stalling tactic again.

  "It's nothing it's just..." I exhaled loud enough to call it a sigh as I shrugged a shoulder. "I'm... happy."

  "Really?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Happy? That's what all the fuss is about? Pretty sure I wouldn't want you to be pissed or miserable around me, sweetheart."

  "It's not that. It's..." I trailed off, uncomfortable. How do you tell someone that you had only known a couple weeks that being around them gave you a soul-deep kind of contentedness? I was pretty sure there was no way to say that without coming off as clingy or batshit crazy.

  "I make you happy," he guessed, no inflection in his voice pointing at anything but understanding.

  "I guess that's how I would put it."

  "And that'd be a problem because," he prompted, reaching past me for a bar of soap and sudsing it up in his hands. When I didn't say anything, he reached out toward me and started soaping up my shoulders, breasts, belly. "Look Maddy, that's the point of being with someone isn't it? To find some kind of happiness there?"

  "Yeah, it just seems a little, I don't know... soon."

  "Because of the break-up or just in general?"

  That was a good question.

  Maybe both.

  "Can I ask you something?" he asked at my silence.

  "Sure."

  "How long did it take you to decide that your ex was something more than just another guy, just another exchange of flirting, just another sweet nothing."

  He had me there.

  "Hours," I admitted.

  "And we've known each other for weeks. Granted, the physical part of this is new, but we've talked about everything from food and TV to books and politics. How can this feel too soon?"

  He had a point.

  "I guess you're right," I admitted as his soapy hand moved lower.

  "Good, now we got that shit out of the way," he said as his fingers slid between my thighs and up my cleft, working soapy circles over my clit until my hands had to slap down on his shoulders to stay upright.

  So then he made sure I was thoroughly clean.

  And then we went to bed and he made me dirty all over again.

  I fell asleep thinking he was right; it wasn't too soon.

  The fact that I even worried about it being too soon proved how much I had grown up since that first night I met Richy and had been sure we were meant to be.

  And while it was smart to be prudent, as Brant yanked me onto his chest and fell asleep with his hand in my hair because he had been absentmindedly stroking it when he passed out, I decided to remember that I couldn't let fear make me ration out my feelings.

  I wasn't going to sabotage something that made me happy.

  As the next day would prove, I wouldn't have to be the one to try to do that.

  Pineapple Upside Down Cake

  Maddy

  "Maddy!" I could hear my mother's voice whisper-yell from out on the porch as I stood in Brant's kitchen drinking coffee.

  Despite being enthusiastically acrobatic in bed the night before, his crazy ass was in the gym upstairs killing himself with weights.

  My thighs felt like I ran twenty miles they were so sore and I was going to go ahead and pretend that that was enough fitness for the day.

  "Mom?" I asked, walking toward Brant's back door to find my mother standing there, fully dressed because it was already after six and she was running late to open the shop.

  "Rob's gone if you want to come home and get dressed for work," she said, cheeks just the tiniest bit pink and, in seeing that, I was pretty sure mine went pink as well. It was one thing to be adults and know your mother or your daughter was sexually active. It was kind of another thing entirely to know the other each got lucky the night before.

  "Thanks," I said, giving her a smile. "You heading in?"

  "Yep. What are you cooking up today?"

  "I have no idea," I said, feeling almost startled by the realization.

  My mother gave me a knowing smile, like she knew just how my brain got turned to mush before she touched my cheek and said she knew I would figure it out.

  When she was gone, I ran home and changed and was back at Brant's to see him coming down freshly showered and changed, shoes and all.

  "Ready?" he asked, nodding toward the door.

  So then we walked to work.

  And it was normal.

  Comfortable.

  Right?

  It felt right.

  He made coffee.

  I went into the back and got lost making some cakes.

  It was sometime around eleven when my mother's very odd, very hesitant voice called back to me, "Ah, honey..."

  "I'm almost done, Ma. Just one more..."

  "Maddy?"

  That wasn't my mother.

  It wasn't Brant either.

  Oh, no.

  I'd know that voice anywhere.

  I looked down at the carefully placed little rings of pineapple and decided that my dessert for the day was like a premonition.

  Because things were absolutely upside freaking down if Rich was suddenly showing up in my hometown in my mother's bakery where the man I was currently involved with worked as well.

  I felt my heart seize in my chest for a second before it started going into overdrive as I frantically tried to clean off my hands so I could make sure my hair was still in place in its ponytail.

  Then, deciding I was about as ready as was possible to meet up with a man who wasted five years of my life and tossed me aside like trash, I took a deep breath and moved out into the front of the bakery.

  And there was Rich.

  I won't lie and say he was somehow less attractive now that I didn't love him anymore. That wasn't true. He was every bit as good looking as he had always been, his dress still impeccable even though it was just slacks and a button-down, his hair perfect. And the almost hesitant small smile he gave me as I stepped out was every bit as sweet and genuine as I remembered it.

  Nothing changed but my feelings.

  "Hey pumpkin," he said, eyes soft.

  I won't lie, there was a small gut-punch of familiarity and betrayal at the pet name.

  "Rich, what are you doing here?" I asked, my gaze going over toward Brant, finding him watching and feeling almost guilty. Which was ridiculous because I hadn't invited Rich.

  "Didn't have much of a choice after
you blocked my calls and texts, Mads," he said, shaking his head.

  "Didn't you maybe consider that was because I didn't want to talk to you?" I asked, lifting my chin slightly.

  "The only possible explanation for that," he said, his charming boyish smile in place, "is because you have somehow forgotten how awesome I am."

  That was so much like him that I wanted to smile.

  "Rich," I said, voice a little on-edge because Brant wasn't making a move toward us, but he was watching.

  "Come on," he said, shrugging. "You can give me five minutes, can't you?"

  "Because five years wasn't enough of my time to waste?" I asked, not caring how snippy that came off.

  "Mads, please," he said, looking pained.

  And regardless of the sledgehammer thing he had done to my heart just weeks before, I didn't like that look there. He had been many things to me over the years of our relationship, but most importantly, my friend. No matter what bad blood came between you and a long-time friend, you never wanted to see them hurt.

  "Five minutes," I specified, tone firm.

  "Can we maybe..." he said, waving toward the front door.

  "I don't see why we need to..."

  "Everyone is watching us," he told me and I realized he was right; every single set of eyes were either watching us intently or coyly, but watching us nonetheless. Likely because they all knew about me and Brant and me and Rich and they were finding the situation as entertaining as a goddamn soap opera.

  "Fine," I snapped, moving out from behind the counter and walking past him toward the door, making sure I didn't so much as brush him in the process.

  I stood right outside the picture window out front, in perfect view of everyone inside because I didn't want anyone, least of all Brant, thinking anything was going on.

  "Alright, we're outside," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  "I know I hurt you," he said, looking apologetic.

  "Let's not romanticize it," I cut him off. "You proposed to me and then dumped me because your parents were going to stop paying your bills."

  His head jerked back, likely not having expected that. I couldn't blame him. We had never had that kind of relationship- the kind where people snipped at each other or yelled or, hell, even argued. We just didn't do that.