and over. I’m so close already. When was
the last time a real live man made me come?
“I
want you, you spicy little tease,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.
His palm is up against my clit, the perfect rhythm of his fingers
driving me to the edge, making me shake against his hard body. I’m
losing myself. I’m nearly there. I ride his fingers
desperately.
If
his fingers work this well, I can’t imagine what it would be
like to have his cock inside me. “Juliette,” he growls
and thrusts deeper, connecting with my g-spot and causing sparks in
my vision.
I
come. Shaking, panting, barely holding back a scream, I feel heat and
spice and perfect friction rocketing through me. I grip onto him,
holding on for dear life, as the pleasure explodes from my core,
shooting through my limbs.
When
I come back to earth, I’m melted butter against him, leaning
into him, exhilarated, spent, and so damn satisfied.
Then
realization clicks into place.
What
the fuck did I just do?
I
push myself away from Cal. He’s wearing a smug look, his shirt
disheveled, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. I get wet for
him all over again. No .
I take another step away. Netflix and dirty fantasies are one thing,
but I can’t actually hook up with TV’s most delicious baker.
I
can’t open up to him. Not physically. Not emotionally. I’d
only get hurt. Again. After what happened the last time I opened up
to a man—a chef ,
no less—I’ll do anything to avoid that.
“I
gotta go,” I say, my voice tight.
I’m
being an asshole, I know it. Who in hell turns down sex from the most
gorgeous man they’ve ever met? Am I really that jerk who says,
“Thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm. Now catch you later?”
Apparently
yes. Cal takes a step toward me but I shake my head.
God,
my pussy still aches for him. His breathing is ragged. Mine is too.
It’s a civil war between my lust and my rational brain. I can
see the line of his cock through his jeans, tempting me. But I know
better than to open up more. I should have never kissed him in the
first place. I should have left the second I saw him in the bar.
“Juliette,”
he protests, reaching out for me, but I’m opening the door of
my car.
“Sorry,
Cal,” I mumble as I slide inside and buckle my seatbelt around
me, as if it could protect my aching heart. “See you around.”
He stands there for
a moment in the darkness. But my gaze is hard and determined, and at
last, he relents. He steps back and closes the door behind me. I fire
up the engine and drive off into the night.
Chapter Seven
I
gun it all the way home.
The
night is black and inky as I speed home along the Overseas Highway.
The stars seem to jangle in the sky, but maybe it’s only the
remnants of the most glorious orgasm I’ve ever had that makes
them seem to tremble. When I get back to the shop, I park my car in
back and then stalk up to my apartment.
I
was so thrilled when I found this space after my grandmother died. A
shop to rent below and an apartment above. It even has a roof deck.
Maybe someday, I’ll be rich like Cal and able to buy my own
luxury home, but for the time being, my cozy two-bedroom is more than
enough for me.
No,
stop thinking about Cal, damnit. I stop in the doorway and take a
deep breath, trying to push him out of my mind.
It
doesn’t work.
I
keep the place spotless, of course. And even though the landlord
doesn’t let me paint the walls, I’ve decorated it exactly
to my tastes. Mid-century furniture, half from estate sales, half
smart reproductions, is artfully arranged all around the apartment. A
few choice art pieces hang from the walls, bought at times when
business below was going a little better. But my apartment is my
oasis away from all of that, my safe place. Tonight, especially, it’s
a relief to come home to it.
Because
I need to chill out, but I can’t get the taste of Cal’s
lips out of my mind. His body was so damned perfect as he leaned into
me. His cock was
the last time a real live man made me come?
“I
want you, you spicy little tease,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.
His palm is up against my clit, the perfect rhythm of his fingers
driving me to the edge, making me shake against his hard body. I’m
losing myself. I’m nearly there. I ride his fingers
desperately.
If
his fingers work this well, I can’t imagine what it would be
like to have his cock inside me. “Juliette,” he growls
and thrusts deeper, connecting with my g-spot and causing sparks in
my vision.
I
come. Shaking, panting, barely holding back a scream, I feel heat and
spice and perfect friction rocketing through me. I grip onto him,
holding on for dear life, as the pleasure explodes from my core,
shooting through my limbs.
When
I come back to earth, I’m melted butter against him, leaning
into him, exhilarated, spent, and so damn satisfied.
Then
realization clicks into place.
What
the fuck did I just do?
I
push myself away from Cal. He’s wearing a smug look, his shirt
disheveled, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. I get wet for
him all over again. No .
I take another step away. Netflix and dirty fantasies are one thing,
but I can’t actually hook up with TV’s most delicious baker.
I
can’t open up to him. Not physically. Not emotionally. I’d
only get hurt. Again. After what happened the last time I opened up
to a man—a chef ,
no less—I’ll do anything to avoid that.
“I
gotta go,” I say, my voice tight.
I’m
being an asshole, I know it. Who in hell turns down sex from the most
gorgeous man they’ve ever met? Am I really that jerk who says,
“Thanks for the mind-blowing orgasm. Now catch you later?”
Apparently
yes. Cal takes a step toward me but I shake my head.
God,
my pussy still aches for him. His breathing is ragged. Mine is too.
It’s a civil war between my lust and my rational brain. I can
see the line of his cock through his jeans, tempting me. But I know
better than to open up more. I should have never kissed him in the
first place. I should have left the second I saw him in the bar.
“Juliette,”
he protests, reaching out for me, but I’m opening the door of
my car.
“Sorry,
Cal,” I mumble as I slide inside and buckle my seatbelt around
me, as if it could protect my aching heart. “See you around.”
He stands there for
a moment in the darkness. But my gaze is hard and determined, and at
last, he relents. He steps back and closes the door behind me. I fire
up the engine and drive off into the night.
Chapter Seven
I
gun it all the way home.
The
night is black and inky as I speed home along the Overseas Highway.
The stars seem to jangle in the sky, but maybe it’s only the
remnants of the most glorious orgasm I’ve ever had that makes
them seem to tremble. When I get back to the shop, I park my car in
back and then stalk up to my apartment.
I
was so thrilled when I found this space after my grandmother died. A
shop to rent below and an apartment above. It even has a roof deck.
Maybe someday, I’ll be rich like Cal and able to buy my own
luxury home, but for the time being, my cozy two-bedroom is more than
enough for me.
No,
stop thinking about Cal, damnit. I stop in the doorway and take a
deep breath, trying to push him out of my mind.
It
doesn’t work.
I
keep the place spotless, of course. And even though the landlord
doesn’t let me paint the walls, I’ve decorated it exactly
to my tastes. Mid-century furniture, half from estate sales, half
smart reproductions, is artfully arranged all around the apartment. A
few choice art pieces hang from the walls, bought at times when
business below was going a little better. But my apartment is my
oasis away from all of that, my safe place. Tonight, especially, it’s
a relief to come home to it.
Because
I need to chill out, but I can’t get the taste of Cal’s
lips out of my mind. His body was so damned perfect as he leaned into
me. His cock was
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